#So I went with something I read on tumblr a while back lol

[innytoes]

... "I may not be beautiful, but at least I know a lot of useless information."

reggie. please.

😩 okay i'll be done now

Reggie wasn't sure how he ever got an invite to tonight. Like sure, he knew Julie, she was practically his sister now, after her parents took him in (stole him, more like it) when they found out what was going on at home.

Reggie had been too young to entirely know the details, but from hearing tía Victoria shouting from downstairs about 'putting the cart before the horse' and 'your home study wasn't until next month', he was pretty sure it hadn't been done entirely by the book. But given the fact he'd passed out from neglect and DCF had been over to his house twice already and had done nothing, there was some leeway.

So yeah, he was basically a Molina now, even though the adoption was pending because the courts were backed up to the heavens. Which meant Julie was his sister.

And Julie knew Flynn. And Flynn was cool (and pretty). And Julie and Flynn knew Carrie. Who knew the Candis. Who were all also very pretty and very out of his league. And then the new guy at school showed up, the one with the killer cheekbones and the cute laugh and the pretty hair and...

And Reggie wasn't sure why he was here, except for the fact that Julie told him to bring his crochet stuff because they were 'having craft night'.

He loved craft night, okay? Julie and Flynn and him would turn on a crappy movie, and they'd each do their own thing. He'd crochet, Julie would draw, and Flynn would work on whatever project had caught her fancy this time. Sometimes it was making jewellery, sometimes it was diamond painting, sometimes it was gluing an insane number of googly eyes onto a phone case.

So he threw on his flannel, grabbed his bag with his current project (a baby yoda amigurumi), and followed Julie out the door, ready to head over to Flynn's.

Except there was a car waiting outside for them. Like, a fancy car. And when Julie pulled him in after her, he wasn't sure what to do except follow. Like, did he forget something? Flynn was already there, a giant tote on her lap.

It wasn't until they left the neighbourhood that Reggie spoke up. "So, um, where are we going?" And Flynn burst out laughing.

"You didn't tell him we're going to Carrie's place?" she asked, and Julie gave him an evil grin.

"I didn't want him to chicken out," she said sweetly. Because Julie knew that Carrie and her Candis intimidated the heck out of Reggie ever since he was smacked by the Puberty Stick and realised 'oh no, girls and boys are pretty'. So he'd been kind of avoiding them ever since Julie and Flynn made up with Carrie.

And thus, he was trapped in a car, going to Carrie Wilson's house, and now he was surrounded by beautiful people. And amazing snacks. And a TV three times the size of the one they had at home, playing a Gilmore Girls marathon on low volume.

(Every time Dean appeared on screen, two of the Candis boo'ed, while one other cheered, and the fourth took a shot of soda. He, again, was too afraid to ask.)

There were people knitting, drawing, making friendship bracelets, bedazzling a rather rad-looking jacket. Cute skateboard guy, who turned out to be named Willie, was attaching Worms On A String to one another to make long chains of them, explaining he wanted to make a curtain for his door. He seemed impressed by Reggie's Baby Yoda, and even more so when Julie whipped out her phone to show off some of the other things Reggie had made over the years.

It was entirely too much attention from entirely too many hot people, and he resisted the urge to talk. Because if he'd talk, he'd start spouting out stupid pick-up lines and he'd never be invited back. And also Julie would kill him. If Carrie didn't.

Eventually, he was saved by the Dean ("Booo!") and he could go back to counting stitches and eating fancy snacks and carefully, being so totally normal, complimenting bedazzling techniques.

Carrie Wilson smiled at him and it wasn't one of those smiles that made him worry she was going to stab him later, so that was cool.

Just when he thought he was safe from making a complete and utter buffoon of himself, a dark figure leapt over the back of the couch and plopped next to him, leaning over to grab one of the vegan spring rolls in one fluid movement.

Reggie looked up, a little bit startled, and then realised. Oh no.

Oh no, that was Bobby Shaw, his biggest crush. Bobby who was always cool and always wore black and red and always had a snarky comment in English class when Mrs Miller was picking on someone. Who swept his hair off his forehead during PE in a way that made Reggie wish he was better at sports. What was Bobby doing here?

"What are you doing here?" Carrie asked, but she asked it in a way that sounded a lot more annoyed than Reggie felt.

"There's snacks," Bobby pointed out, like that was reason enough.

"This is craft night," Carrie glared at him. "You have to be making something to join."

"I'm making you annoyed," Bobby said, popping another spring roll in his mouth before moving on to the cookies. "Oh fuck, is she still with Dean? Booo!"

Immediately, one of the Candis (the yellow one, maybe? He couldn't tell, out of costume they were not all as committed to the aesthetic as Carrie was) turned around and said: "Your cousin can stay." Then, she turned to Bobby. "Jess or Logan?"

"Paris." This got some shocked and awed looks, though Flynn and Purple Candi (he was pretty sure) cackled.

Oh. Cousin. Cool, cool, cool cool coolcoolcoolcool. That didn't make Bobby like ten times more intimidating to talk to. Nope, not at all.

Thankfully, the conversation carried on without anyone pointing out Reggie had recounted the stitches of this row eight times already because he kept getting distracted by how funny and cute Bobby was.

"And then," Probably Blue Candi said. "He asked me to knit him a sweater! Can you believe it?"

"What's wrong with knitting your boyfriend a sweater?" Willie asked, confused.

"It's the Sweater Curse," Reggie said. Willie blinked at him, so he went on. "If you knit your partner a sweater, you will break up with them."

"Because of a sweater?" Bobby asked, doubtful.

"Because you just spent hundreds of dollars on nice yarn, asking their opinions on colors and the material and size and shapes and finding a pattern and adjusting it to their size and then even more countless hours knitting it only for them to declare it's 'kind of itchy' and never wear it or they shrink it in the wash because they didn't listen to you and then shrug it off because it's 'just a sweater' and you realise you could have spent all that time and effort and money on making something for yourself instead of this asshole who never cared about your craft in the first place."

The room was silent when he stopped talking, and Reggie felt his face grow hot.

Okay, so maybe the nerdy crochet version of that was his last girlfriend who asked him to make a giant Snorlax, who got snippy when he wasn't done in two weeks, but the point still stood.

"Heck yeah!" Maybe Blue Candi said. "Reggie knows what I'm talking about."

"I may not be beautiful, but at least I know a lot of useless information," Reggie deflected.

"I dunno," Bobby said, and Reggie felt his heart sink. "You're pretty cute."

This time, it was Julie and Carrie doing the booing, but at the end of the evening he'd eaten a ton of snacks, finished Baby Yoda's body, and had Bobby's number in his phone.

He never made Bobby a sweater, but when he nervously gave Bobby the giant throw blanket for his bed on their three year anniversary, Bobby tackled him to the ground and gave him so many thank you kisses that Reggie knew no curse could take them out.

[fuqnia]

SP Main Four + butters !College AU Relationship Headcanons

[☆] A/N | hii guys! i recently hit 500 likes on tumblr and i'm like so speechless... i never wouldve thought people would be interested in reading my stupid little writing hehe, so tysm! my long fic, most wanted, is coming to a close soon, and I have been working on another longfic that's a fem!reader insert x main 4 boys in college! i'm also probably going to write a more realistic/sadder headcanons, because this one was toothachingly sweet </3

[☆] C/W | NSFW under the cut, this is also for f!reader, but i'm open to writing a gn!reader or m!reader in the future

[☆] check out my !college au headcanons for the boys + butters here!

