#I had to go through and delete like six what is wrong with me

[pastelwell]

I followed you for succession, and now feel weirdly joyful and sentimental that you found Hannibal after all this time and it's still able to captivate and inspire people. I'd give anything to watch Hannibal for the first time again. Hope you do end up posting your fic, would love to see what you do with those two!

This ask 💜 warmed my soul! Captivated is the word, I really did NAHT expect that show to grab me by the neck like this 🥴

Also for anyone concerned, I’m not remotely leaving my tomgreg era, I’m just entering my hannigram era simultaneously. I have the capacity to rotate two sets of deranged men deeply in love in my head at once, thank GOD.

Rly determined to finish a lil hannigram fic, so fingers crossed you will get to read it some day. I would love to contribute something to the fandom, even if I am eight years late to the party…

Thank youuuu for this ask, when I read ‘I followed you for succession’ I was NERVOUS but I’m so sooo glad you reached out with such a lovely message xx

[backwzzds]

ೃ⁀➷ spoil you, plug!eren

eren hated when you spent your own money, but you don’t listen.

thinking about the way plug!eren would take you on his drops with him. you were so quiet and in your own world, he never minded the fact that you had your freshly white painted toes resting against the dash of his mercedes AMG coupe. the entire car was blacked out with expensive ceramic tints, protecting you both from your usual…late night activities.

your glasses rested on the cute bridge of your nose as your left leg was sat in eren’s lap while your right rested against the dashboard. eren was lucky that he fucked with most of his customers heavy…you two had been waiting for the dude to meet y’all for nearly thirty minutes now, and had it been someone else, eren would have sped away long time ago.

eren comfortingly rubbed your baby soft feet in the grasp of his tattooed hand, one with beautiful realism art of your own eye. with a turn of his head, he could see you practically nose deep in the bright screen of your phone illuminating through the car. “you growing bored mama?” his voice is concerned. “ian think we was gonna be waiting this long on dude…my bad baby.”

you hadn’t said much since you’d gotten in the car, just wanting to hurry and add all of your things to your shopping cart on the skims website. “nah, ‘m just…trying…to do somethin’ real quick,” you bite your lip as you tap away on your phone. you were trying to add as many things to your cart before it was gone. “before this shit sell out.”

eren being the nosy boy he is leans against your shoulder to see what you were doing. but the moment he’d seen you type in numbers that belonged to what he knew as your own debit card, he kissed his teeth in annoyance. “man how many times i gotta tell you to stop using your card to go shopping bae?” you roll your eyes at his words. “i’m serious, you got all three of my cards on ya phone for a reason. fuck is you typing in your info for?”

don’t get him wrong, eren loved the fact that you were independent and knew how to handle money almost perfectly now that you were in your twenties. but being together with you for so long, he continued to step up with his provider capabilities by always taking care of you. whether it was paying your bills, rent—everything in between.

but of course it was a struggle when ms. i can do it all by myself meets mr. i know you can but let me do it for you

“because i’m spending like 600 dollars,” you point out to his previous question with an obvious scoff. “i’m not asking you for that.” eren mirrors your actions and rolls his eyes again.

eren looks at you as if you’re insane and suffered memory loss for the past four years you’ve been together. “babe…i make that shit in one night. actually—fuck a night—i make that shit in two hours!”

it wasn’t like he was lying either, with the way that eren was one of the only trusted plugs in town, it was very easy that he’d bring at least a band a night on a consistent basis. selling for almost six years was finally paying off.

you two hardly ever fought, but if you did, it was always about money. eren knew how long you’ve had to do things on your own physically and financially. you couldn’t go to your mom for help, you didn’t have a dad to beg, so it was all on you since you’d been 16. but now that he had eren, he’d just wish you’d let him take the burden of money of your shoulders and take care of you the way you take care of him.

after a few minutes, your boyfriend holds his hand out. you give him crazy eyes, but eventually follow orders by putting your phone in his hand. “don’t know how many times i gotta tell yo stubborn ass, forreal,” he grunted. “‘s never a problem spoiling my baby. you don’t ever ask me for nothing. let me feel useful and get you stuff, mama.”

with a sigh, you nod your head, like you always did. there was no way eren was gonna take no for an answer when it came to spoiling his wife.

in response, eren uses his free hand to delete your information and instead place the correct numbers—the information to his amex black card. all the money he has, he sits and does nothing with it, so why not buy you all the things you’ve never had before?

when you hear the chime of your phone confirming your order, eren hands you the phone back and goes to look out his dark window.

with your acrylics, you grab eren by the neck and slowly turn him back to face you. “thanks papa,” you gave him genuine eyes.

eren leans forward and pecks your lips. with a serious face, he pecks you one more time before wrapping his tatted fingers around your neck erotically. with a look in your eyes he tells you, “always tell me what you want, no matter how much, mama. you know daddy gonna get that shit for you one way or another, regardless.”

[twilghtkoo]

xoxo - lee donghyuck

synopsis. in which, your little niece has a crush on your boyfriend.

pairings. donghyuck x reader (f)

genre. fluff, established relationship, non!idol au

warnings. none!

notes. this idea is inspired by this tiktok i saw T_T i was like holy shit this is cute now let’s make it about hyuck :D also something is wrong w my taglist, it says it got deleted but i didn’t delete it so i might have to make a new one😭 so if the link isn’t working that’s why!! just letting y’all know :)

masterlist | series masterlist

—

“and she hates the crust on her bread–“ your older sister tries to inform.

you push her out your door, mindlessly nodding your head. “i know, i know, don’t worry she’s gonna be fine. now go, before you’re late.” you wave to her one last time before you close the door behind her with a huff.

your six year old niece is still standing behind you with her bluey backpack on her shoulders that has all the things that would entertain her for tonight.

“hi, sweetie. i missed you,” you crouch down to her level, helping her out of her shoes and taking off her backpack.

“i missed you too, auntie!” she smiles and takes off to your living room, giggling.

you had already put on her favorite cartoon on your tv, as you follow her with her bag in your hands before placing it beside the couch.

she’s totally immersed herself in the animated slice-of-life adventures of the dog family. you stand inches away from her, amused at how she has blocked out all of her surroundings.

you turn to walk into your kitchen, thinking of preparing something easy for dinner.

“auntie!” your niece calls out from the living room.

you hum in response, putting away the dried dishes from last night.

“is donghyuck-ie coming over today?” she asks, curiously. and you know just by her tone and the mention of her second favorite person (first is obviously me) she’s twiddling her fingers.

you chuckle to yourself. “yes, he’s coming over later though.”

you hear her gasp before it goes back to being silent, the faint sound of the tv echoing through your apartment.

you’ve noticed your little niece’s infatuation with your boyfriend and you and donghyuck think it’s the cutest thing. she loves playing with him when he comes over while you’re babysitting her, making him sit in the living room with her and color and play with her toys. she gets all shy and geeky when donghyuck walks with her holding hands.

your older sister finds it funny and amusing.

“tell your boyfriend to stop being so handsome yeah? my daughter is bragging to everybody that donghyuck-ie bought her a toy.” your sister groans into your ear, on the phone with you.

—

you’ve been busy preparing dinner in the kitchen, appreciating the comforting sound of bluey and bingo playing along. every so and so minutes you check on your niece by calling her name.

“yes?”

“just checking on you, you good?”

she hums cutely. “yes auntie.” you peek your head out, seeing her sprawled out on the floor with her backpack next to her and all its contents spread out. she’s drawing something in front of the tv, concentrating with her tongue poking out as she scribbled with her crayons and gazing up at the tv.

she crawls up to her feet, bending down to grab the piece of paper she was doodling on before stomping over to you.

“auntie! auntie!”

you raise your eyebrows, giving her your undivided attention.

she shoves the piece of paper in your face. “look!”

you lean your head back, blinking, trying to adjust to what she’s showing you.

she’s holding up a stationary bluey themed piece of paper that has blue textured crayon words written neatly across the printed lines.

‘dear sunflower ♡’

you gasp, bringing your hands to cover your mouth. “is this a letter for donghyuck?” you whisper to her, from her view, your eyes shaped into crescent moons and your hands are covering your smile.

your niece giggles, using the letter in her tiny hands to hide her face as the pig tails from her head bounce from her nodding.

“he’s gonna love it! i mean, who doesn’t love bluey?” you ask rhetorically, hands on your hips.

“right?”

the doorbell chimes throughout your small home, both you and your niece look at each other with big eyes. already knowing who’s behind the door. your niece runs out the kitchen and into the living room squealing as you make your way to let your boyfriend in.

“hi pretty.” haechan grins at you, his eyelids looking a bit heavy and you already know work was tough on him. he still smiles and extends his arms out for you.

you wrap your arms around his neck, playfully groaning when he squeezes you tight in his grasp.

he lets out a breathy laugh, grabbing your waist to pull you away to connect his lips with yours in a slow, gentle kiss. his hands roaming over your lower back and creeping down to your ass.

“sunflower!” you both break the kiss, you walk back to the kitchen while he bends down to greet the little girl.

“aigoo, hi cutie. how are you?” you hear him coo at her.

—

“thank u yn for the food.”

“thank you auntie for the food!” they both say at the same time.

you reach over the table to grab their plates and placing them inside the sink, your niece jumps up from her seat and runs out the kitchen. donghyuck takes this moment to snake his hands from behind to lace his fingers together so you can’t run.

his body towering over you, he leans down to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck, peppering small kisses on your exposed skin. “thank you for dinner baby,” he mumbles against your skin.

you smile, “of course.”

“sunflower!”

he pats your ass, pecking the top of your head before walking away. “yes bum bum,” he replies. the nickname that seemed fitting and grew on her over time, it being short for bumble bee.

“i made something for you.” the little girl shyly utters, the piece of paper in her hands as she shoves it in his hands.

he laughs lightly, sitting on the balls of his feet. “did you draw something for me?”

she shakes her head, her toothy smile on display, her hands behind her back as she sways back and forth on her feet.

you appear behind donghyuck, relaxing your hand on his shoulder.

it’s a comforting silence in your apartment, he’s taking the time to carefully read each word and reading a certain word over again because of the misspelling but he finds it endearing, his smile growing wider as he gets closer to the end.

‘xoxo, bum bum :)’

“hugs and kisses, where did you learn that from?”

“school!” she exclaims.

“school shouldn’t be teaching you how to win hearts,” he states with a playful pout.

she clasps her hands together, stepping closer towards him to point at the tiny prints. “i used my bluey stationary kit, do you like the paper?”

“i do, i’m very honored and i’m going to hang it up in my home. this is my first letter i got from a girl!” he whisper-shouts in your niece’s ear.

obviously you heard him and that made you nudge him with your knee, making him lose his balance.

“auntie you have to write sunflower love letters.”

he smirks, “yeah, auntie.”

[covetyou]

no shortage of sordid

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader, Joel Miller x m!OC (unnamed) rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: very dubious consent (not from reader), oral sex (m receiving from m), voyeurism/exhibitionism, degradation, brief mention of food and allusion to hunger, unnamed m!OC, m/m, Joel is not exactly gay he's just a domineering asshole, drug reference word count: 3.1k summary: Your deal with Joel has changed into something else, something different to when you first came to his door asking for help months ago. But, when you try to take him up on your new arrangement, you're met with something you never expected.

A/N: this was originally a much shorter deleted scene from the start of the dark caress of someone else. I took it out because it was too much and after writing that chapter I told myself I would avoid writing threesomes for as long as possible, because god damn it there's too many body parts. well, me, fuck you, this is threesome adjacent and not technically a threesome at all.

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Six days. That's how long it takes for you to cave and admit you want him. It takes you another two to do anything about it.

The first time you make the trip to Joel's apartment, no pills necessary, you're faced with silence and a door that won't open.

With an hour break between your jobs the next day, you make another attempt. But, you barely make it through the market when you see him trailing behind Tess, hulking figure parting the crowd with ease. You don't stop to see where they're going, instead choosing to turn on your heel and head back the way you came. The less you know, the better. Using the cards he handed back to you nine days ago, you stop by a street food vendor on your way to your next job, eating your first hot meal not only of that day, but that week, the warm food soothing more than just the emptiness in your stomach.

It takes you much longer to convince yourself to try on the third day. Your thoughts hadn't immediately gone to Joel Miller that morning. You had toyed with going for a walk, with seeing if you could pick up more work. But soon your hands ache, bones creaking in their joints as you clench them once again, trying to stave off the want in your belly with the pinch of nails digging into your palms.

Fuck it. You're going. Whether he's there or not, the need to get out of this apartment far outweighs the desire to stay warm inside it.

So, one gray trudge across a gray Boston to a gray apartment block later, you're at his door. Again.

Only this time there's not silence on the other side.

You can hear a murmur - undoubtedly Joel by the heavy rasp of a wry laugh that follows it - and a garbled whimper.

And, of course, you could leave. You could turn your back and leave Joel up to whatever it is, whoever it is, he's doing in there, but you don't. You knock, wanting him to know that even if he's occupied, you showed up. You came to him, not for pills, but for sex. For want, for desire, for the ease of the ache between your legs and the itch in your palms that just won't quit no matter how much you make yourself come.

Even with company, he doesn't make you wait long.

So it's not that you're not expecting the shuffle of two sets of feet. Or the thud on the door, heavy and dull like something big had caught itself before falling down. You knew he wasn't alone and, after all, the only thing you could really expect when visiting Joel was that nothing would be as expected.

No, that's not what surprises you at all.

What surprises you is when the door drifts open a fraction, a disembodied hand reaching through and pulling you through the gap, dragging you inside. What surprises you is tripping over his shoes, only they're not his shoes, the feet turned the wrong way up to belong to the all too familiar man standing before you.

What surprises you is seeing a man on his knees in front of Joel Miller.

It surprises you so much, you don't even notice as the door clicks shut and the hand that dragged you inside pulls you once again to stand at his side.

From here you can get a full view. There's a man on his knees in front of Joel. Joel's pants are unbuckled and pulled low on his hips. And then, the entire scene becomes very, very clear.

There is a man on his knees in front of Joel with his cock in his mouth.

So, when Joel looks at you with a glint in his eye, you're suddenly rooted to the spot, staring between him and the man beneath him. A smirk from Joel tells you you've been looking a little too long so, embarrassed and not quite sure what to do with yourself, you spin around, turning to inspect the back of a chair as if it was the most interesting thing in the room, not the man currently bobbing his head up and down on Joel's length.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he drawls from behind you. "Ain't no fun for me if you ain't lookin'."

As you always do where Joel is concerned, you do as you're told, taking a deep breath as you turn back to watch the man swallow down Joel's cock. You'd seen this kind of thing before - turned down the wrong street at the wrong time more than once only to see someone on their knees for someone else, earning yourself a wink or an insult for the privilege. But you never stayed to watch. Yet, here you are, staying and watching either because it was Joel, or because he asked, you weren't too sure.

The why doesn't exactly matter, you figure, not when your cheeks were rapidly heating and the wet patch in your panties was doing nothing but grow.

"Think he likes the audience too," Joel is saying, nodding down to the guy on his knees. "Don't you?"

You can see that he does. There's a hard bulge in the front of his pants, a bulge that looks much harder than the cock currently in his mouth.

"Dick always so hard for a straight guy. Think you like being a cocksucker." Joel gives the man an awkward pat on the head and huffs out a laugh, looking away from him to look back at you.

"Likin' what you see, sweetheart?" he jokes, casting dark eyes up and down your body. He can't see much. It's still fucking freezing, which is no surprise for a February in Boston, and you're still wrapped up against the elements because of it. But you know his gaze is looking through all of it, seeing through the layers straight down to your flesh, to your hard nipples and the wetness between your legs. He raises that infuriating, knowing, eyebrow at you and you roll your eyes.

"'m serious, you gotta keep lookin' or I'm never gonna come," he says then, and you drag your eyes back in an instant. You briefly wonder why - how - he would never come from this until it hits you.

Having a man suck his dick isn't Joel Miller's idea of a good time. Whoever the man on his knees is, he owes Joel. Maybe just like you did, or maybe worse. It doesn't matter, because you're not witnessing a blow job, you're witnessing a fucking business transaction.

And so you laugh - not at Joel, or the man, not really, but at the entire fucked situation and the world that brought you to this place.

"Y'hear that?" Joel growls down at the man. "She's laughin' at you."

Pinching his eyes shut, the man groans, and you swear you can see a dark patch starting to form on the front of his pants. It almost feels wrong, looking at another mans bulge like this when Joel's cock is right there, disappearing in and out of the strangers mouth at a languid pace. You can't even ask his name - his mouth too full to get out more than a garbled moan. Maybe names don't matter either.

Joel's eyes haven't left you, and yours haven't left the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. He's harder now, softness completely gone now that you're here to witness it. Giving and watching a blow job are so much different to what you expected. There's a wet sound in the air, for one. That rhythmic, wet noise of a throat being fucked was usually masked by your own moans, made easy to ignore by the distraction filling your mouth. But here, several steps away, it is loud.

"That's it. Keep your eyes right there," Joel murmurs before pointing to your outer layer. "Unzip your coat, lemme see. Get those pretty tits out for me, sweetheart. Don't mind him. He ain't gonna look. Are you?"

The man groans again, keeping his eyes shut as his head bobs on Joel's cock, taking an impressive amount of him down his throat with each movement. There's a small shake of his head, and while you don't believe him, you find you don't care either. You don't know the man on the floor any more than he knows you, and you have a feeling he's likely to keep his mouth shut once he leaves Joel's apartment today anyway.

A fraction of a second later, you're pulling your jacket open and yanking your sweater up above your tits, baring them to Joel. He murmurs something to himself, fisting his shirt tightly as he holds it up, exposing his belly. It strikes you then how damn distracted you had been every time before now - Joel's fingers, or tongue, or cock working you in such a way that you were brainless and oblivious to the physical affects you had on him. Now, its obvious. Like a man possessed, he watches you with blown eyes, his cock in full hardness now as the man below him works him over with his mouth and tongue.

Dragging cool fingers down your exposed chest, you meet your already pebbled nipples, pinching them and holding back a soft gasp. It's as much for you as it is to get a reaction from Joel, and if he didn't know you were wet before, he does now.

"That's it, play with 'em. And keep watching, sweetheart. Want you to watch when I come down his throat."

It's a struggle to keep your eyes open, but certainly not a chore. The man has picked up his pace, sucking and moaning around Joel's length as he slurps it down. He holds back a splutter when Joel's hips buck forward just as you pinch your nipples harder again, squeezing the flesh of your tits in cold palms.

"Fuuck, that's it, keep watchin'. You like that? Bet you want a taste of this dick too, huh?"

You nod, words stuck in your throat as Joel presses the mans head further into his crotch, rocking his hips to fuck lightly into his mouth.

"You needy and dripping over there ain't you?" he growls. He doesn't wait for you to nod, he doesn't need to. "Yeah you fuckin' are. Dirty fuckin' girl, watching my dick gettin' sucked. You like watching, don't you? Say it. Wanna hear it."

"I like it. I like watching, Joel," you say, barely more than a whisper as you become more and more entranced by Joel's cock in the mans mouth.

"Shit. Keep watchin'. Gonna come. Need you to watch."

It's all you can do to hold back a moan, your panties now probably ruined by your dripping, neglected cunt. This was not what you came here for, but watching Joel mumble obscenities and growl filth to you and the man on his knees as he gets his cock sucked was something you never knew you wanted before now. Sure, you want to touch, to play with him yourself. But watching is getting you wetter and wetter without even a finger or the press of your thighs to help you along the way.

"That's it. You keep suckin'. Fuck. Gonna bet you want this load in you not in him, right?"

Nodding frantically, you move a hand to your waistband, a soft plea on your lips, ready to pull your pants down any second. "Please - "

"Fuck - shit - well too bad, sweetheart. You look at that dick gettin' sucked. Shit - gonna come. Look at me. I said look at me."

Your eyes meet his just as they flutter closed. Joel groans a curse, his balls starting to empty into the throat of the man in front of him until he's suddenly tugging the mans hair, pulling his mouth off of his cock. The man gasps, swallowing down what he can as Joel rapidly strokes his spit soaked length, jerking the remains of his spend over the mans face and mouth. His eyes immediately flick to yours, a soft moan having left your own lips the moment Joel started to come, and he groans again, a final spurt coating the mans chin, soaking his facial hair. It's filthy. Not the most filthy thing you know Joel's done, but the most filthy thing you've ever seen him do from the outside. You can't help but stare on in silence, too captivated by the spurts of milky white dripping over the mans face, his eyes still screwed tight. You're aching and desperate to stick a hand down your pants, to feel how wet you are, to touch your clit and make yourself come as you try to hold yourself upright on shaky legs.

Through syrupy blood pulsing in your ears you hear Joel growl down at the man, removing his hand from his hair like it's burned his palm. Then, he's looking to you again, deep brown eyes searching your own before falling down, down to where your hand cups your breast and your other fists the waistband of your pants in a tight grip. He knows - knows that even if you came here already wet and wanting, you were even more so now.

And it's with a smirk and a sharp snap of his fingers that he pulls you back into the room. The man's eyes are open now, avoiding yours as he wipes cum from his face with his sleeve, covertly licking his lips for any remnant taste of Joel. You can't blame him, fuck knows you'd done the same when Joel had swiped a taste of himself over your own lips, but you can't help the jealousy at wanting to taste again too.

It's then you remember your exposed chest, and you yank your sweater back down without another glance to the man on his knees. Joel shakes his head, a shit eating grin spreading across his face as he strides across the room. He goes to the cupboard where you know he keeps a small amount of his stock, rifling through for a second before coming back with a baggy and tossing it down on the floor at the mans knees. He scrambles for it immediately, climbing to his feet and grabbing the door. Joel doesn't look at him again.

"Say hello to your wife for me," Joel calls over his shoulder, and the man scurries away without a word.

Now it's just you and him, his unbuttoned pants the only remaining evidence of what just happened.

You hesitate, partly in stunned silence, partly your brain having turned to liquid between your ears, all coherent thought lost the moment Joel's cum spurted across the mans face. But there's still that unsatisfied ache between your legs, throbbing and making your hand twitch, willing you to reach for him now that he's so close.

Joel sees it, he knows, knows what you came here for and knows what you won't be getting.

"Not today, sweetheart. Couldn't even if I tried," he says gesturing to his spent already dick tucked back into his pants. "Gotta head out again too, so whatever you got goin' on in those panties, you gotta deal with it yourself." He finishes with a wink and a tap to your chin before grabbing a small gym bag from the couch. You hadn't even seen it there, brain too occupied by more interesting things happening in this room at the time.

So it's no surprise, really, when your mouth starts running before your mind can process what it's doing. There's only one thing you're thinking of. One thing, aside from the throb in your core, that you can't stop thinking about, that envy won't let you give up.

"Would you - " your mouth gapes, opening and closing like a fish while your mind stutters and stops. You shouldn't even ask. There's no answer that can satisfy that particular itch. Not as quickly as you'd want it, at least. If he said yes, he'd already said nothing could happen right now, and if he said no, well... there was something about the thought of him denying you that did something to you too. There was no winning.

"Would I what?"

Of course, Joel had already heard. Even as he potters about the apartment, dumping stuff into the bag from places you've not been paying attention to. He stops, prompting you to go on.

"Would you... Would you come in my mouth like that? One time?"

He stares at you with his mouth open in disbelief. "You want me to come in your mouth?"

You nod, your mouth suddenly so fucking dry you can't speak anymore. You'd been salivating, able to practically taste the phantom flavor of Joel's cum on your tongue just a moment ago. Now, it was like you'd been chewing on bricks, tongue sticky and dry and your teeth feeling like an awkward jumble in your mouth.

"Well, shit. Call the press. Respectable good girl wants to be my little cocksucker -"

"Fine, if you're going to make fun, I don't -"

"Woah, hold on, I'm fuckin' with you. I ain't gonna turn down shutting that pretty mouth up with my dick. Gotta do it more than one time though, sweetheart. You around tomorrow?"

Between jobs and your dad having a day off, it would be a few days before you could come back. Shaking your head, you offer up Thursday instead. It's only three days away. You can make it three more days. Right?

"Thursday works for me. Come by in the afternoon. I'll come in that mouth, and then I'll play with that pussy while I get worked up again," he says before adding, with a cock of his head, "Then I'll come in that too."

And you're dumbstruck - the fantasy you concocted in your own head far surpassed by Joel's own, seemingly thought up right on the spot as he maneuvers you out into the hallway.

"See you then, sweetheart."

He pushes you out of the door, fingers electrified where they touch your shoulder. You expect the door to snap shut behind you, like it has so many times before, but he follows you out into the hallway, locking the door behind him. With a wink, he stalks off down the corridor, legs carrying him out of the apartment block too quick for you to keep up.

Later that night, alone in bed and wondering how the hell you're going to last two more days like this, you rub yourself stupid to thoughts of Joel's cock in a mouth that isn't yours.

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr

[astars-things]

For the Jack Hughes x teenage daughter reader request, would you be comfortable doing reader going through her first break up and him getting upset that she never told him she was dating to begin with? you can chose the ending if you would like!

reader is 16

I looked at my phone and saw a text from my boyfriend, now ex, saying Sorry, I just don’t think this is working out. That was it. No explanation. No closure. I sat there on my bed curled up in a hoodie that was way too big for me, my cheeks damp from crying. My phone in my hand his last text still unread. I knew I should delete it, block him, do something to make it easier, but I couldn’t.