☆ stan marsh

hopeless romantic

will definitely do the most cheesy things for you

has a mixtape of songs that remind him of you

writes love letters, but never gives them to you

feels everything deeply, he's a big ol' baby

late night talks about his fears and dreams

craves emotional intimacy and trust w/ you

super duper attentive to your needs

will put you over himself

overthinks

enjoys laid-back dates! like movie dates, thrifting, strolls

gets jealous reallyyy easily

wont outright admit it tho

very insecure, if someone flirts with u, he'll just sulk LOL

avoids confrontations at all costs

not afraid to cry in front of you

vomits on you if you do something really provocative to him

always offer his jacket/hoodie to you

loves holding your hand

laces his fingers thru yours and swings your hands

goofy ah grin when you surprise him with kisses

big on cuddling

gets super flustered when his friends teases him about you

obsessed with your laugh

keeps a picture of you in his wallet

NSFW

sooo nervous during your first time with him

very eager to please!

takes his time learning what you like

kisses every inch of your body

starts with your lips and works his way down

definitely a soft dom

"does this feel good?" "tell me if you want me to stop"

loves holding your hand while in you

eats your p out like your his last meal

i think he would be more into receiving than giving, but doesn't mind giving at all!

gets shy when you compliment him and tell him how good he is making you feel

prefers gentle sex, unless you want it rough

his entire body flushes red when you tease his cock

like palming thru his shorts, or pressing quick kisses to his tip

loves to cum in your mouth

goes crazy if he gets to paint your face tho

i'm sorry but this man is into creampies...

gets turned on when you're really emotional/crying from him pleasuring you

favorite position is definitely cowgirl

definitely an ass man, loves squishing/pinching your skin

kisses your forehead, cheeks and lips after going down on you

i think he would also be kinda quiet, wouldn't let out that many moans

☆ kyle broflovski

shows his love thru actions rather than words

remembers every anniversary, even the little ones :)

makes detailed itineraries for dates

even though he's a yapper, he definitely enjoys listening to you

fiercely loyal

takes no disrespect towards you

ready to work anyone's shit as so much as they look at you funny

probably would like someone who would challenge him intellectually

needs you to have the same core values as him

DO NOT DO PDA WITH THIS MAN

he will just look at you with pure disgust if you even attempt to...

but will secretly hold hands under the table or sneak a kiss when no one is looking

puts too much pressure on himself to be perfect for you

always notices this little things about you

oh you changed your nail color? you applied your makeup differently?

will blush like crazy when you compliment him

awkwardly rubs the back of his neck

will get irrationally jealous

tries to hide it by cracking sarcastic jokes

writes you long thoughtful texts when your apart, updates you about his day, asks you how yours went

becomes super attentive when your sad or stressed

wraps you in a blanket, makes you tea

i feel like he'd hate the feeling of having a crush

but once he's in a relationship, lowkey a romantic, buy you books he'd think you'd like, jewelry that compliments your skin tone

NSFW

overthinks everything at first

constantly asks "is this okay? are you sure?"

like i said, super attentive, he needs to make sure you're okay

loves eye contact while fucking you

gets really shy when you take control but secretly loves it

prefers slow deliberate strokes and touches

has a thing for neck kisses– both giving and receiving

talks your through it

"you're perfect" "you feel so good"

gets competitive if you tease him about lasting longer

please kiss his freckles... he'll go absolutely feral

not afraid to leave hickeys, scratches or nail prints on you

wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck and his life is yours LOL

i think missionary would be his favorite position

needs to see your face

it's his life mission to make you squirt...

loves fingering you

sit on his face ?

super embarrassed about his moans, but lets it out anyways lmfao

loves your titties, no matter the size

will beg you to let him cum in you

☆ kenny mccormick

we all know kenny is a natural flirt

will wink, smirk, and use cheesy pick-up lines to make you blush

loves physical affection

always has an arm around your waist

makes you laugh constantly

goes to extreme lengths to see you smile, whether it's his silly pranks or grand gestures

draws little hearts and doodles on your notebooks/texts

if he's super bored, he'll draw on your skin lmfao

super duper protective— he'll walk you home late at night and make sure you're always safe

loves taking you on adventurous dates, especially sneaking into places you're not supposed to be

calls you "babe," "sweetheart," or "princess" with that drawl of his hehe

not above embarrassing himself, will write cringe worthy poems or songs and serenade you

immediately notices when you're a little bit off

pulls you into a hug, rubbing your back

buys you little trinkets and steals snacks from eric, saying, "i saw this and thought of you!"

obsessed with kissing you, he'll lean in for a quick peck and smirks when he notices your smile

immediately goes back in for a longer kiss

i think he's super good at braiding hair, and loves playing with yours!

please wear his band tees <3

NSFW

super duper confident, definitely knows what he's doing

loves teasing you, using soft kisses and touches to drive you crazy before giving in

worships your body, tracing every curve with his lips and hands

like kyle, adores it when you take charge and being at your mercy

whispers dirty things in your ear, his voice low and sultry

"you're so fuckin' beautiful babe, I can't get enough of you."

VOCAL AS FUCK ! he'll groan, sigh, whisper your name, letting you know exactly how good you're making him feel

has a downright pornographic moan....

obviously a boob guy, he'll suck and manhandle your tits like there's no tomorrow

will cop a feel secretly infront of others as well LOL

also a thigh and neck guy—he'll kiss, nip, and mark you like he's marking a claim on you

definitely cums alot.... i'm sorry lmfao

dirty as fuck as well... spits in your mouth, puts his fingers in your mouth, making you suck him

taps his tip against your tongue, smearing his precum all over your lips

a big fan of sloppy toppy, grabbing your hair and face fucking you

he's tew good with his tongue... and so so messy when eating you out

will not hold back with his noises, literally slurping ???

loves loves loves overstimulation

favorite position is mating press, loves looking at where you guys connect

cusses when he cums

will crack some corny joke afterward to make you laugh,

"so... we're pretty good at this, huh?" and giggles like a schoolgirl

loves cuddling afterwards!

☆ eric cartman

definitely does grand gestures

brags to everyone about being in a relationship

"yeah, she's lucky to have me."

nobody believes that...

hates PDA in theory, but secretly loves it when you grab his hand or kiss his cheek

he'll complain, but his blushing face gives him away

sends you the most random memes and videos throughout the day as his way of saying he's thinking abt you <3

gets ridiculously competitive when it comes to impressing you

if someone else buys you flowers, he'll show up with a bouquet and stuffed animal, screaming profanities at the other person

jealousss to the max

glares daggers at everyone he perceives a threat, coming up with some sick and twisted plan is his head to take 'em down

gets super pouty when you tease him, but loves the banter between the two of you "i'm not fat, i'm big-boned and you know it!"

will absolutely demand you come over to "study", but in reality he just wants to spend time with you hehehe

has a soft spot when you baby him a little

like brushing his hair or adjusting his hoodie, he'll pretend to hate it but he's melting inside

if you're upset, he'll try to cheer you up in his own weird way...

usually a mix of crude jokes and awkward affection ??

please don't cry infront of him, he'll just panic

keeps a picture of you on his phone as his lock screen, and gets super defensive if anyone points it out

"shut up kahl! it's not even a big deal!"

gaslights the hell out of you, but eventually gives in when he realizes you'll just gaslight him back

will bring you up in any and every conversation, and doesn't care if it annoys the fuck out of his friends

proudly shows off your achievements and loudly declare that you're the bestest girlfriend in the world !

until you piss him off...