I had been dating Ryan for six months. Six months of secret dates, late-night FaceTime calls, and butterflies every time he smiled at me. And now it was over. Just like that.

I wiped my nose on my sleeve, exhaling shakily. I had been holding in the sobs for too long, trying to be quiet, but apparently, I wasn’t quiet enough.

A knock at my door.

“Y/N?” My dad’s voice was hesitant. “You okay?”

I sucked in a breath, forcing myself to sound normal. “Yeah, just tired.”

There was a pause, then the door creaked open anyway. My dad wasn’t the type to just walk away when he thought something was wrong. I turned my head away, but he wasn’t fooled. His eyes immediately softened when he saw my face.

“Hey…” He sat on the edge of my bed, his brows knitting together. “What happened?”

I shook my head, biting my lip. “It’s stupid.”

Jack Hughes, NHL superstar, my dad, was not easily convinced. He reached over, brushing a tear off my cheek with his thumb. “If it’s got you crying, it’s not stupid.”

I hesitated. The last thing I wanted was to get into this. But when I saw how genuinely worried he was, something inside me cracked. “Ryan broke up with me,” I whispered.

I felt him stiffen. “Ryan?”

Crap.

I winced, peeking up at him. His expression had completely changed—his jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowed, and his usual soft blue eyes hardened with something else.

“Who the hell is Ryan?”

I shrank under his stare. “Dad—”

He stood up, running a hand through his hair. “You were dating someone? Since when?”

My stomach twisted. I had dreaded this conversation. I knew he wouldn’t like it, which was exactly why I never told him. “A few months,” I admitted, my voice small.

He let out a humorless laugh. “A few months? Y/N, are you kidding me? You were dating some guy for months, and I didn’t even know?”

“I didn’t want you to freak out,” I mumbled.

“Well, guess what? I’m freaking out now.”

I flinched at the sharpness in his tone. He sighed immediately after, pressing his fingers to his temples. “Y/N…why didn’t you tell me?”

I sniffled, looking down at my lap. “Because I knew you’d be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Overprotective. Annoying. Acting like I’m still a little kid.”

Dad’s expression softened, but the frustration was still there. He crouched down in front of me, his voice gentler now. “Y/N, I’m your dad. It’s my job to be overprotective. I just—I thought we told each other stuff.”

That stung. Because we did. My dad and I had always been close, ever since I was little. But this was different.

“I didn’t want you to scare him off,” I admitted, wiping my nose. “Or treat me differently.”

He sighed, rubbing his face. “Okay. Okay.” He sat back on the bed, staring at the ceiling like he was processing this information. Then he glanced at me again. “So…Ryan. What happened?”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “He said, "Sorry, I just don’t think this is working out."

Dad frowned. “Then he’s an idiot.”

I let out a small, watery laugh. “That’s not helpful.”

“I mean it.” He shook his head. “Anyone who makes my daughter cry like this doesn’t deserve her.”

I felt the tears building again, but this time for a different reason. “I just…I really liked him, Dad.”

“I know, kid.” He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me into his side. “I hate that you’re hurting.”

I let myself lean into him, my head resting against his chest like I used to when I was younger. “It just sucks."

He kissed the top of my head. “Yeah, it does.” A beat passed.

“And next time some idiot tries to date you, I’m gonna need a full background check, a resume, and three references.”

I laughed, the first real one all day. “Not happening.”

Jack grinned, squeezing my shoulder. “It was worth a shot.”

[limerence-17]

leave the door open

based on: number 7.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

masterlist

warnings: 18+ mdni p in v (bc mentioned,) explicit language, oral sex (f receiving), fingering

word count: 1.6k

A/N: all characters are 18+ here. obx season 4 didn't have to make rafe this sexy but here we are and i hope u all enjoy <3 also psa yes i know kinktober is over but i feel kinky all year and what about it

i wasn't going to touch myself. in fact i wasn't even thinking about it, and yet here i was about to spend the night at my best friend sarah cameron's house and all i could think about was the way her older brother looked coming into the house after getting off his motorbike. the way his hair swayed as he ran his hands through it, and the way he grunted as he walked by us in the kitchen.

he didn't even make eye contact and yet i couldn't stop myself from staring right at him as he walked by.

but here i was laying in the guest room, in this giant house that i still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that my best friend lived in and all i could think about was god damn rafe cameron.

────── 〔✿〕──────

that night, it was rather warm out, but i was feeling tired, dazed perhaps. sarah had come into my room, told me john b wanted to see her which was predictable as usual and snuck out through the guest room window. she told me she'd be back by 7 am which meant i'd be spending the night on my own. i didn't mind it but it could get lonely.

the sun was setting, and i felt strange spending such a lovely summer evening inside getting ready for bed but i suppose that was alright considering i spent the entire day out and about.

i nustled my legs smoothly against the satin sheets. something about staying at the cameron's house always reminded me of staying in some nice hotel. everything just smelt clean, like oranges and fresh air.

my shorts rode up my ass slightly, but i paid hardly any notice to them. it was so hot out anyway. i turned over, glancing outside the window. it was quiet out, too quiet and yet my mind wandered back to rafe in the kitchen. his hair falling ever so slightly in front of his eyes, the way he smelt. like sea salt and expensive cologne.

i couldn't help but shift my body so that my back laid against the bed, slowly arching my back as my hand glided to my shorts, placing soft slow circles against my clit. slowly, but i applied more pressure the more i circled. i couldn't help but let out a moan and had to cover my. mouth as i continued on. i wanted to take off my shorts as i thought about rafe. his hands, his hair, god his hands.

"holy fuck...rafe..." i moaned out in a hushed whisper.

my eyes kept closed, but my fingers continued to roam beneath the sheets until i heard a creak that was louder than i would've thought. i stopped dead in my tracks, moving both of my hands up over the sheets pulling them up swiftly to my chin.

oh my god it was rafe cameron. standing there with his zip up sweater, and clean cut pants. but the way he looked at me, well i couldn't tell what he was thinking but his eyes were wide. very wide.

"shit i didn't mean-"

"swear to god i wasn't listening or anything," said rafe dumbly. he ran his right hand over his mouth, looking at the ground.

"whatever you think you saw or heard or whatever the fuck you didn't rafe!" i was too embarrassed to muster up anything else. i just held the covers high.

"hey it's no big deal seriously... i mean i jerked one off like six hours ago so like-"

"jesus rafe, i mean it! delete this from your mind or i swear to god i'll-"

"see the thing is i can't really delete that from my mind. you moaning my name and all..." rafe closed the door behind him and took a few steps towards the bed.

"oh fuck you heard that?" i was mortified. just mortified. what was wrong with me?

"now the thing is...you're my sister's best friend so so like... i mean that's kinda fucked up-you thinking about me while you touch yourself and shit," rafe said in a drawl, using his hands to express it. rafe was now sitting at the edge of the bed. his eyes were glancing around quickly, his thoughts clearly racing.

i lowered the sheets but made sure that they were still just above my chest. but holy fuck, i was soaking wet now.

"but hey it makes sense- the way you look at me, always thought it was in my head and shit but-"

"it's not." i interrupt him. the more he looks at me the more i just picture his tongue in my mouth and i'm starting to get needy, my legs are clenching together now.

rafe's eyebrows raised, and he froze for a moment. but then his hands slowly crept up the sheets grabbing my thigh. i gasped feeling his hand there. his eyes widened, watching my expression.

"this what you were thinking about, huh?" his hand crept up agonizingly slow. i couldn't get a word out. just stiffled moans until eventually the sheets were down below my chest.

i let out a longing sigh as i felt his sturdy hand cup my pussy, using his other hand to move the bedsheet off completely, exposing me completely.

he looked up, asking for approval as his hands slowly tugged at the hems of my shorts and i nodded quickly.

"yes rafe."

rafe obliged immediately, pulling my shorts down, i pulled my tank top over my head. my legs lifted in the air as he threw them onto the floor. he slowly separated my legs, ogling at my obviously wet cunt.

he used his middle and ring finger to slowly trace a line up against my folds and i gasped at the touch.

"god damn my sister's best friend is a little slut huh? you're wet as shit and that's all for me huh?"

all i could let out was an innocent "mhmm," since the feeling of his fingers tracing against my folds was driving me lust drunk.

"yeah... i'm gonna need to taste you...." he said, now crouching so that his head was between my thighs.

"wait rafe-" rafe stopped immediately, glancing up at me.

"take off your shirt."

rafe smirked, obliging as he pulled it over his head, and i felt my eyelids grow heavy from lust as i looked at his chest. jesus, he was ridiculously hot. my best friend's ridiculously hot older brother was about to eat me out.

this time, more aggressively he separated my thighs and before i could comprehend it his lips were against my pussy. his tongue moved up and down, circles against my clit. as if it was instinct, i gripped at the bedframe. but it didn't last long as he gripped my hips, pulling me in closer to him. my thighs tightened against his head and it felt insane. i'd never had someone eat me out like this. so hungrily and quickly. he was incredible.

"shit you taste fucking unreal-" he grunted and gasped before licking me once more.

rafe's tongue moved quickly but he pulled away, moving so that he was now on top of me. he made eye contact before inserting a finger into me and i gasped. it was only a few pumps, hard and fast before he pulled out.

"taste yourself-" he said and i obliged, sucking on his finger. rafe licked his teeth, letting out a low hum of a laugh as he watched.

"you are fucking wild-" he said. my hands reached towards his pants and he looked down and then back up at me.

"what- you wanna feel me too?"

"rafe i wanna feel all of you- i want you inside me."

that set him off and he quickly reached to his pants, pulling them down along with his briefs. he was hung, like way more than i ever would've imagined. and hard too.

"looks like i'm not the only one whose this turned on either huh?"

rafe let out a sarcastic laugh "ha...ha...."

he got on top once more, this time pinning my legs higher in the air.

"yeah fuck i need to see all of you when i fuck you," rafe commanded.

"you're on that girl pill or whatever it is right?" rafe asked. i let out a quiet snicker.

"birth control, rafe? yeah i am," i said running my hands through my hair.

rafe nodded quickly, obviously thankful since it was clear neither of us brought condoms.

he positioned himself so that his tip was directly against my folds and then slowly pushed himself into me. i gasped, immediately reaching my fingernails against his back.

rafe grunted as his pumps started slow, but eventually quickened up. he moved quickly, thrusting and grunting into me. i let out stifled moans and he clasped his hand over my mouth.

"hey...hey... you've gotta be more... quiet than that... holy....fuck" rafe moaned between thrusts.

his paced quickened, his strong arms now moving to my waist as he pulled me to the edge of the bed. he thrusted deafening quick and i clenched my fist placing it against my mouth in a stupid attempt to silence myself. he was too fucking good at this. too strong, too fast, too fucking hot.

"don't stop! rafe jesus i'm gonna cum!"

"shit... me fucking too..."

it only took a few more thrusts before i let out a stiffled sigh and rafe collapsed, falling on top of me. both of us sweating, exhaling and my hands running through his hair.

he pulled away, laying beside me. i turned over to meet his gaze, my hands still running through his hair. he looked back at me.

"alright round two-"

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

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

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

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.

Protests were being held outside government buildings, demanding reform and accountability. Your name became a rallying cry, a symbol of resilience and defiance.

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—raped by a mob with every object possible inserted and 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. “And it’s the accusation I’ve tried my whole life to outrun.”

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—the same people who looked at me and deemed me unworthy of respect. A liar to laugh at when I tried to tell someone to intervene. Someone who deserved every bit of pain they inflicted.”

Nanami’s eyes softened, guilt flickering across his face, but you didn’t want his pity. You wanted him to feel it—the weight of everything they were forcing you to relive. Your family had laughed at you, called you a liar, deemed you a prostitute at six by your own mother, or simply shrugged it off, blaming your attire while ignoring the perpetrator entirely.

Soon, more people around you began to realize how your family neglected you, and that one person became part of a long list of anyone your child brain trusted.

That word, ‘whore,’ encapsulated your entire trauma and PTSD, and now they were forcing you to relive it a hundred times over. You mourned the little girl who believed justice was possible. You used to foolishly dream that one day you’d bravely stand in court, point at them, and destroy them, but now, just seeing them in passing felt like a death sentence, let alone letting the world know. The statute of limitations had passed you by like it never even existed. You had sought therapy, but nothing could break the freeze response your body triggered every time. Those were the days you built walls so high that no one could climb them.

Gojo opened his mouth, but no words came out. His wit and charm crumbled under the weight of your gaze.

“Don’t,” you warned, your tone cold. “Don’t you dare tell me it’s not true. You didn’t live it. You didn’t grow up in a house where your screams were ignored, where your pain was a punchline. You didn’t have to learn to fight with every bone in your body just to keep from breaking.”

Nanami exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. “You should’ve told us,” he said finally, his voice quiet, almost pleading.

You shook your head. “And what would you have done? Held my hand? Told me it wasn’t my fault? That I shouldn’t let it define me like it never happened? That I am a survivor? It wouldn’t erase the nights I was left bleeding or the mornings I had to face the same people who swore they loved me while calling me a whore for being abused as a child.”

Gojo turned away, shoulders rigid, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He hated this—hated being confronted with something he couldn’t joke or blast his way out of.

“You think your anger fixes this?” you snapped, your voice rising. “It doesn’t. All it does is remind me why I’ve spent my whole life holding myself together after men like you—men who break fragile things.”

Nanami’s face crumpled, his stoicism replaced with raw guilt. “We’re not them,” he whispered.

You tilted your head, your expression unreadable. “Aren’t you? My babies will grow up with this easily accessible information about their mother on the internet, no matter what kind of image I try to present to them.”

Nanami gritted his teeth, fists tightening as if he wanted to punch something until it was pulp. Gojo looked at you hopefully. “I’ll fix this,” he spoke hoarsely, his tone serious. “I swear.”

But you didn’t want promises. You didn’t want an apology. You wanted them to understand that some pain wasn’t a wound—it was a part of you, etched into your bones.

“You can’t,” you said simply. “And that’s the problem.”

Gojo’s hands trembled as he stared at the shattered screen. "You should have trusted us," he said, his voice hollow, almost accusatory.

Your laugh was jagged, a broken sound. "Trust you? To do what? Scroll through my trauma like it’s entertainment? Smash a few more gadgets? Yell at the universe and call it a day?" You crossed your arms, daring them to argue. "You don’t get it. You’ll never get it."

Nanami stepped forward, his voice cracking. "We could’ve stopped it—"

"Stopped what?" you cut him off. "The hashtags? The photos? Or the years of fists and laughter and shame before I ever met you? Thank God I didn’t tell you anything if this is what I get in return.”

The room felt colder as your words hung in the air. "You think you’re heroes in this story? You’re not. You’re just the latest chapter."

Silence.

They couldn’t meet your gaze.

“You want to help?” you said finally, your voice like steel. “Stop making this about you. Stop pretending your guilt fixes anything. And stop acting like you can protect me from a world that’s been trying to destroy me since the day I was born.”

Nanami whispered an apology, his voice barely audible. Gojo didn’t even try.

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 forward, his elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair. His breath came uneven, a rhythm broken by thoughts he couldn’t quiet. Nanami stood frozen by the shattered iPad, his expression unreadable except for the tension in his jaw.

"She never told us," Gojo said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not once. And we never pushed, did we?"

Nanami’s gaze flickered to the dark TV screen, now speckled with shards of glass. "We thought we were respecting her privacy," he said hollowly. "But we weren’t. We were avoiding it."

Gojo’s laugh was humourless. "We didn’t want to deal with it. That’s the truth, isn’t it? We liked her being... mysterious. It was easier to pretend she didn’t come with baggage we couldn’t handle."

Nanami didn’t respond, but his silence was damning.

Gojo looked up, his six eyes dimmer than regular, like a light fading out. "Do you remember how she always flinched when someone raised their voice? Or how she desperately had to intervene when we argued?" His voice cracked on the last word, his throat dry and tight.

Nanami didn’t respond immediately, his hands tightening into fists so hard his nails left crescent-shaped marks in his palms. "I thought she just didn’t like us fighting," he said, his voice hollow, barely above a whisper. "But it wasn’t just a marital spat for her, was it? It was survival. She was defusing the way she must’ve done as a kid—because no one ever came for her when they turned to take their anger out on her." His breath hitched, and he clenched his jaw to steady himself, failing.

Gojo’s hand drifted to his forearm, fingers tracing absent patterns over faint scars only he could see. "She joked about how she hated hugs. I thought it was just her being quirky, but now..." His voice faltered, breaking into silence as he looked down at his lap, shoulders slumping forward. "Now I see it. She didn’t hate them. She just didn’t trust them. How could she, after..." He couldn’t finish the sentence, his throat closing around the words like a vice.

Nanami sank onto the couch beside him, his head in his hands, his broad shoulders trembling under the weight of his guilt. "She never let us meet her family. Not once. All there ever was, was Megumi’s mother. And we didn’t ask why. We didn’t want to know why. I thought we were giving her space." His fingers dug into his scalp as if he could rip the thoughts from his mind. "But I’m starting to see it now, Satoru. She wasn’t protecting them from us—she was protecting herself from having to relive it."

Gojo’s jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch like he was afraid he might collapse. "She told me once she didn’t believe in justice," he said, his voice lifeless. "I thought she was just being cynical." He laughed bitterly, a sound devoid of humour, harsh and raw. "But she wasn’t. She was speaking from experience. From years of being told to shut up, to stay silent. Laughed at." He pressed the heel of his hand against his temple, the pressure doing nothing to stop the storm in his head.

Nanami’s breath shuddered as he exhaled, his voice trembling. "We let her be strong because it suited us. We didn’t want to confront what made her that way." His gaze dropped to his wrist, his thumb brushing over the vein there. A small, dark thought flickered through his mind before he shook it away.

Gojo’s hands trembled as he stared at them, the weight of their failure crushing him. "She never asked us for anything. Not once. Didn’t even let us spend much money on her, not even on that fucking ring she keeps throwing away. And we called it independence, but it wasn’t, was it? It was self-preservation." His fingers curled into his palms, nails biting into his skin, leaving burning faint red marks.

Nanami’s voice cracked, and he didn’t bother to hide it. "We should’ve seen it," he said, his tone thick with anguish. "The way she avoided being alone with people, the way she always sat with her back to the wall in restaurants. How she flinched when people touched her shoulder." His hands trembled, his voice dropping to a whisper. "It was all there. And we didn’t see it because we didn’t want to."

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.

Nanami’s hands dropped to his sides, his knuckles white from gripping his knees too hard. "She’s strong because she had to be," he said, his tone barely holding together. "And we took that strength for granted. Then made her relive the trauma in a hundred times worse possible way." He closed his eyes, the thought of her suffering making his stomach churn. A single tear slid down his cheek, unnoticed.

Gojo’s fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. He welcomed the sting, the reminder of his own failures. “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 SanityPhilosophical 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 13 (alt ending 2.4) - Burn the Mother of Three (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

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

Taglist Open.

[gemglyph]

I’ll give you all some advice, but first let’s take a walk together through some of my life.

I have some family that was killed in the Holocaust. I did not learn this until recently, but in retrospect I probably should have known.

What I had learned (when I was “old enough” and it was therefore deemed okay to talk about) was that my ashkenazi family narrowly avoided being slaughtered in the Holocaust by escaping to the US before the US closed its borders to jewish refugees.

I have always known since I was little that some of my family are jews from Sicily. They avoided pogroms (jew hunts) by hiding that they’re jewish. This part of my family immigrated (probably actually fled) to the US prior to WWII (or WWI, my family bickers about this. We don’t have records, I guess).

In both instances, they have to hide who they are to protect themselves.

Life happens, jews persist, I’m born.

Elementary school, I’m told by my family I can’t talk about my home life at school. I’m singled out by my peers and bullied for being different. I move states. Go to an entirely different elementary school. I’m singled out and bullied for being different. Jewish. Kids know this word, I know this word, it’s the 2000s, people use jew as a slur. You know that they mean it that way. Because they say it like it’s wrong.

Middle school, I only fit in with the “weird kids”. I have maybe 5 friends.

One of my friends mom is obsessed with taking me to church if I were to attend a sleepover. When I stop spending time over there because she made me uncomfortable, two of my friends confess they’re only around me because they’re trying to convert me to catholicism.

I have 3 friends.

One of my friends say they can’t be around me because it gets them bullied for associating with a jew.

I have 2 friends.

One of my friends moves away.

I have 1 friend.

It takes me being in high school for two years before I actually make any new friends. Some online, some in person. I find a couple more people I connect with and call my friends. I don’t fit in with the rest of my classmates. I’m aggressively bullied by two different groups of classmates. Jew is still used as a slur. People yell “Heil Hitler” at me in the hallway. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve actually seen the Nazi salute in person.

Because “I look jewish enough, people can just tell. It’s a joke”.

Is it? Is it a joke?

2016. I just graduated highschool and I’m in my first week of my first semester of community college. I’m stalked to my car after night class and basically pinned between my car and a big truck. He grabbed my hair and hit my head against my car. This extremely tall man tells me he should beat me to death right now because I’m a disgusting jew. I believe he will.

I’m saved by a stranger who pulls up and makes the man uncomfortable enough that he leaves. In the large truck that had been parked next to me.

I had nothing on me that is “visibly jewish”. He followed me because I look jewish enough to torment. Because I am.

I hate myself for months because I froze. I start paranoia carrying concealed knives and pray I don’t have to use them. I obsess over learning self defense. I’m disabled and not sure I’d actually be able to protect myself. I learn anyway.

2017. I drop out of community college for a few different reasons. I’m stalked on social media. I delete a lot of my accounts.

I find a job. I’m harassed every shift for six months by a supervisor who said he was happy his family was Nazis in Germany. Among many, many other things. Such as gas chamber “jokes”. My manager tells me it was a joke and to not take it too seriously.

I was working at Starbucks.

2018. I’m told that my grandma dying is a good thing because there’s “one less jew in this world”. My grandma was buried in a grave at a local christian church that she attended most her life because that was the only community she had. We never said anything to anyone (it wasn’t safe). This was supposed to be a family friend. This is my grandma’s funeral.

Later I find out that someone stole the things we left at her grave.

2020. I’m working as a pharmacy technician. My coworkers find out I’m jewish and tell me “not to wear anything that could show that because the area isn’t safe” for me. Because I’m jewish.

I stay at this job for a year before returning to school.

2021. I don’t tell anyone, people guess because I “look jewish” and ask me based on appearance. I have found a more accepting community, but I don’t share much. I’ve learned better.

2022. I make it to University. I don’t talk much to classmates, but I make friends.

2023. I talk about religion with a friend at school, they find out I’m jewish. Some people start avoiding me after October. I have said nothing other than mentioning I’m jewish.

2024. I am told, to my face, by a college student, that jews control the United States government, the media, and Hollywood. Citing a major conspiracy theorist. When prompted to consider his sources, he tells me I’m only saying that because I’m jewish.

This list is not exhaustive, but it is exhausting. I’ve faced this shit my entire life and I’m not alone. My story isn’t unique.

It’s nearing the end of 2024. There has been a huge rise in antisemitism/bigotry over the past year. People are doing the same things they have always done. Tormenting jewish people, calling us slurs, telling us to kill ourselves. The list goes on.

The Nazis came for the jews first. Our neighbors turned on us. Other marginalized people we hoped we could rely on threw us out hoping to save themselves. Only for the Nazis to come for them.

First they came for us jews.

They will come for you.

Do something about it.

[forusomimiya]

hi love, so there is this *thirst* came to my mind and had to share with you obv if you are uncomfy with that you can just delete this ask

But osamu… osamu with beefy arms that can put reader on top of the counter of their house… he won’t do that in onigiri miya because it is more ‘violation of regulations’ etc. and he can just grind up to her.. yk bc he can reach there,, and he would spill filthy thoughts in her ear, maybe nibble on her neck, leave her hot and needy, then he’d just pretend he didn’t do it at all,, and continue what he was doing, just to see her blown irises, needy breaths and maybe even some begging too

Bc for sure osamu does love when reader begs for his attention

"Samu!" His beefy arms carry you in a jiffy to the kitchen counter, where he sits you down and spreads, without a hint of kindness, your legs to get between them, leaning over the edge of the marble, waiting for an explanation for something that even you can't explain. "What's wrong?" his eyes dive to your underwear and back to you.

Oh, right. You forgot you were home alone and opted to use your new outfit for the first time. You wanted it to be a surprise for Osamu but well, since he's already ruined it, what less than enjoy what may be to come.

"I like your new buy" his eyes roam over your skin, lingering on the blush beginning to grow on your cheeks, before studying your lips, separating to let the air escape. "I thought you'd wear it for a special occasion."

“Yeaah, umm…” not a stupid word you can spit out. So confident that you can take control of the situation, that when the man's body in front of you makes you shiver, you can only babble.