NSFW

talks a big game about being dominant and kinky

but he's secretly all about soft and sensual moments with you <3

loves loves loves being in control, rarely lets you take the lead

he needs to boost his ego somehow!

will grab your jaw to force you to look at him, his nails pressing hard into your cheeks

"awe, my poor baby is being fucked too dumb, can't even speak properly"

i'm sorry, but this man never shuts up in bed

whether it's dirty talk or low/breathy moans, he's always yapping

really mean too ):

depending on his mood, he'll either take you to pound town, or just veryy lazy sex

gets flustered if you tell him how good he's making you feel, and fails majorly covering it up

"well, duh. i'm amazing."

loves leaving hickeys—he'll mark you in places just barely hidden, so you're always reminded your his.

obsessed with the fat of your ass and tits, doesn't matter the size—he's all about kisses and touches

will 100% lose focus if you whisper in his ear

his cocky demeanor crumbles instantly, and he's completely at your mercy

gets embarrassed easily if you get too emotional, crying and pawing at his chest that you feel too good

this man does not own a single condom... he'll just pull out and paint your stomach

edges you when he's in a particularly bad mood, and only gives in when you're begging

definitely prefers receiving over giving, but likes the feeling of your walls clamping down on his fingers

asks you to stick out your tongue so he can see the load he blew LMFAOO WHY DID I WRITE THIS

i can't decide if he'd prefer doggy style or cowgirl, so ig just depends on his mood?

has a secret stash of candles or mood lighting for when things get "serious"

will deny deny deny it if anyone ever finds out.

his aftercare is surprisingly sweet— he'll tuck you in, grab snacks, and make sure you're comfortable before he starts pretending he doesn't care <3

☆ butters stotch

is THE definition of doting boyfriend

he'll write you sweet notes and hide them in your bag for you to find later

always asks for your opinion on everything

from what outfit he should wear to what movie the two of you should watch

he just wants to make you happy 😭

blushes like crazy when you compliment him, his hands fidgeting nervously as he stammers out a thank you

will call you every nickname under the sun

"sweet pie," "honeybunch," "cutie patootie"

he's so genuine it's impossible not to grab his cheeks and smile

loves holding hands—it makes him feel safe and connected to you

like stan, he'll swing your arms as you walk, grinning ear to ear

will apologize profusely for the tiniest things, even if it's not his fault

"oh, gosh, i’m sorry! did I step on your toe?"

keeps a running list of all your favorite things so he can surprise you with thoughtful gifts or dates!

if you're upset, he'll bake you cookies or cupcakes and sit with you until you feel better

"it's okay to cry, you know. i'm here."

absolutely adores cuddling, but gets super shy at first

once he's comfortable, he's wrapping you in the coziest of hugs

brings you flowers he picked from the campus quad, tied with a little ribbon

"i hope you like ‘em! i thought they were real purdy."

gets starry-eyed whenever you talk about your dreams or passions

he's your biggest cheerleader and believes you can do anything!

definitely giggles as you try to kiss all over his face

allows you to paint his nails, so you both can match

kisses your scratches/bruises whenever you get hurt, then patches you up himself

takes candid photos of you, so he'll always remember the feeling of moments with you <3

NSFW

don't let this man fool you...

he'll act all nervous and shy at first

he'll blush bright red when you undress in front of him

he'll nervously kiss every inch of your skin, murmuring soft compliments as he goes

he'll shyly ask, "is it okay if i touch you there?"

like he's not about to have you begging for him to keep going

once he realizes how much you're into it, he flips a switch

suddenly his shy little kisses turn into biting your lip

pinning you down

murmuring in a low voice, "i'll take care of you, baby"

he'll start slow, watching you squirm under his touch

but he's secretly enjoying the power of making you lose control

SLEEPER AGENT OF KINK

you think he's all soft neck kisses and hand-holding

then he's tugging your hair, love bites on your shoulder

and growling in your ear, "you like that, don't you?"

his hands, his mouth, and his cock alternate between gentle and rough to keep you on edge <3

the moans he'll let out would be so loud and unrestrained

completely enamored with your body

big fan of overstimulation

thrives on praise

eager to learn as well!!

positions where he can see everything—your expressions, your body, the way you react to his touch—drive him wild

not afraid to try something new!

and when it's all over, he's right back to his soft and sweet self

kissing your forehead and pulling you into his arms like he wasn't doing unspeakable things to you five minutes ago.

can you still guess who my favorite is... 💀 also i'm so sorry for whatever this was

[fellulahh]

Diavolo helps MC house hunt in the human world

Hello old friends! Are you still here?😂

I have a routine of coming back on Tumblr once or twice a year to read Obey!Me content for the memories and this time round I delved too deep and it made me want to write something again. I’m still a sucker for Diavolo lol

Anyway I’ll see you in another 4/5 years time! I hope you’re all doing well xx

—

“This one looks nice.” Diavolo commented as his eyes studied the house in front of him and MC.

The Prince of Devildom was visiting MC in the human realm for a few days and had agreed to help her view properties while she sought out a new home.

“It does, doesn’t it? I feel like I could do something nice with the garden.” MC studied while the estate agent was grabbing something from their car. “Perhaps Barbatos can give me some recommendations of bulbs I can plant.” The human joked.

“Don’t, MC.” Diavolo warned, “you don’t understand how passionate he is about gardening.” He quipped with an amused grin, “I made the mistake of asking what one of the trees were in the palace gardens once and then had to listen to the entire history of Devildom’s horticulture.”

“Hm, best not then.” MC smiled at him.

They shared an amused expression toward each other before being interrupted by the estate agent.

“Right!” They spoke up from behind them, “I’m ready when you are.”

After being lead into the small bungalow, MC and Diavolo began taking in their surroundings. They lingered behind the estate agent while they were being introduced to each room.

The pair would steal glances at each other every so often; mostly ending in Diavolo raising his eyebrow at MC with a small grin on his face.

“What?” The human would ask quietly with an amused smile, being completely distracted from the realtor’s words.

“Nothing!” He’d say innocently.

As time went on, MC got to see each room one by one.

“I wanted to save this room until last as this is the real statement piece of the house.” The estate agent informed the human with some excitement in their tone. “I think you’ll both like this.”

“Oh?” MC raised an eyebrow as she followed the woman through an archway: Diavolo close behind.

Entering the final room, MC was surprised when she was met with a beautiful open plan kitchen which lead out into a conservatory with a dining area.

“Oh wow!” She breathed, “This wasn’t on any of the photos?”

“No,” the estate agent shook their head, “the owners decided to renovate this area recently as it was in dire need of some new life; they thought the old kitchen would put off potential buyers.” She informed them, “I think you both would enjoy sitting in the conservatory in the Summer months.” She encouraged, putting on her best sales smile. “Perhaps you could make MC breakfast while she lounges over there in the sun?”

Before MC could correct the estate agent and inform her that the pair were not in fact a couple or moving in together, Diavolo took a step forward.

“Well anything to get into MC’s good books.” He joked with the realtor, earning a look from the human.