"Umm? Are you getting jumpy, kitty?" his calloused fingers caress your cheek, and as time passes, your heart beats faster. It makes no sense sticking to the wall to get space between both, ‘cause Osamu will drag you to the edge and have no shame in rubbing your crotch against yours. "You don't have to, babe. I'm just surprised you didn't welcome me properly."

You can't help but nibble on your lip as he impulses you to tilt his head to access your neck, staying there, just inches from your skin, just enough to make it bristle as he speaks into your ear.

"Don’t know whether to teach you a lesson or let you to ruin me" you gulp and think about how to reduce your heartbeat as your eyes point to his arms, focusing on his biceps, and how a thread of veins grows from his forearm and down to the back of his hand, which you don't know when or how it has reached your thigh. "I really miss being down here so much, between these soft thighs..." a small nibble on your neck startles you, giving Osamu what he wanted to hear: a howl and his name uttered in a whimper. He smiles as he watches you grind towards him indiscreetly. "You want me? Is that it?" you nod ashamed.

Both hands have flown to your waist to pull you closer to him, handling you so easily under his grip that you can't help but let yourself go, something he's no longer even surprised by, seeing how easily you melt at his dirty words sung in your ear. He lets you grind a little more next to him before put a delicate kiss on your shoulder and pulling away from you to go back to what he was doing, with a prominent erection under his pants. You open your eyes realising that your body is missing two large hands on your waist, a six foot tall muscular built man between your legs with his warm breath giving you goosebumps and leaving you on the verge of reach an orgasm without being touched.

"Wanna eat something?" he asks looking at you as if nothing has happened, as if you weren't still on the counter, gasping, burning with your eyes his fucking body and that fucking erection that makes you drool inside. Hundred of questions roam through your head, but you only want one answered.

"Are you gonna fuck me?" Osamu sets the rice packet aside and turns to you, arms crossed, watching as you still look for a little friction on the counter.

"You really want it?" you nod and, by the size of his pupils, you know that he would also do his best to fuck you right there, without worrying about rules because that's not Onigiri Miya and he doesn't have to worry about to not violating the rules of the shop for putting you against the table and fucking you hard for a while. "Well.. keep begging and maybe I'll give you what you want"

[sjsmith56]

Bucky Barnes, Deadpool and the TVA (or How I ended up inside the fourth wall)

Summary: A Bucky Barnes fanfiction writer finds herself in the same universe as the Thunderbolts* Bucky when she wakes up in his bed.

Length: 4.1 K

Characters: Unnamed and undescribed OFC, Bucky Barnes, Dr. Strange, Wong, B-15, variant of OFC, OMC (OFC’s husband)

Warnings: some sexual innuendo, naked horny Bucky, no smut (sorry)

Author notes: Just a silly story that I pulled from somewhere in my mind. The part about the OFC and her husband seeing the new Deadpool movie at a matinee was based on real life.

💻 🦾 🛵

The blank page stared at me.  It wasn't blank five minutes ago, but I read what I wrote, and didn't like it, so I deleted it and then I was looking at the page again.  We met before, you, the reader and me, the writer.  I sought help from the very reason I write, Bucky Barnes.  The writing gods first sent me World War II Bucky, a sweet flirty guy who was still interested in the stories I wrote.  The version that appeared to me was from before Azzano and before the train; that dreadful transport of death that changed his whole life in a moment.  Then they sent me the Winter Soldier, the dark brooding villain ... I know, he was more than that, but that was HYDRAs use of him.  He was their Fist, brutally carrying out assassinations on targets they assigned him.  Relentless and frightening in his attention to his task he was still a sight to see; that tall, dark-haired muscular menace and the way he strutted towards his target.  No hesitation, no regrets and totally the object of many fantasies.  I still got warm thinking about the ones I read about, never mind wrote.  On that day, it was Falcon and the Winter Soldier (FATWS) Bucky who came to my rescue.  It was him as he was portrayed at the end of the series, seemingly in a place where he felt at home in Delacroix, becoming part of Sam Wilson's family as their adopted uncle.  That Bucky sat with me, helped me through my writer's block, and even gave me an idea for a Black Widow smut piece that was a gift to my husband.  Before he left, he said he would always be there for me.  At the time, he probably meant it.  Then there was a disturbance in the Force.

Wrong franchise, I know, but how else to explain how things seemed to go a bit sideways?  There were the What If? episodes, that displayed Bucky as the sidekick to Captain Carter.  Those was okay, then he was more of the dark brooding long-hair version of Wakanda Bucky in a zombie wasteland.  At least we got to see a cartoon version of him in the shower, from the waist up.  Wasn't quite enough to quench the fandom's thirst for him but it was a start.  Don't even get me started on the Guardians of the Galaxy Christmas special where Nebula appeared with Bucky's vibranium arm, opening a whole can of worms over whether it was funny (not to me), cute (seriously stealing Bucky's arm is cute?) and canon (no, James Gunn, it wasn't canon to me).  Yes, I'm changing the tense in the middle of a paragraph by telling you to don't @ me if you're a believer in any of the three above.  To me, all three of those scenarios were just wrong.  I got emotional then and I still do.

I wrote since then, some AUs, lots of one shots as I explored that format, several short fiction pieces of less than 50,000 words, and a couple of long ones.  It was going well, then they brought out the Captain America 4 announcement that Bucky wouldn't be in it (what?) and the Thunderbolts* announcement that Sam Wilson wouldn't be in that (seriously?).  Why did they get us to invest our time and interest in a six-part series about these two men forging a deep friendship if they had no intention of continuing it in their movies?  The rumours about Bucky in this upcoming movie littered the pages of tumblr and Twitter (sorry / not sorry X); things like Bucky regressed mentally and emotionally, he and Sam had a falling out, he became a congressman, or he went to work for Val de Fontaine so that he didn't lose his pardon. 

Why would they do that to Bucky?  Let the man have a fucking life.  As you could see I got emotional about it.  On that particular day I decided to have a nap and clear my mind, then it all changed.

💤

"Hey, sweetheart."  I could hear the voice, then I felt a cold hand around my waist, reaching up under my T-shirt.  Jerking away and turning around I found myself in bed with Bucky Barnes, beefy Bucky, with the bad haircut shown in the leaked preview of the Thunderbolts*.   "There she is."

He had no shirt on, and I found it hard to look at him, then opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out.  I noticed the smirk on his face, which made me feel warm, like really warm, the way the writers of Bucky smut describe it; a warm pool forming in my core, between my thighs, deep in my ....  What happened to me?  Where was I?

"You okay, doll?  You have a nightmare?"  His hand cupped my jaw, as he rubbed his thumb on my cheek.

"You're Bucky," I said, still frozen in place, because let's face it, it's not everyday you find yourself in bed with your romantic fantasy.

"Last I checked," he answered, licking his lips then running his hand over the beard he grew since he was in FATWS.  "You're my wife."

I pulled away from him, aware that he might not have anything on at all.  He looked at me funny.

"You seem different.  Tell me you're not a multiverse version of you that's been dropped here."

"I don't know," I answered, pulling the sheet up to cover my front since I realized I wasn't wearing a bra, and my nipples were doing something that was a little disconcerting.  "Am I a writer?  Are we married?  Are you working for Val de Fontaine?"

He laughed, showing those beautiful white teeth, then he leaned close, gently pulling down the sheet and began to nuzzle my neck, making me feel all sorts of things.

"No, yes, and no," he answered.  "Come here."

I pulled away so far that I fell out of bed and sat there on the floor with him looking over the edge at me with a decidedly perturbed expression on his face.  With only panties on underneath that T-shirt I pulled on the sheet, so I was covered again.

"What's got into you?"

"What's my name, Bucky?"

"Sweetheart, sunshine, baby girl, darlin' and my personal favourite, doll."  He was resting his head on his hands, looking at me in a way that was definitely more friendly than I was comfortable with.

"Those aren't names, they're terms of endearment," I answered.  "I am married but not to you and you're supposed to be an Avenger, with Sam Wilson."

"Really, just who are you married to and what is your name?" he asked, in a flirting manner.  "Gotta say, sunshine, this role-playing thing could be fun."

I told him my husband's name and my name.  "I shouldn't be part of the multiverse because it's not real.  It's fiction."

He laughed, then saw I wasn't laughing and frowned.  Angry Bucky alert.  "You have to be from the multiverse.  If you're not, where's my wife?  Why do you look and sound like her?"

I raised my hands up.  "I don't know where she is.  I look like her because I write fanfiction of you, and I picture myself in the original female character's role.  She usually becomes your love interest.  But I had writer's block because Marvel has been messing around with your portrayal and not giving out much information of how they've changed your character.  It was bugging me, so I took a nap, then woke up next to you."

"Who's this Marvel guy?  Do you think he knows where my wife is?"

He didn't know about the fourth wall, was definitely angry and all I could think of was that he looked just as angry now as he did in that leaked Thunderbolts* footage.

"Marvel's not a guy, it's a corporation that owns the copyright to your character."  I winced as I explained it to him, knowing he wasn't liking it.  "You're not real, Bucky.  You're a fictional character from the comics and the movies they made from it.  But you know this already.  I've spoken to you in your World War II persona, your Winter Soldier persona and from when you and Sam fought the Flag Smashers.  That's called your FATWS era."

I started to explain what the letters meant but he just glared at me, so I stopped.  He pulled away from the edge of the bed and got out on the other side, naked, and I did stare, I'll admit it.  God, he had a nice ass and the rest of him from the back was... wow.  Then he turned to face me, and I looked everywhere but there. 

"Get dressed," he ordered.  "You're taking me to this Marvel place and I'm going to get my wife back."

"It's not as easy as that," I replied.  He stared at me, his arms crossed defiantly in front of him while he was still showing everything the serum gave him.  I focused on his face, but it was so hard ... not that, you know what I mean.  "If this is a multiverse incursion then there might not be a Marvel in this universe and even if there was it wouldn't be possible to just walk in there.  We have to find Dr. Strange.  He's the only one who can do anything."

"Fine," he said, "but you're still coming with me.  Now get dressed."

Holding the sheet around me I approached the walk-in closet, but he was still standing there, naked, in all of his glory and he smelled so good when I slid past him to see what was available for me to wear.  Then he was right behind me, practically pressing himself into me and I had to focus, wondering if I had ever written this much raw physical sexuality into my versions of Bucky but it was difficult to concentrate with him so close. 

"You having problems, baby girl?" he asked, his lips so close to my ear that I could feel his warm breath making me moist. 

"I don't know what to wear," I mumbled, still painfully aware of his naked body this close to me and I was really only separated from him by a sheet. 

"We're going on the motorcycle," he said.  "Jeans, T-shirts, and leather jackets."

"Right," I answered, hastily going through the sexy dresses, the long gowns with the thigh-high slits, the almost obscene lingerie, but there were no jeans or T-shirts.  "Um, where are they?"

"In the drawers," he grunted.  "Don't you have drawers in your universe?"

"Yes," I snapped.  "Could you stand further away from me?"

"What's the matter, darlin'? Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"This close to me while naked, yes."  I rolled my eyes, which he must have heard because he huffed, but he did move away, and I was able to get out of that small space.

Quickly, I located the drawer that had jeans and pulled them on.  They were tighter than anything I ever wore but somehow, I got them on.  The bra selection left a lot to be desired as most of it was see through and really didn't offer much support.  I must have made a noise while I was searching for something more modest because he was suddenly beside me.

"Having a problem, sweetheart?  Don't see anything you like?  My wife loves all the lingerie I buy for her."

"It's not my style," I answered.  "Doesn't she have something that covers more?"

"Sports bra," he answered.  "Bottom drawer."

I pulled it open, thankful to find an assortment of sports bras.  Pulling one out I started to take the T-shirt off that I woke up in then became aware of his eyes on me.  Turning around I was startled to see him reclining on the bed, propped up on one elbow, fully clothed, with his booted feet hanging off the bed.

"Do you mind?"

"No, I don't mind at all," he smirked.  "Don't let me stop you.  I've seen it all anyways."

"But you're married.  Wouldn't watching me get dressed make your wife angry?"

He grinned in an almost wolfish manner.  "We have an understanding."

"What?  The Bucky's I write are monogamous.  Are you polyamorous?"

The grin became a broad smile as he looked me up and down.  "If the occasion arises.  Gotta say I'm curious to see if you have the same appetites as my doll."

"Out!"  I wasn't in the mood for this.  "Right now.  Go downstairs and get your motorcycle ready."

Slowly, he slid off the bed, then approached me, backing me up to the dresser, while looking at me in a way that gave me thrills at the same time as setting off all sorts of warning bells in my head.

"You sure, sunshine?"  His fingertips grasped a tendril of my hair, as he twirled it slightly.  "I could definitely make you ...."

"Out," I repeated.  "Please stop this."