As the estate agent turned her back, Diavolo quickly shot MC a cheeky grin.

Amused, the human returned the same expression and mouthed “what are you doing?” With a toothy smile.

“Well,” the estate agent spoke up, “I’ll leave you both for a minute to think. I’ll just be in the entranceway if you need me.” She smiled before leaving the room.

“Thank you.” MC nodded.

Left alone to their own devices, Diavolo and MC began scanning their surroundings.

“Well I have to say, this is a pretty nice place. Seems pretty large for just yourself though?” Diavolo questioned casually, turning to MC with his hands in his pockets.

“Diavolo, it’s a bungalow.” MC laughed, “I’m not exactly going to get lost. Anyway - more to the point - what’s with you playing happy families just then?”

“Can a demon not pretend?” He grinned, “I rather enjoy the fantasy of the two of us living together.”

MC shook her head at the demon, a small warm flush filling her cheeks.

“And what would Lucifer say if he knew you just said that?” She asked, folding her arms as she tilted her head.

“Oh I’m sure he’d just do his usual scowl,” Diavolo chuckled, “I’m sure they all would.” He continued, referring to the brothers.

MC smiled at the thought of them.

“You should come back, MC.” Diavolo suddenly insisted, “We all miss you, me particularly,” he admitted.

MC smiled sweetly at Diavolo, taking a step closer to him. “I have a life here too.” She reminded him, “I can’t just disappear again.”

He looked at her longingly with his big, amber eyes.

Letting out a sigh, he eventually copied her warm gaze; accepting the reality of it all.

Lifting up a hand, MC gently rubbed Diavolo’s large arm. He glanced down at her touch, with a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips.

“How many bedrooms has this place got?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Just the one.” She smiled knowingly, waiting for his next remark. “As you’ve seen.”

“Hm.” He pulled a face, “I suppose we’ll have to share the bed when I come to visit you next.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” MC grinned at him.

[ghost-in-the-hall]

Fall For Me (Poly! Sleep Token x Fem! Reader) - Pt. IX

Part 9 has finally arrived!!! This chapter we begin to move into winter as the first big snow storm of the year hits (really funny that I'm getting around to publishing this in the dead of the July heat lol). Everyone's finally starting to settle into the dynamic which will lead to some... Interesting interactions while the five of them are stuck in close quarters. I am still having issues with getting everyone tagged because Tumblr hates me, but if you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know! Thank you so much for reading!

WARNINGS: Some suggestive behavior

My Masterlist! ~ AO3 Link! ~ Tip Jar!

Part VIII - Part X

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you think the storm is going to be that bad?” Vessel asks. “It’s all we’ve been hearing about on the radio for the past few days.”

“It’s probably going to get pretty nasty. They’re expecting most of the town to lose power.” You bounce your leg nervously, watching him pause to go over his mental checklist in his head. “Would you, um… would you like to stay with me?”

He chuckles as he approaches the counter, “Scared of the big, bad snowstorm, lovey?” He teases with a smile.

“I’m not scared.” You snap back instantly, rolling your eyes. “It’s just,” Vessel didn’t miss the way the concern immediately crept back into your tone, “you’re so far out in the woods; what if something happens and no one can get out there to help.” His expression softens, reaching up to caress your cheek. You can't help but lean into his touch, his palm warm against your skin.

“If you’re more comfortable with us here, we’ll stay. Besides, do you really think I’m going to turn down a chance to spend more time with my girl?” Your cheeks grow warm as a flustered smile spreads across your lips. You still hadn't gotten used to Vessel so adamantly declaring you as his.

“Good,” you respond, trying your best to appear confident, “I need someone to keep me warm.” You smile coyly at him, making Vessel chuckle.

“Well, feeling bold today, are we beautiful?” His expression darkens slightly as a devious glint appears in his eyes. Your pulse immediately quickens as he offers you a sharp smile, his massive form towering over you, “You want to be in my arms, pretty girl?” He coos, making your face burn. He leans down, bringing his face in front of yours. “I'll hold you all night if that's what you want.” He whispers. He can't help but laugh slightly at your flustered expression, calling you cute as he straightens back up. “I'll be back in about an hour with the others. Let us take care of dinner tonight; you deserve to be spoiled for once.”

“Just be safe, okay? Everything always gets a little crazy around here on storm days.” He takes your hand, slowly bringing your knuckles to his lips.

“I'll be back before you know it.” He smiles sweetly. “Promise.”

While Vessel went to get the others, you took the time to make preparations. You were lucky enough to have the store beneath you; if you lost power, the fridges and your supply of ice would be sufficient to keep things cold for a while. You gathered all the candles and extra blankets from around your apartment, piling them up in one area with your other emergency supplies. You can’t help but smile when there’s a knock at your door. You squeal as III’s large hands wrap around your waist, lifting you effortlessly from the floor. “There she is!” He exclaims excitedly, spinning you around in a hug. You’re suddenly sandwiched between him and IV; you let out a pleased hum as III slots his lips against yours, IV peppering your face with kisses simultaneously.

IV nuzzles his face against yours as III pulls back. “We missed you, doll.” You spin around, slipping into IV’s arms, letting him hug you close as III starts bringing things into the kitchen. He sways you gently in his arms, taking a moment to memorize the feeling of you being pressed against him before pulling back. “I'm going to help the others set up.” He smiles, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

II pushes through the door, arms full of what appeared to be pillows, as he struggles to keep his grip on all of them. “Want some help with that?” You offer with a giggle.

“That'd be great, thanks.” He responds with a chuckle of his own. You smile coyly at him, your arms sliding over his shoulders as he saunters up to you. “And how are you doing today, beautiful?”

“Much better now that you're all here.” You respond softly.

He hums approvingly, “That’s what I like to hear.” He trails a finger along your jaw, carefully tilting your chin until he can easily kiss you. Even the gentlest kisses from II always managed to take your breath away, and now was no different. “You just hang back and relax, love. Let us handle everything.”

Your heart always felt so full whenever all five of you were together. You would never get sick of how lively the group of them made you and your home feel. “Here you go.” You smile as IV slips a glass of wine into your hand, collapsing onto the couch at your side. Vessel, II, and III were currently bickering over something in the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone for what felt like the first time in forever. “I have something for you.” He states softly. He takes your hand, rummaging around in his bag with the other until he produces a small, brown leather notebook. “Here.” He offers it to you; you can't help but smile at the gift.

“What's this?” You ask curiously. You open to the first page, and IV’s messy script is the first thing you see. ‘For my favorite girl, hopefully, this makes up for all the times I should have bought you flowers.’ You flip to the second page to find a perfectly preserved pressed flower. A bright orange bloom sat atop a stem of tiny green leaves; the date IV must have picked it, and the flower's name should have been written in the upper right corner. The rest of the book followed a similar pattern. A collection of vibrant reds, purples, and golds filled the rest of the pages. You could tell how carefully every flower was handled just by how it was presented to you on the page.

“Whenever I find a flower I think you'd like, I press it in a book. That way, you can keep them forever without them wilting.” The gesture was so sweet you blinked rapidly to clear the tears from your eyes.

“Thank you, IV, this is incredible.” You set the book carefully down on the table, reaching out and pulling him into your arms. He wasted no time melting into you, his arms circling your waist as he returned your embrace.

“You make me really happy, you know that?” You smile, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“So do you.” You both reluctantly separate from each other. You rest a hand on IV’s cheek, smiling softly at him as you study how his features curve under the fabric of his mask. You carefully take his face in your hands, guiding him forward to kiss his forehead. He smiles, letting out a deep breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

“Dinner’s ready!” You both jump as you hear Vessel call from the kitchen. He stands, helping you from the couch. IV pulls you into his side, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Let's go before it's all gone.” He chuckles

You stood at III’s side, helping him clean up after dinner. “That food was amazing.” You remark, making him chuckle.

“I try my best.” He responds humbly. “Working with whatever we can grow or hunt, I want to ensure it, at least, tastes good.” You finish drying off the wine glass you had been using earlier, pushing yourself up on your toes to struggle to reach the top shelf. III chuckles; you freeze as you feel the warmth of his body creep up your back, nearly making you drop the glass in the process. “Need some help, love?” He whispers, making you shiver. His long arms can easily reach up to set the glass back in its spot. His hands find their way to your waist, lifting you from the floor to put you on the counter easily. “I can finish up here; you can just relax.” He chuckles as you pout in response.

“You cooked dinner; the least I could do is help with the dishes,” you protest. He places his hands on either side of your waist as he leans closer.

“I think the least you could do is let someone take care of you for a change.” He whispers, making your cheeks grow warm. He studies you, a playful expression growing on his face as he realizes your flustered state. His hands leave the counter, massaging your plush thighs before they slide to your back, pulling you closer to him. You felt so small in his hands, but he still easily towered over you from your position on the counter. He ran his hands soothingly up and down your sides. You forced yourself to stifle the soft whine that threatened to leave you at the feeling of his strong hands against your body. “You're always so worried about taking care of everyone else. When was the last time someone did the same for you?”

Your heart slammed against your ribcage, your thoughts growing fuzzy as you began to feel like putty under III’s touch. “But–” he hushes you softly as you start to argue.

“You deserve to be spoiled.” He says softly, lifting his mask enough to kiss you. “I want to make sure that you are.” You let out a pleased sound as he pushes into you. Your hands roam over his chest; you groan at the feeling of his muscles tensing under your palm. This kiss with III felt different than the others you had shared. This one was noticeably more intense and needy than when you kissed him. His fingers massaged into your muscles as he desperately sought to have you any closer to him than you already were. His breathing was heavy when the two of you finally separated; you could feel the way his hands trembled slightly against your skin.

“What's wrong?” Worry is immediately prominent in your tone.

“Nothing, doll.” He responds gruffly. “It's just if I keep kissing you like that–” he trails off with a chuckle.

“Too bad it's not just the two of us.” You respond under your breath. III’s gaze snaps to you, unsure if he had heard you correctly or not at first. You glance up at him through your lashes, and III could have sworn in that moment his heart stopped. You lean up, placing a gentle kiss on his clothed lips. “Hopefully, that’s not the last time you kiss me like that.”

“Trust me, you don't have to worry about that.” He smiles in response.

“Are you two done in there or what?” You hear II call, “Did we really have that many dishes?”

You giggle, “We should get back to the others.” He chuckles, nodding his agreement.

You found yourself seated in Vessel’s lap; your legs stretched over IV’s legs as he held your hand, your feet resting comfortably in III’s lap as he made easy work of massaging away all the tension in your muscles. II sat on the floor in front of the couch, holding your free hand in his own and bringing your knuckles to his lips every so often. You had thrown on a movie, some mindless holiday comedy that everyone seemed content with. You leaned into Vessel’s chest, letting your head fall against his shoulder. He smiles at you, carefully reaching up to tuck some hair behind your ear. “You less nervous now, love?” He asks softly.

“How could I be nervous? I have all of you within arms reach.” You giggle. He hugs you close, the two of you enjoying the chance to be so close to each other. Just as your eyes grew heavy, your apartment was plunged into complete darkness. “Shit.” You curse, attempting to hurry out of Vessel’s lap; you pause when he gently squeezes your hip.

“II.” He states simply.

“On it.” Before you could ask what was happening, a match was struck to life. But all the candles were on the other side of the apartment; there was no way he could have gotten over there–

“I'll get the stove started.” III stands, placing your feet in IV’s lap. “These two better do a good job of keeping you warm.” He chuckles, quickly pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he passes by.

You didn't have to lift a finger. Before you knew it, the wood stove was warming the living room, candles casting a soft orange glow over the entire space, and a mug of tea warming your hands as you sat sandwiched between IV and II on the couch. The night sped by as you found yourself playing card games, laughing to the point your sides hurt as you witnessed them bicker and repeatedly get caught trying to cheat. “I'm not counting cards!” II protests.

“You absolutely are!” III argues, “Don't think I can't see you counting on your hands!” II opens his mouth to respond, only for III to cut him off, “Disqualified! You are disqualified!” II groans, admitting defeat as he throws his cards on the table.

Vessel wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “You're looking a little tired, love.” You couldn't even attempt to argue as a yawn forces its way past your lips. “Let's call it a night.” He announced, helping you from the floor. “Goodnight.” Vessel leans down, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Goodnight, Ves.” You smile, slipping into his arms for one final hug. You exchange your good nights with the others, reluctant to leave them even though you would only be in the next room. You could hear them all get settled as you lay in bed, your apartment eventually becoming deathly quiet once again. You lay there for what felt like hours, and it had only been about 20 minutes when you checked the time. You sigh, sitting up in bed. You stare at the door, debating whether any of them were still up. You toss back your covers and leave your bed, wincing slightly as the floorboards creak beneath your feet. You carefully crack open your bedroom door, glancing into the living room only to find Vessel still awake, reading a book under the low candlelight. “Everything alright, love?” He asks quietly. It took you a moment to respond, surprised that he realized you were there.

“I just can’t sleep.” You admit sheepishly, opening the door just wide enough to reveal yourself. He closes the book he was reading, setting it on the end table behind him.

“Come here, sweetheart.” He beckons you closer with a nod of his head. You carefully maneuver around the others, who had found a comfortable spot on the floor for the night. Vessel opens his arms for you, allowing you to crawl into his warm embrace. You cuddled into his chest, the heavy weight of his arms around your waist immediately lulling you into a new state of comfort as you melted into him. He tilts his head back; you swallow thickly as you realize just how nice it would feel to have your lips trail along the skin of his neck. You quickly shook the thought from your mind as he blew out the candle. “What’s troubling that pretty little head of yours, hm?” He purrs. You were finding it hard to concentrate. Vessel’s body was so warm every ache in your muscles simply seemed to vanish as you allowed your fingers to trail over his bare skin. He smelled of damp earth, musky incense, and the subtle sweetness of freshly cut flowers.

“Can I ask you something?” You whisper, looking up at him despite the fact you could barely make out the outline of his face.

“Of course.” He responds in the same quiet tone. He adjusts his position, hoisting you up higher on his chest to bring your face closer to his. “You can ask me anything you like, love.”

You could feel his lips brush against yours as he spoke; the feeling was enough to send a shiver up your spine. “Do you think about me?”