He backed up, suddenly respectful of my space.  "Since you said the magic word, I'll wait downstairs for you."

Just like that, he was gone, and I quickly got the sports bra on, then a clean T-shirt.  I pulled on some socks and found some boots, sliding them on.  With a quick run through of my hair with my fingers I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, wondering what I had done to get into this predicament.

He was waiting on his motorcycle for me, with a helmet in hand.  As I stood there, he placed it on my head, adjusting the chin strap then nodding his head in approval, before putting his on.  I slid on behind him, grasping him at the waist.  His voice came over a Bluetooth speaker in the helmet.

"You okay, darlin'?  Have you ridden a motorcycle before?"

"I'm good.  My husband has one and I've ridden with him.  Where are we going?"

"The Sanctum Sanctorum," he said.  "Might as well go straight to Dr. Strange."

Suddenly, we were there, pulling up to an open parking spot in front of the headquarters of the Masters of the Mythical Arts in the middle of Greenwich Village.  This was definitely a unique universe, as we skipped over the long motorcycle ride from Brooklyn, then the frustration of finding any sort of parking.  Striding over to the door, Bucky rang the bell, and we were ushered in by an acolyte to where Dr. Strange was drinking a cup of tea and Wong was standing there wringing his hands.  Before we could even say anything the two men looked at me, then at each other, then at Bucky.

"Where did you find her?" asked Wong.

That wolfish grin briefly appeared again on Bucky's face.  "In my bed.  Says she's not my wife, so where is she?"

"That is a good question," said Strange, placing his teacup on the table and approaching me, assessing me in a way that was a little disturbing.  "Well, this explains a lot.  You're from the real world, aren't you?  Beyond the fourth wall."

"Yes, I guess.  I'm a fanfiction writer and was taking a nap.  When I woke up it was next to him."  I pointed at Bucky.  "The thing is, he's nothing like the Bucky Barnes character that I write about."

"What's different about him?" Strange's one eyebrow was higher than the other.  It was one thing seeing it in the movies but another thing seeing it in person.  "Is there a problem with my face?"

"No, no.  The biggest difference is that the Bucky's I write are monogamous and this one is polyamorous."

"And?  That's a problem?"

I became aware that I was in the middle of all three men, and they were looking at me as if I were lunch, served on a platter just for them.

"Stop!" I barked.  "Yeah, it's a problem, okay?  Is this a polyamorous universe?  Because I'm not!  I'm married to one man, and I want to go back to him.  Please, you must find a way to get me back to where I belong."

Wong backed away from me first.  "She's right.  Consent is still required in this universe.  Plus, with her being from beyond the fourth wall we could really hurt her.  She's actual flesh and blood ... we're fictional characters."

Dr. Strange backed away, returning to his cup of tea.  Bucky, well, he just sprawled on a couch as if he had always lived there.

"Tell me about what you were doing before you slept," said Strange.

I told him about the physical changes to Bucky's appearance based on the leaked preview of Thunderbolts* and how the fandom was worrying about his portrayal, and the fact that after a six part series of him and Sam becoming friends Marvel just casually split them apart into two different movies as if the other didn't even exist. 

"You care about him," said Strange, his voice neutral.  "You want him to be happy."

"Well, yeah," I replied.  "The man lost everything that mattered to him and was tortured for 70 years, experimented on, and forced to become a killer for a gang of authoritarian thugs.  My thing, my contribution to fanfiction is that Bucky gets a happy ending."

"Sweetheart, I have that," said the super soldier, from where he sat on the couch.  "I admit that I am fucked up, but my wife makes me happy and her interest in our extramarital activities is the same as mine.  Yet, you treat me like I'm some sort of deviant."

"No, it's not that."  I sighed.  "Other writers see you in this way and that's fine; that's their thing and lots of people read them and enjoy them but I guess I just like you better when you're monogamous, kind and gentle.  To someone like me, this version of you is a bit scary and overwhelming."

"That's fair," he murmured.  "You look like my wife.  Does your husband look like me?"

"No, not at all," I smiled.  "He's shorter, balding, not as fit.  But he loves me and he's faithful, kind, and gentle.  He beta reads my stories, and I even wrote a Black Widow smut piece just for him.  I think he imagines me as his Black Widow sometimes."

Bucky grinned, then nodded his head approvingly. 

"Do they break the fourth wall in this Thunderbolts* movie?" asked Wong.

"I don't know.  It hasn't come out yet and there's been very few previews of it.  I think the only Marvel character that breaks the fourth wall is Deadpool.  His movie with Wolverine just came out recently and is making a ton of money."

Both Dr. Strange and Wong perked up.  "Deadpool?  As in Wade Wilson?"

I nodded.  "Yeah, he's fully aware in the movies and comic books that he's fictional.  He often breaks the fourth wall."

My voice tapered off.  Was I here because of Deadpool?

"Sunshine, have you seen the movie?" Bucky was also sitting upright.

I nodded my head.  "My husband and I went to see the matinee just a few days ago."

A green glow emanated from the time stone as Dr. Strange went to wherever he went when he activated it.  Wong watched him carefully as did Bucky.  Then the Supreme Sorcerer stopped his permutations and gazed at me.

"The Time Variance Authority are in this movie," he stated.  "I have a feeling they're involved in this.  But why they would take someone from the real world and place them here is a mystery to me."

Suddenly a TVA portal opened in front of us, and B-15 walked out followed by me, at least a version of me, wearing only a T-shirt and panties.  Bucky jumped up from the couch.

"Doll? Is it you?"

"Oh Daddy, I was so afraid," she cried, as he wrapped his arms around her.  "I woke up in a cell and didn't know how I got there, and ...."  She noticed me.  "She's me."

"I'm sorry," said B-15, looking at me.  "A terrible mistake was made.  Beyond the fourth wall is usually forbidden to our hunters but when you went to see the Deadpool movie your presence was noticed in the theatre with your Bucky variant."

"Wait, my husband is a Bucky variant?"

The leader of the TVA smiled.  "Well, yes.  It's why you write Bucky Barnes fanfiction.  You see him as Bucky and yourself as the original female character.  You don't have to look alike to be a variant.  It's just that you're kind of the model for the OFC in your own universe where you draw your inspiration from.  It's supposed to be a private universe and off limits to the TVA.  Unfortunately, one of our hunters didn't understand that.  He removed Mrs. Barnes here as an illegal variant and installed you as the original in this universe.  He has been sent for judgement and won't be in a position to do that again.  We are also making sure all of our hunters are aware that the Bucky Barnes fanfiction that you write and read in your own private universe is just that, private, at least to us."

"So how do we get this Mrs. Barnes back to her universe beyond the fourth wall?" asked Dr. Strange.  "I have the feeling it's beyond my capabilities."

B-15 smiled at him.  "It is but not beyond mine.  As soon as she's ready to go I'll open a portal back to her universe."

It sounded simple and like many movies, a little bit of a quick fix, but I wanted to go back so I wasn't going to question it.  Wong smiled at me.

"Good luck on the next one shot," he said.

I nodded at him, then Dr. Strange looked at me in that superior way he sometimes had.  "I knew there would be a logical solution."

"Right."

Bucky was next, his wife already wearing his leather jacket.

"Oh, this is yours," I said, starting to take the one I had off. 

"Keep it sweetheart, as a souvenir," he smirked.  "Say hi to your husband for me.  Tell me something.  The lady there said something about the fiction you read.  Does that mean you do read the polyamorous stuff, since you ended up in my bed?"

I sighed as I hated being put in a position of agreeing.  "Every so often one captures my eye," I admitted.  "Doesn't mean it's something I'm interested in trying."

"If you say so."  He glanced at his wife with affection.  "You came through for me.  I appreciate it."

I looked at B-15.  "I'm ready."

She nodded at the others, then punched a few buttons on her TemPad.  A portal opened and I walked through it, then felt the touch of my husband's hand on my shoulder as I was still on top of the bed.

"Honey?  Wake up."

I sat up, saw my husband, and felt a rush of affection for him.

"Sorry, I took a nap, and I guess I was more tired than what I thought."

"No worries," he smiled.  "Um, did you go shopping today?  Is that a new jacket and jeans and boots?"

I was still in the other Mrs. Barnes' clothing.

"Yes?" I answered, tentatively.

He smiled and nodded his head appreciatively.  "I like them.  Makes you look hot.  You should wear stuff like that more often."  Offering me his hand, he helped me up.  "What do you think of taking a ride on the bike and going to a diner for dinner?  My treat."

"Sounds like a plan," I answered.  "Just let me freshen up a little."

When I got outside my husband was already waiting on his Vespa.  I know what you're thinking ... a Vespa is not a motorcycle.  Maybe not in the traditional sense but it is what we have and it's a lot of fun.  I still get to wrap my arms around my husband's waist and maybe he doesn't have a hard body like Bucky Barnes, but he's all mine and I don't have to share him with anyone.  Besides, now that I know he's a Bucky variant I understand how he knows what I like between the sheets, if you get what I mean.  When I do write smut, I'm writing about my Bucky, the one I live with in this universe, beyond the fourth wall.

One Shots Masterlist

Please support the author by reblogging.

[corkinavoid]

Fiance to a Star News

I have given up on trying to force myself to keep working on it. But, hold on, it doesn't mean I'm abandoning it.

I'm looking for a beta/editor/co-author, I'm really not sure what to call it. Let me explain this a bit.

[Update: help found! Thank you!]

I've written that fic in its entirety almost six months ago, in my native language. Then, when I decided to post it, I ran it all through Google Translate. Which is great at translating things word for word in their literal meaning, but not great for sentence structure, idioms, and some minor grammar mishaps. So, since I've posted the first chapter, I've been tideously going through every sentence and either correcting or rewriting it while keeping the meaning.

I am now in the middle of chapter four, and I'm officially so done with it that I'm starting to think about just deleting it all. Which would be a great waste since I do still love that fic.

So I'm looking for someone to help me out here.

More explanations and stuff under the cut.

Let me first show you what I mean by helping me out:

Example of what the text is now:

Tim is silent for a while. The prospects are clearly not rosy, and he, to be honest, doesn’t really understand what to do next. Until now, all he had thought about was how to get out of here, so now that that possibility was gone, he just...

While it is understandable enough, it is not exactly good sentence-structure and grammar wise. Also, it's as plain as white bread.

Example of what the text should (to my best abilities) look like:

Tim pauses, taken aback. The situation does not look very promising, and, if he is being honest, he has no idea of what to do now. Until this moment, all he had thought about was how to get out of the woods. But now that it was not happening and the last chances of escape have all slipped through his fingers, he just...

You see what I mean?

It's extra confusing for myself since when I see the unedited text, my brain automatically reads it in another language and making myself switch manually is draining as fuck, and I'm at my limit.

There's also the issue of some names that translated wrong/did not translate properly/translated as a wrong word. For example, the head of the Academy would be called Headmaster in English, but it translated to Director, or the fact Google Translate keeps translating Sam's pronouns to he/him for some unknown reason, and many more little details.

So I desperately need help.

Perks: co-authoring, access to all the chapters, naturally, as well as all the random notes, pieces of lore that I have, but that have not made it into the fic, any question regarding the fic answered, random thoughts, permission to rewrite literally anything how you see fit (while keeping the general line of plot). Is it co-authoring or adoption at this point? I have no idea, really, but whatever you prefer.

If you're interested, just message me for any other details <3

P.S. Please understand that there are 10 (maybe 9.5) chapters to be edited. And also that I will be giving you a sort of test piece of text to try it out. If, at any point later, you decide it's not your cup of tea anymore, that's totally fine, I'll understand. I just really, really want to post this fic, but I don't want to throw the plain unedited version there.

Thanks in advance!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA - me and my bestfriend (bsf) of six years recently got into a 2 week long argument and at this point have stopped talking. First i need to provide some back ground of the situation. Last November i became friends with “J”. This itself caused some arguments because they have similar names and sometimes i’d slip and call bsf, J, on accident and would immediately apologize. After a couple times of this happening she got really upset but i explained i’d been doing the same to J and she seemed to be less upset about it.

In the beginning of January, J and her bestfriend “E” got into some pretty serious drama where information from both sides never matched up but i’d known and used to be friends with E for a while. He is not a great guy speaking from past experience. (he constantly talks about how he’s a narcissist very proudly) He was claiming they had slept together and was telling all of his friends about it. She was saying they hadn’t. These rumors had been going around for months about them but had died down until this. the problem is i believed J but bsf was close with E and sided with him. I’d like to make a note through this entire situation neither me or bsf played any roll in it to my knowledge. this was just between E and J. Later on i found out they had slept together from J and asked why she had said they hadnt she said it was an agreement between the two of them that they wouldn’t say anything to anyone else because of the rumors people were already spreading about them being together. But once she found out it was definitely him telling people this time she told me the truth. yeah they had slept together then he forced her to take a plan B even though he knew she was on birth control and they’d used a condom. then ghosted her and pretended not to know her when asked by Js twins sisters best-friend.