“Love, the image of you never leaves my mind.” You can’t help but smile at his response. “I can’t even begin to describe how special you are to me.” He carefully cups your cheek in his hand, his thumb trailing across your jaw. “I must not be doing a very good job as your boyfriend.” He jokes with a chuckle. “There’s got to be some way for me to prove how crazy I am about you.” The edge of his mask bumps against your cheek as he pushes it off his face. His hand carefully cradled your head, guiding your lips down to meet his. You could feel his heartbeat racing under your palm. He kissed you hesitantly at first, his whole body rigid as he waited to see how you would respond to such a bold gesture from him. He had kept you at arm’s length since he met you, not because he didn’t care about you. It was the exact opposite. If he wasn’t careful, Vessel felt he could easily find himself becoming infatuated with you, something that could cost him dearly if you ended up stabbing him in the back like so many others had in the past. Yet, over the time he had known you and the short time you had been together as partners, your affection for him never wavered. Goosebumps erupted across your skin as Vessel slid a hand under your shirt, his tough, calloused hands rough against your back. “There isn’t a second that passes by where I’m not thinking of you; the sound of your laugh, the way you smile, the way you seem to fit so perfectly in my arms; I am always thinking about you.” He confesses breathlessly against your lips. You let out a soft hum of approval as he crushes his lips against yours again, struggling to stay quiet but not wanting to risk waking the others. You felt like you would die if Vessel stopped kissing you. He groans at the feeling of your hands timidly wandering his body, shaky fingers tracing along the outlines of his muscles as your lips melded perfectly to his. He kissed you until there was physically no air left in his lungs. You struggle to steady your rapidly pounding heart. You rest your hand on the side of his face, gently trailing along the peak of his cheekbone. He caught your hand in his, startling you slightly at the abruptness. He brings your knuckles to his lips. “No matter how much I would like to keep kissing you, you should probably get some rest, love.” He says with a chuckle.

“Now, how is that fair?” You ask coyly, “You make me wait all this time to kiss you, and I only get to do it once?” He tilts your chin up with his thumb. You could feel him smile against your lips. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Your eyes flutter shut as you’re met with another euphoric kiss, “but you have to get some sleep.” You grumble out your reluctant agreement, placing one final chaste kiss on his lips before settling against his chest, your eyes feeling heavy as your adrenaline wears off.

You’re woken up the following morning by a knock at the door. You sit up, wiping away the sleep in your eyes as you try to make sense of your situation. You had fallen asleep in the living room last night after coming to see Vessel; you remembered that much. All four of them were already awake and much more alert than you were at the sudden disturbance. “Relax, I’m sure it’s just the plow guy or something.” You reassure them. You stand, shivering as all the warmth is rapidly stolen from your body. You unlocked your door, opening it just enough to peer outside. Your stomach dropped at seeing the police officer on the other side.

He greets you with a familiar smile, “Got a second to talk?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List can now be found in the comments!

[mischiefmaker615]

Chef's Choice

Over the past time of having tumblr, i have collected my personal favorites- stories that i always get drawn back to when i need inspiration, something to read, and/or something to enjoy with whatever mood or situation that needs tending LOL (not in order and there are so many others i love!!)

Thought it be best to introduce you to some of the greats out there :D

“Seems like the prince of Asgard is seduced by a mortal woman”

By: @fictive-sl0th

(OMG i absolutely LOVE the doctor themed stories with Loki XD ya never know what direction it's gonna end up ;) )

A Coveted Bride

By: @magicbystarlight

(i absolutely LOVE jealous Loki, anything in the realm of dark theme and possessiveness XD we don't judge here. it's an enquired taste and darling, you cooked!!)

Duplicitous *Long Snake Moan*

By: @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

(everything you write, i got to read! truth be told, we didnt ask for but we absolutely needed!!)

Pinned Down The Rite Liberties

By: @lokisgoodgirl

(come on, just by the titles alone you know it's gonna be good! everything you've written, i've fallen in love with each detail, nothing is rushed and personalities are captured beautifully! i've caught myself gasping out loud in public with some of the stuff you bring us and i absolutely love it!)

Overstimulation Welcome Him Home More Between His Thighs

By: @sarahscribbles

(had me drooling in kinktober!!! just the title alone, i hit favorite so i could read it when i got time and darling, you didn't disappoint! so many stories just draw my attention and every aspect of them is truly perfect!!! i need more!!!)

thirty seconds

By: @muddyorbsblr

(what i would give to be in the readers shoes!! omg i loved this!!! hit all the right feelings and i cant help but reread this far more than thirty times LOL)

The Chambermaid

By: @wheredafandomat

(i want Loki to step on me!!!! i wouldn't mind slave life if it meant serving him LOL gods this was perfect!! i always loved maid x Loki themed stories, keep them coming!!)

Kinktober Day 16

By: @suguru-getos

("we listen and we don't judge" *cough* i love me some CNC! seems like a very hidden kink topic so i got positively excited when i saw this mentioned in your writing and just HAD to read it Lol kinky indeed!!! truly my favorite fic of yours so far!)

Overtime Safehouse Conquer Close Quarters

By: @cleo-fox

(I'm pretty sure all of tumblr knows who you are Lol i have enjoyed EVERYTHING you've come out with; your plots, details and character embodiment, Loki is on point!! i cant even fathom where to begin on making storylines this deep with all the bells and whistles. you are truly an incredible writer!!)

"I can do….terrible things to you."

By: @oh-look-at-her

(i can't literally do anything but bow down to you and get up only when given permission LOL truly a damn good time reading your work!!)

Firestarter

By: @delaber

(who doesn't love a good enemies to lovers story Lol can't tell you how many people i've shooed while i was in the middle of reading this XD)

Frozen Stiff Happily Never After

By: @simplyholl

(tbh i struggle finding REALLY good Jotun Loki fics and absolutely fell in love with this one!!! thank you for letting me die in peace now Lol had me giddy and blushing!!)

Have Mercy

By: @mochie85

(you captured his hot and pain in the ass personality so well!!! i LOVED this went through all the emotions on this one!! kinda like an enemies to lovers story Lol why cant it be me!!!)

A Tales of Tangled Desires

By: @angelremnants

(i fell in love with the part one, not expecting for my request to be answered but i got a part two and absolutely have become obsessed!! i love your writing so much and thank you for the prayer being answered! Lol)

And The Gods Made Love

By: @thefairywithboots

(thank you for my request being answered!! anything you publish, i cant get enough of and love the pure art like pace you take to form every inch of your story!!)

Plus One

By: @societyfolklore

(EXACTLY what i needed to start the new year ;) thank you!)

Mission Accomplished

By: @asgards-princess-of-mischief

(i love the whole "there's only one bed" scenario LOL this was absolutely perfect!)

Handcuffed Together

By: @anonymousfiction211

(it's in the title LOL this had all of my emotions :D it was fun, hilarious and incredible sexy!! truly loved this!)

Gentle Road Rage

By: @writingfics-passingtime 

(THIS HAS EVERYTHING I LOOK FOR IN A FIC!!! Never thought tickling could be so spicy LOL well descriptive, seasoned, paced, his personality is on point, plot is chef's kiss, everything!! i want a part 2!!)

[applepieshy]

I had an idea to redesign vox because I didn't love that a character obsessed with modernization would wear a top hat and bowtie. then after a brief stint into madness where I read my partner's historic costuming textbook I drew.... all this.

(side note: the idea of vox being a trans man who transitioned AFTER death was super compelling and absolutely inspired by @prince-liest so while this is not direct fanart of their series I wanted to give a shoutout anyway!!!)

okay some TRULY unhinged rambling about historic costume below the cut YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

1950s: for this design I very much did not want to go to the typical a-line housewife look, because I feel that is unfitting for vox's character. instead I went for a more business look, but there is still a level of femininity that he would have been expected to perform. i wanted to express his discomfort with that through the pose and expression, though at the time he wouldn't necessarily have a framework for why he hated it

1960s: this one was very fun. i loved the idea of vox beginning to eschew some of the expected feminine presentation, and he no longer wears makeup, jewelry, or hose (though its hard to tell in black & white); however, he's kind of at war with himself in this time period. he's obsessed with seeming perfect and having a respectable image, so he would not go in for the counter-culture movements that were so big in the 60s. he's still kind of riding those coattails though, pushing those boundaries while still not acknowledging his queerness.

1970s: to me, it was very important that the gender hit as he entered the world in color. in my mind the gender euphoria is physically manifested in a wizard of oz situation - he can become who he always has been. anyway, gender aside, I think it was very important to me personally that he wore an ascot. it was for my mental health.

1980s: I wanted the 1980s to be the period where he began to gain some power and notoriety because of the de-regulation of television during this period to allow more ads, mirroring real-world history. I think if the 70s were when vox gained some real confidence, the 80s are when he got an Ego (tm). "business casual" also began to become more acceptable in this time period, and the t-shirt/suit jacket combo was very important for me to include, as to me it epitomizes the commercialism and machismo of the 80s.

1990s: this was actually the decade I was the most nervous to design, and yet I think it turned out the best? the 90s are known for grunge, which I think is NOT vox's style at all. I decided instead to lean hard into the yuppie look, which I know is more associated with the 80s but was definitely still a thing in the 90s. I also allowed a little hip-hop influence in the form of a gold chain from val, which is not something I think vox would ever pick on his own.

2000s: if the 90s were the decade I was worried about and turned out great, the 2000s are the decade I thought I had down SO GOOD and then totally floundered in execution. I still love the bubble-mac inspired head, and I tried to make his clothes as "round" as possible. I also like that this is the time where his saturation got cranked. however, I don't know if I'm in love with the vest and super bright sneakers, because again, looking back on it, he kind of looks like he works at a movie theater or best buy or some shit lol,,,

2010s: I think it's telling that this is by far the closest to his canon design (2014 tumblr lookin ass). I really wanted to pull from that hipster tech bro era, but unfortunately that aesthetic has a veneration for "retro" which again, is not fitting for vox. I still think he would wear the bowtie during this time because, well... he sure does in the show!

2020s: this was fun because I had an excuse to pull from haute couture design rather than street fashion because of the introduction of velvette into his life. I truly do not think velvette would let vox and val walk around in the outfits that they do because it would be an actual embarrassment LMAO. for this, I wanted his decorative "robes" to be evocative of the time he depicted himself as a priest AND of a cape/robe of an emperor. he does think of himself as that bitch, after all.

[chilschuck]

omg… thinking abt chil reconnecting w his ex wife and becoming platonic besties. imagine they talk about it finding love again (chil’s ex has a new gf)… chil realises he’s caught feelings for reader… his ex teasing him about it…

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ OMG ANON THIS HAD ME GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET, WAHHHH. SUCH A CUTE IDEA!!!! it’s currently 2 am but i had to get this out for you since you’ve been waiting a while!!! it was so much fun!! <33

— ALL BECAUSE OF YOU.

꒰ info: ꒱ chilchuck x gn!reader

꒰ warnings: ꒱ none, sfw!! some cussing ofc lol

꒰ wc: ꒱ 586

✦ tumblr deleted this before i could post it twice so let’s pray it posts this time, LOL. short but sweet, i hope you enjoy!!! <333

“So… Who are they?”

That simple question was enough to make him choke on his drink. Was he that easy to read? Catching his breath, the half-foot immediately sputtered.

“What are you talking about?” Yet, the knowing look on her face said it all. Even if they had been separated for this long, she could still figure out just what he was hiding. So much for trying to keep some things personal…

“You have this expression, this content smile I haven’t seen in years, Chilchuck. Someone’s making you happy.” Her tone was not condescending in the slightest, rather content with this new revelation. Her words caused his cheeks to flush, more than the ale in his cup could.

And she was right. He was coming to terms with his feelings; and even the thought of you was enough to make him whole again. The fact it was so obvious was rather embarrassing, and he could feel the tips of his ears burn.

“Yeah, yeah… I guess you figured it out before I got a chance to tell you.”

They were nothing like they used to be, having settled on staying close through friendship. Although this maybe would’ve been hard to do in the past, Chilchuck felt more peaceful than he thinks he has in years. There was something about you that lit fire to his senses in ways he had long forgotten, and he found himself seeking you out more than he’d like to admit.

“I’ve told you plenty about my new girlfriend, now it’s your turn to spill. What are they like? It’s a sight to see you this happy.”

It was something only someone who really knew him could see; the change in his demeanor, the light in his eyes, the smile that threatened to spill from the corners of his lips. And it was all because of you.

“You’re going to laugh when I tell you how I met them,” he began, licking the ale from his lips in thought. “Laios’ party. I really ended up eating my own words about inner party romance, huh?” The last sentence came out in a grumble, one that caused her to laugh.

“Wow, they made you go against your own rules? Must be a keeper.”

And you were. Warm, but not enough to burn. Bright, but not blindingly so. Sweet, but not sickening. Chilchuck found himself feeling like a teenager again when it came to you. He bit his tongue.

“So you’re going to confess to them, right?” She teased, prodding his shoulder. “Look at you, blushing like a schoolboy. Must be serious.”

He opened his mouth to retort, before closing it again. The words died before he could speak, the full gravity of his feelings for you hitting him like a freight train. Burying his head in his arms, he groaned. “Shit…”

Chilchuck was doomed. Yet even as his head spiraled from a mixture of the alcohol and his new found love, it always went back to you. You, and your smiles, and your laugh, and your touch. There weren’t enough curse words he could possibly growl out in this moment to make himself feel better.

His ex wife laughed again, patting him on the back and stirring him from his thoughts. “Jeez, you really are a schoolboy. Maybe you should give them a love letter while you’re at it. Might be smart, actually.”

That’s how the rest of their time together went; two close friends musing about the ability to find love again. All because of you.

— dividers by @/cafekitsune! <3

[reidbae]

Ecstasy

summary: You’re always nervous around your professor, which he has taken note to, but had chosen not to speak on. It’s not until you come to his classroom late to turn in a missing assignment that he decides to ask you about it, and he’ll do anything for the answer.

warnings/mentions: dom!spencer x sub!reader, teacher x student relationship, tall x short, reader is 22+ and spencer is 32+, age gap, AFAB reader, use of Y/N in slowburn but pet names used during smut (sweetheart, baby, doll, honey, etc), degradation, praise, choking, fingering, rough sex, hair pulling, vaginal sex, office sex technically lol, literally just filth dude

wc: 4.4k

a/n: hey, i’m kit! i write a lot in my free time and i think it’s high time i made a tumblr. this is my first post and the first smut i’ve written in a while. this is partially slowburn but it’s MOSTLY smut. anyway, hope you enjoy and also know that i take requests!

You knocked on the classroom door before entering it, shutting it quietly behind you. “Professor Reid?” you called out, unsure if the intelligent doctor was even here so late.