Now it’s about 3 weeks ago where i posted two separate story’s saying how much i loved J and her sister and the other about how much i love bsf. about 10 minutes later bsf texted me “just delete this.” i of course asked why but she never responded so i took it down like she asked. later that day she reply’s to a text i had sent her the day before saying “nothing much just wishing i was hanging out with you” she replied “right.” at this point i’m genuinely confused what’s happening i had a feeling it was about J somehow because every time i posted about J it would be the one thing she didn’t like or comment on and she would get annoyed when i’d mention some thing me and J had done recently. i immediately replied with “of course, i love hanging out with you. your my best friend” A couple hours later she send me a three paragraph message saying how she didn’t think that anymore because i was ignoring everything she was telling me about what E was saying. That i was only taking J’s side and always talking about what J was saying about her side. She said I was using her as a separate option that if J couldn’t hang out i would call her. etc at the end of the message she told me she would never make me choose but that she will never trust anything J says. (they’ve literally never met or talked the only thing she hears about J is through E or me) she ends it with do whatever you want to do but don’t do anything for me. keep being friends with her idk i’m keeping my distance from all that. I replied with a message basically saying that she wasn’t the second option, i wasn’t sure who to trust, and that i try to avoid talking about the situation with J. we go back and forth with her apologizing for how she’s acting then getting mad about me not just believing her over everything else i’m being told. Then she tried to claim she never said J was wrong but that she knows she’s lied to me (the thing i mentioned in the first paragraph is the only time she’s lied to me) that she never picked a side and that she can’t believe how hurt she feels when “i’m supposed to be her bestfriend” i brought up the fact that i had asked her more than once if me being friends with her bothered her and she always said no. That this wouldn’t have exploded like this if we could have talked it out before. she took that as me saying this was all her fault.

A couple days later she messages me asking to talk in person i say when and where but she just send me a message about her feelings anyways again apologizing for how she’s acting and that she felt i wasn’t listening to her but it hurt more to lose me etc but continuing to say she doesn’t think i should be friends with J but it’s my choice. I reply i was listening but i think we were both just trying to find the facts in a situation we will never really know who was lying 100%. but i made a point in the massage to say i wasn’t going to stop being friends with J and that i didn’t understand why me and bsf relationship was so affected by me and J’s. She gets mad again bringing up a hate account that was made claiming J had made it but J had shown me that she hadn’t and it was investigated by our school who also said she didn’t do it. that it was my choice to be friends with her but that i don’t understand how it’s affecting her and that it wasn’t fair. at this point i was really mad because it really felt like she was trying to force me to choose between them two in a way. i replied saying she hadn’t made the account and said i don’t think J is the reason we stopped talking and that i feel like she was making me choose even though she was saying she wasn’t. she then replied saying she didn’t make me choose but that i had chose J over her and “that i guess you though she needed more attention” (yeah maybe because J is not mentally handling this well at all and your fine because your not actually involved with this drama) i didn’t reply to her but about another week later i texted her “i just want to be friends with both of you. why can’t i do that” she replied i understand but i don’t think you should be friends with she’s not a good person but hope your having fun it’s all i wanted for you. that’s the end of the messages at this point.

TLDR : (do we do those here??) bestfriend of three years stopped talking to me because i became friends with another girl who later got into drama with best friends close friend E (A PROUDLY SELF PROCLAIMED NARCISSIST I MIGHT ADD)

What are these acronyms?

[axel-skz]

Love untold

Part 1

A/N: I honestly have no clue how to write a part 2 for the bang chan fic. I’m gonna yolo it and see what happens ||| Ok so… I’m sorry… to everyone’s soul. I’m probably about to crush it a little. Now, I did the song shuffle and I got *drumrolllllssss* 24 TO 25!!! Love that honestly ||| I did try to proof read it but I’m also blind so mistakes will have been made.

Summary: You finally give Chan a chance. All he has to do, is be there on time and fix it.

You had spent about 2 weeks at your best friends house. It had been an emotional nightmare for you. You loved chan so much and this was the longest you had gone without talking to him.

It made you appreciate even the tiny moments with him so much.

All that being said though… it still wasn’t right the way you were being treated. You deserved so much better then that and if you didn’t stand up for yourself, who would.

You had started to feel worthless and so incredibly alone. It was the worst kind of loneliness, one where even surrounded by a group of people who were there because they loved you, you felt nothing.

Taking this time had made you go out again and talk to your loved ones more. Like you used to and you fell in love with the world all over again.

You wouldn’t have if your best friend hadn’t let you sulk more then 2 days.

You felt ready now to turn on your phone and face him.

This felt like the biggest miracle of all, you hadn’t used your phone in over two weeks. You hadn’t logged into any socials on any other devices. You were in disbelief as you powered the phone back on.

As soon as it turned on, all the texts from chan and the kids came through.

There were so many texts. You felt bad scrolling through them all. It ranged from chan apologising to you to the kids teling you about how miserable chan had been without you. You didn’t know who to reply to first so you set down your phone and took a deep breath.

If this gets overwhelming, I’m allowed to stop. I can do whatever makes me feel comfortable and I owe nothing to anyone.

It made you feel better to have a little mantra. Your best friend had suggested it to you.

You decided to text chan. You felt ready to do it. You started the text but then deleted it, this went on for another 5 minutes. You were stumped. You also had this feeling of terror in your gut that maybe this would go wrong somehow. That you could lose him forever.

You took another breath and started writing.

Chan, I’ve taken a while to settle myself and I think I’m ready to meet…

You had to take another moment to calm your anxiety. You told him where to meet and at what time. You would only wait 10 minutes and no more. You finished off the message confirming that he would be able to meet you at that time.

You didn’t have to wait long before you got a reply.

Y/N! I’m so glad you’re ok and I’m so so sorry that I made you feel that way. I would never hurt you on purpose and if I wasn’t so stupid, I would have realised what I was doing. The time and the place is fine. I will do anything to fix this. I love you and I’ll see you then. All I ask… is that you have faith in me. One more time.

The entire river of tears started to flow again as you read the text over and over. You mentally prepared yourself to meet him.

Two days later…

You sat in the cafe with the final bit of hope you had left. You werent going to let it go but that all depended on Chan and what he was planning on doing. The last 2 days had gone so agonisingly slow, you felt like you were in detention. Staring at a clock with no control over when this hell would end.

Three minutes late…

You had also made sure not to turn up early like you usually did when you wanted to meet people. If he was early, you wouldn’t have to wait… but he wasn’t. You didn’t lose any hope though because he still had time. You wanted this for him so badly. For you… so badly…

Six minutes late…

It made it harder the more you looked around. Your eyes flitting through the faces outside all the windows, hoping for the only familiar one.

Why does this place have so many god damn windows?!

You felt someone tap your shoulder and your soul left your body. When you finally came to your senses a second later, you turned to see Chan.

You froze. Unable to move. Your eyes took him in, you could see the dark circles and the eyebags. He looked horrible. You were struck with a bit of guilt.

No, this is not your fault. How many nights of sleep did you sacrifice waiting for him? Get a hold of yourself.

The cafe was very crowded so you couldn’t hear him say, ‘hi’. He grabbed your hand gently and gestured to take you outside. You got up and followed him.

It felt too good to be holding his hand right now. Way too good. Like, give in to all of your inhibitions and ignore all logic good. So as soon as you were outside, you pulled your hand away.

A look of concern crossed his face as he quickly turned around, thinking you got pulled away by accident in a crowd. Then it was hurt because he realised you were right there and had pulled your hand away on your own accord.

He lead the way to the park across the street and you guys found a bench to sit on. Sadly, that bench was covered in bird shizzle so you had to keep walking another 10 minutes before getting to another bench. It could not be more awkward and you cursed the park for not having enough benches.

You guys sat down and continued the awkward behaviour by looking around. You didn’t know what to say to each other and you didn’t know what the outcome for today could be. There was too much pressure.

Chan made the first move to get a conversation started, ‘how have you been? You feeling ok? Eating and drinking well?’

‘Yeah, I dont feel as… bad as I did before… everythings fine… you look like you haven’t been sleeping…’

‘It’s nothing out of the ordinary so it’s not like it’s unusual…’

‘Less sleep then before though?.’

‘I dont have the only thing that helps me sleep,’ he scratched his neck.

‘I hope you get it back…’ you looked straight ahead and not at him. It hurt too much to look at him.

‘Me too. I can’t believe how incredibly clueless I’ve been. How I could do that to you constantly and not even realise.’

‘What are you thinking happens now?’ You finally turned to look at him.

He took a good moment to look into your eyes and scan your face before he said, ‘I want to say that I’ll try… my absolute hardest… I just don’t know what I’ll do if that isn’t good enough either… I’m being stretched so thin with everything.’

‘You are a dad to seven. Can’t blame you for having a hard time,’ you chuckled as you tried to empathise.

‘The last thing I wanted to do today was break up but right now, sitting here and looking at you… I dont want to make another promise I won’t be able to keep. I love you too much to do that to you. To put you through that again,’ he was trying to hold back tears. You could tell.

‘I don’t want to do that either…’ you said in a hushed tone.

‘We’ll still be friends. Id never leave you and we still talk about anything and everything. I just can’t ask for you to wait for me to be in a place where I can start dating again,’ this hurt your heart. This wasn’t even an option in your mind.

‘I’m willing to wait. I know you’re it for me… I cant picture a life without you,’ the idea of him not being there at any of your important milestones had always been non existent in your mind.

‘But it isn’t fair. That will still hurt you just like before. Having to wait for me. I dont know how long that could take. We could be in that wierd limbo for years.’

You didn’t know what else you could say….‘this isnt fair. Nothing is fair.’

He looked at you through tears as he moved to hug you. ‘I know, my love.’

You guys sat there for a while, hugging each other and not saying anything. It hurt like hell already and any words would only make this worse. As it got colder and the sunlight started to dim, you guys knew what you had to do.

‘We’re still going to be best friends right?’ You said as you moved to stand up.

‘I wouldn’t want anyone else,’ he replied honestly as he followed.

‘I should go… before I say things I shouldn’t.’

Chan gave a dry laugh, ‘same here.’

You kept staring at each other and not moving.

You let out a sad chuckle, ‘one of us should probably…’

‘yeah…’ he was looking at you with unmoving eyes.

‘both of us turn around at the same time when I get to three. Sound good?’

‘Yeah,’ he agreed

‘one…’

You both couldn’t take your eyes off wach other and slowly moved closer.

‘…two…’ you said a little quietly.

You guys were extremely close. Noses almost touching and you could feel his breath.

‘…three…’ a whisper.

He kissed you. You couldn’t pull away and you were there for god knows how long before you pulled away.

Chan looked you in the eyes ‘no.’

‘What?’ You felt a little panic. What? He didn’t want to be friends anymore either? Was this a stupid mistake? He kissed you. This can’t be your fault.

‘No, I’m not leaving you. No way, I just can’t. We have to figure this out. There has to be some way.’

‘You will have to work even harder, you know?’

‘Yeah. But if you’re willing to do it, I will. No trying, I’ll just do it. If there was ever a time to give my all to something, it would be now.’

You hugged him so quickly, with so much excitement. ‘THE AMOUNT OF CRYING I’M DOING TODAY! OH MY GOD!’

He hugged you back, tightly. ‘bro same.’

‘Did you just bro zone me after everything we’ve been through?’

This got a silent laugh from him, ‘hh, hush now little one.’

‘You say shit like that and wonder why everyone calls you old.’

There, as the sun set, you stayed. You don’t remember exactly how long and it was very cold. But that hug was the warmest you had gotten for a very long time. You felt like everything was going to be ok.

So many things were left unsaid and so many problems would have to be fixed later. It was definitely going to be hard, but it was more then worth it.

Taglist (can you call it a list if it’s just one person 💀):

@q1sng

THIS ISNT A LITERARY MASTERPIECE but I hope it was still a good enough read :) Thank you for wasting some time with me.

Also, take your guess at who the best friend should be. Ive got someone in mind but I wanna know if you thought of an idol or your real besties 👯‍♀️

Like, reblog and leave comments about anything and everything ;)

[plantoyoon]

New experiences. part 1

I am writing this because I'm actively thinking about it and writing it seems like it would help to get it out of the depths of my brain. (I think I mostly wrote it in second person, haven't proofread it, I don't know how much sense it makes)

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Synopsis: You need someone to help you with your needs

Genre/Tags: First time meeting, Friends with benefits, maybe soul bound

Mostly inside talks, then some fluff, not much action though... it will follow soon

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

This is the most stupid thing you’ve ever done! An improper way to say hello, but if you're actively thinking about me in your goblin ways, please stop! Message sent.

Voice 1: Why have I done this? Should I delete the message? I still have time... but I'm sure he already saw it. Why isn't there an answer? Am I being that insane?

Voice 2: Well, probably yeah... because you just sent a text to a dude you stopped talking to more than a month ago. In a kind of crazy way. Let's cover it up for a bit, shall we? So I know that in those periods of talking or not talking, he told you that every time you texted him, he was always thinking intensely of you. Given the kind of relationship you had and the person he was, it was smutty thinking. I might sound like I'm actively judging, but it was the same for you. Texting him when you were so close to touching yourself or after, depending on how needy you felt that day. Therefore, my insane message!

Alright, he's typing... Typing... still typing...

You're a nervous wreck at this point, still uncertain if you should delete your message. That would be even more insane now!

"Hi! Maybe I am. Would that be so wrong?" came the answer, dry and flirty. As he usually does, but the lack of honesty bleeds through... he would usually write more, not be that mysterious.

"Not wrong, but..." In your usual style, you overthink what to write next. Should you say: "Yes, stop! I need to work, not think about you," or "I miss your hugs and you," or "I am a dumb thing who needs to get her shit together. Sorry for writing!" But you don't. Your fingers go flirtatious and say, "Not wrong, but I know you could do better than just manifest me into your couch."

"What do you mean?" The conversation feels strained, but you go further in your stupidity and inquire, "Text, ask, and receive." Wow, so bold! You clearly don't recognize yourself; it's like you never left being his go-to friend with benefits for six months.

Looking at the messages, your mind starts thundering with anxieties. Did he get a girlfriend? Is he upset? Does he hate you? Does he think you're so lame for texting him like this after the last time he refused your meeting request? You wisely put your phone down, put on some music, and close your eyes, trying to ground yourself for a moment... Why did "Drowning" start playing? The universe is aligned with your personal saboteur.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You drowned in a similar moment in your life, having the same urges and desire for connection. It was hot outside, the AC being your only hope, but it was an old one... so there was still a need to lay like a starfish on the bed to properly cool off. But your life was another thing—working part-time, doing this and that, and just focusing on your health, hobbies, doing some sports, painting... you know, trying to enjoy life.

According to your friends, you lacked a boyfriend. You denied it strongly until recently, when all those couples' activities started to creep onto your wish list. The fact that all the novels you were reading also contained a relationship here and there put even more pressure on you.

But as much as you'd like to stick to the novelty of it all, the reality was simple. You were horny, and your hands and toys couldn't keep up with your appetite anymore. So you did what every girl not in her right mind does... went to dating apps.

You said to yourself: We're just doing some friends with benefits, not a relationship, so we can be as picky with looks as we want.

So you set up your account and started swiping. Lots of lefts, until someone caught your eye... Dark hair, fair skin, an artistic pose, and another one in the mirror with a camera pointed towards it, where his hands seemed like the main attraction. Long and elegant fingers, yet strong with prominent knuckles. Have you ever had a thing for hands? you ask yourself.

Swipe right and matched. Oh, that was fast, considering you made the account less than half an hour ago.

You try with a bit of conversation so you wouldn't be the direct asshole you usually are. You had prior experience with dating apps, so you expected the conversation to drift quickly to the action part. But this time it didn't. The conversation was quite smooth and cute, getting to know each other, talking about photography. As enjoyable as the conversation was, you had a purpose, so for the first time, it was you who moved the talk to meet and fuck.

Always a smooth talker, but this was your moment as a weird robot who suddenly had needs and needed to focus on her purpose. After a few hours, you managed to have him at your door, inviting him in and playing the part where you present your house with him complimenting the size of your apartment.

He is cute, you thought. Longer dark hair, dark eyes, whose emotions played between curiosity and reservation, and dark clothes. You definitely need some wine to gain your confidence in this situation.

"Wine?" you ask, at which he confirms while checking out what was running on TV. It was a Star Wars series that you've been watching recently. You've kept it running in the background for some months until now, so you kind of forgot to change it to some music or something more appealing. The atmosphere between you two was a bit strange, not knowing what to say, what to talk about. He seemed uncomfortable. You cringe for a moment, but who would have thought that Star Wars was your saving point because the awkwardness disappears as he starts to talk enthusiastically about watching that as a teenager, his memories around it, and the impact it had on the world. Of course, he enjoys Star Wars; now it feels less intimidating.

The conversation runs smoothly and a few hours go by unnoticed, laughing, talking about random aspects of films and how life correlates to them. It felt nice and natural to talk to him, sharing quirky thoughts together and even throwing some jinxes in there. At this point, even though you were still horny, you would have been happy with this night. You notice the wine left in the bottle, so you pour all the remaining content into the glasses and drink it. You feel how this last sip got you more dizzy, and you feel more comfortable with the silence and just look in his eyes with intent. He reflects the lust simply and surely, getting closer to you, placing both hands on your hips, closing the distance between you two while slowly pecking your lips. He feels smooth, his lips perfectly matched over yours. His perfect hands start to move on your body, his fingers pressing harder into your skin. He takes a breath to look at you with big eyes for a second then crashes his lips against yours, his tongue licking your lips eagerly and you grant access, slowly feeling out of breath and dizzy of desire.

The way his tongue dances with yours feels completely like him, balancing between assertiveness and shyness, between wanting to engulf you and protect you. You're having so many emotions in this moment, that it's starts to creep on you that you just met today. I think he senses something is clouding your mind, slowly pulling away from the kiss to look at you, caress your hair with one hand and cup your cheek with the other. The look of understanding he gives to you, brings so much reassurance and makes you take the lead in the following kiss.

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[writingriver001]

Due to technical issues (I can't use Tumblr properly) I accidentally posted my draft earlier, panicked and deleted it after crying. So I don't have the actual ask to respond to, but I screenshotted it.

Whoever requested this I'm in love with you thank you. I love last legacy requests, especially with my bbg Felix (l'm so normal abt him.) I don't think I wrote him very well, but I don't know how he'd really react in a break up. I don't like to think about it because he's already lost Rime.

Anyway, I couldn't figure out exactly what to do.. So l'm doing a couple of mini scenarios for different situations in which they might break up.

Also, I do want to apologize. I have a six or crows request, and an obey me idea (of mine) but those are quite long and I am still slightly ill so I haven't gotten round to them yet. I'm doing this because it's small and simple, although it has taken me multiple days to do 😅

Anyway, to the scenarios! Writing these made me cry.

Felix & (Gender neutral) MC breaking up

Scenario #1 MC breaks up with him because they are dying and don't want to hurt him. (He doesn't know) I couldn't figure out how to end this so that's up to how you imagine it.

MC stared at Felix as he sat at his desk, that focused look they had grown to love etched on his face. Their heart ached in their chest, but this was better. It was for the best.

"Love... We need to talk." Their words are quiet, voice trembling, but Felix notices.

He looks at them, confused and worried. "What's wrong? Are you okay MC?"

MC takes a deep breath, the carpet suddenly be coming very interesting. "I can't do this anymore Felix."

His face fell and he shakes his head in disbelief. "What do you mean?"

MC closed their eyes, the ache in their chest worsening, but the doctors words echoed in their mind. They powered through, tears forming in their eyes. "It means we're done. I can't be with you anymore."

Felix's eyes widened in shock, and they are sure they can see his heart break. "Why? What did I do wrong? Can it be fixed? Tell me, I'll make it work, I promise-"

They shake their head, fighting back the urge to run into his arms, apologize, tell him whats really going on. "No. I'm going, I'm sorry."

Scenario #2 Felix breaks up with them because they are returning to their own world. I don't really like the way I ended this, but whatever, I feel bad for taking so long so I'm not gonna rewrite it 😭

Felix and MC stood facing each other, the pain clear in both of their eyes. Felix had to make a difficult decision, one that would break both of their hearts.

"I have to break up with you," Felix said quietly, his voice shaky. The familiar pain of losing someone was creeping into his chest.

MC's face fell, "What? Why? I'll only be gone a day or two."

"No. Time moves differently in our worlds. A few days for you will be years and years for me. By the time you return, I will be dead." He regrets his decision, seeing the pain in their eyes as they realised the situation.

"Oh." Before Felix can speak, they whisper. "But I don't want to lose you."

MC watched as he stepped closer, his hand finding it's way to their cheek and wiping tears away before kissing them gently.

It was short, too short. But at this moment in time, would any kiss be long enough? If only they could stay, and have all the kisses they want.

A harsh warmth appeared behind them before they could say anything else MC was pulled backwards through a portal to their own world, their screams falling upon deaf ears.

I hope these weren't too awful! I actually had a third one, but I already took too long with these so I didn't include it. Xx

[azrielgreen]

Ok I’m literally just writing down every random thought I have as I progress through the chapter.

1. Eddie the deepthroating king

2. The ENTIRE honeymoon period was just so fucking sweet. They love each other so much I wanna die. I think one of my favourite things about your writing is how obsessed Steve and Eddie are with each other in every single story.

3. Eddie and Steve swapping secrets. Hearing their pasts, especially Eddie’s in more detail was everything to me. My heart just broke for both of them. Obviously what Eddie had done in the commune was wrong but the kid was 14!!! And clearly brainwashed. Neither of them should have ever gone through what they did.

4. Every bit of Jonathan content has me so curious. Not shocked he was dealing. But saying Billy is his friend? Did Eddie make him do this? Was this all part of Eddie’s greater plan? Did he WANT Billy to be all psycho on steroids and hurt Steve??? God I really need to go back and re-read the whole story.

5. I need to know what happened to Chrissy. And with Eddie. With Chrissy AND Eddie and WHO did he stab to get into prison? Again, I need to re-read this whole story cause my memory is shocking so idk if this has already been mentioned.

6. I know it’ll be part of his greater plan but Eddie telling a junkie about the prostitution of Steve probably knowing it’ll get back to Hopper???? (I’m assuming that’s why he did it???)

7. When they were talking about who has dated who I was holding my breath half expecting Eddie and Nancy to confess or something. Maybe I’m crazy for thinking it.

8. JORDAN BEING MISSING??? Eddie you PSYCHOPATH

9. When steve meets the six is he going to notice the lip scar?!?!?!

10. Reading this Billy compared to SS Billy is WILD

11. I spent the whole chapter wanting Eddie’s POV and then when it happened I was so nervous. I’m always just so nervous for whatever bombshell he’ll drop. But no we got the SWEETEST tattooing scene I’ve ever witnessed

12. Wait DID EDDIE ORGANIZE FOR JONATHAN TO MOVE?!???! Did I miss that?? Is that new or am I misreading?

13. Eddie knowing when Little Steve is about to make an appearance!! 10/10

I don’t know what else to say. The way you write is so beautiful. I love every bit of this story. I am most likely going to spend the next few weeks (yes WEEKS cause this story is fucking LONG) re-reading the whole story cause I think I’ve forgotten a lot of details and need to start putting together the pieces of the puzzle

Also is it new that you added a final chapter count of 30 for this on A03 or am I just noticing that now? Cause 30 CHAPTERS??? Are you telling me we’re just a bit over half way????

Ok bye, have a nice day

Sarah??!!😭😭😭🌈✨️this is so so lovely!!! Thank you!!!

Yes, it's 30 planned chapters total now.

Eddie is behind the move to NY for Jon, yes! There's a deleted Prism scene where it's Jon' POV (set after the restaurant scene with Nancy's fancy people and then Steve being wine drunk at Nancy's place) that shows a little more insight into this but its Eddie behind wanting Jon to move away!

The lip scar is a prosthetic Zachary wore to throw Robin off and guide the description towards Jordan.

Eddie let it spread about Billy selling Steve because he knew Hopper would interfere and bend the rules for him, the way Hopper had done many times in the past for Jon. Eddie has Hopper's weaknesses well and truly clocked.

The Chrissy/Eddie story is revealed in Part Three!

Eddie got into a bar fight and stabbed the guy, landing him in prison the first time. It's just an unknown guy whose brother was a cop (or IS he??!)

The Jon - Billy stuff was really fun to seed and there's still a little more to unravel there but essentially Jon was selling steroids to Billy of his own volition because he sort of *was* low key friendly with Billy at the time, but was reporting it all to Eddie ofc. Eddie then knew about the steroids, Billy was the one who wanted the steroids, though, he's been on them since he was 17 so he could be strong enough that no one could ever hurt him again but it's also a source of HUGE shame for him and he'd never admit he used them.

And finally yes, Eddie Munson's non existent gag reflex, we love you!!

Thank you SO much again!

❤️🌈✨️