He looked up from his desk, his nose previously buried in paperwork. He was no doubt grading assignments, and you felt a twinge of guilt for interrupting him.

You nervously cleared your throat, beginning to approach his desk. “I’m sorry for interrupting you. I- I know it’s late. I just have that missing essay you wanted me to make up?” you explained, holding out the essay that you had finished shortly before you got here.

You noticed Spencer’s eyes darting to your clothing, lingering there for a few moments as he seemed to be taking in the view of you. You’d pulled on the first thing you’d found in your closet, a skimpy red dress that was tugging forcefully against your body. Ultimately, however, Spencer didn’t say anything and cleared his throat, then accepted your paper from you.

He looked it over for a second, then spoke up. “This is a lot of work, Y/N. It only needed to be two pages,” he pointed out to you.

You began to sweat at that comment, gazing at him with an apprehensive expression. “I- I know, sir. I just wanted to make up for the fact that I’m turning it in late. I hope you won’t take points off,” you explained. He may have made your palms sweat, but you did still care heavily about your grades.

“I’m not going to,” he said with a soft smile, placing your essay down on his desk. “Your essay seems to be well written, as usual, from what I’ve read so far.”

You could feel your face heat up at his praise and you gently nodded. “Thank you. And thank you again for giving me an extension.”

He nodded, too. “You’re welcome. But I hope you’re aware that I won’t always be so understanding, Y/N. I was glad to give you an extension this time, but I won’t shy away from taking points off if this happens again. I want you to learn to be more punctual,” he sternly continued.

It was conversations like these that made you heavily aware that no matter what you felt, Spencer was still your professor, and he wasn’t afraid to remind you of that. Shyly, you nodded your head, becoming more nervous as the seconds went on. “I- I understand, Professor Reid. I promise that it won’t happen again,” you could barely stammer out, coherent sentences beginning to fail you.

He smiled up at you and gave you another respectful nod. “Good. Make sure you live up to that,” he said firmly.

Did he have to be so overly stern? “I will,” you simply returned. You weren’t really sure what to say at this point now that the reason you’d come here had been addressed. You took a shaky breath, then nodded in finality. “Well, um, I guess I’d better get going now. Again, sorry to disturb you so late, Professor. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you timidly told Spencer, turning on your feet and starting to walk towards the door.

Spencer’s husky voice stopped you dead in your tracks. “Can I ask you something, Y/N?” he asked you. Nervously, you turned back around, looking at him.

“What is it, sir?” you politely responded, giving him your best innocent smile.

“Why are you always so nervous around me?”

Your eyes widened as your cheeks flushed red, caught off guard by his sudden question. You knew that, at some point, he would confront you about your continued nervousness around him that had started the second he became your professor three months ago. You were awful at hiding it: You blush and sweat, you stutter and stammer, and you toy with your hands and hair when he talks to you. You couldn’t be blamed for your attractiveness to the handsome doctor, but, really, you wish you were better at burying it.

“N- nervous?” you responded, in a feeble attempt to sound clueless. “I- I’m not- What makes you say that, Professor?” you asked, knowing exactly why he was asking.

“You seem much more nervous and tense when you talk to me as opposed to when you talk to others. It’s something I’ve noticed since the beginning of the semester,” he explained to you, folding his hands atop his desk.

“Uh, well, you know,” you nervously laughed, avoiding eye contact with him at all costs. “I’m just shy.” Yeah, right.

“You’re loud and exuberant around your other professors, along with your classmates. I’ve heard you laugh and joke with quite a few people. It seems like this nervous demeanor is only saved for me,” he pointed out, sounding completely convinced that he was correct in his observations. He paused for a brief moment before continuing on. “Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”

Your expression turned shocked at the fact that he could possibly think that anything he did would make anyone uncomfortable. “No, no, I swear, it’s not like that,” you mumbled shyly, shaking your head.

“Forgive me for thinking so, Y/N, but my words do hold some truth to them. You are aware of this behavior that you’ve constantly displayed towards me over the last few months, though, correct?” he asked. His words came out so fluently, as though he had been meaning to come to you about this for longer than you’d anticipated. In regards to how you were speaking at the moment, you wish you could say the same.

“S- Somewhat,” you admitted.

He looked more intrigued now that you had confirmed the fact that you were nervous around him. He leaned back in his chair now, hands in his lap as he stared up at you. “Then, tell me what it is that’s making you nervous. I’d like to clear up whatever it is.”

You immediately shook your head, eyes still averted from the brunette professor. “I- It’s nothing.”

“It’s not ‘nothing’ if you’re constantly stuttering when you talk to me, or fidgeting with your hands when I walk by your desk,” he said, his stern tone growing increasingly prominent with each word he said. “I want to know what’s going on, Y/N.”

“Nothing’s going on,” you instantly defended. You were not in the mood to blow your cover about this. Not today, and maybe not ever.

“Oh, really?” he asked you in return, cocking an eyebrow. “You just told me you know that your behavior has been odd over the last few months,” he sighed. He grabbed a pen on his desk, clicking it a few times before continuing. “You and I both know there’s something wrong. This issue will never be resolved if you don’t discuss it with me. I promise that it will be to your benefit.”

You couldn’t help but remain silent. If you spoke, you’d stutter, only further proving Spencer’s point. You didn’t shake your head or give any sign at all that you’d heard him.

At this, he sighed again, shaking his head from what you could see out of the corner of your eye. “Am I going to have to figure it out for myself?” he asked you in a genuine tone. His voice, you noticed, was notably lower than it was before.

You only rolled your eyes in response to that. The fact that he had asked why you were nervous was one thing, but the idea of him attempting to figure it out was much more daunting, and you weren’t looking forward to it.

“Don’t give me that, Y/N,” he demanded when you rolled your eyes, tone fierce. “If you can’t verbally tell me what’s going on, your body language will.“

“My body language has nothing to tell,” you tried to correct him, trembling hands finding your hair and messing with it anxiously, eyes still torn from Spencer’s.

“You seriously believe that?” he almost scoffed, shaking his head. “I teach you how to read this stuff. Your body language has nothing to tell? You mean your shaky hands, stuttering, and red face have nothing to tell? Or, what about the fact that your hands are tangled in your hair? Or, that you can’t even look at me?” he went on, and he didn’t stop there.

“Do you want me to list every possibility I can think of until you tell me why you’re so nervous?” he asked. There was no tone of joke in his words: You knew that he would do it, and he’d do it with pride, at that.

“No,” you told him, the first word you’d said since the beginning of his ramble.

“Are you sure? Maybe that’s what you need.” Maybe it was the hour or the context of the situation, but you could swear for a second that this sentence had some air of teasing to it.

“I- I don’t, Professor Reid,” you stammered out.

“Tell me something, Y/N. Why are you the only student I have who still calls me ‘Professor Reid?’” he questioned.

“It’s respectful,” you tried, but it sounded like bullshit even as the words left your tongue. Spencer wasn’t that far off your age. Every one of your classmates called him by his first name, as he had said he was comfortable with several times. But you knew that calling him by his first name would put him on the same level as you, and if you didn’t see him as your professor, you weren’t sure you’d be able to control yourself.

“I’ve said several times that it’s okay to call me Spencer. All of my students do, and some even call me ‘Reid,’ they’re that comfortable. Yet, you only use ‘Professor,’ ‘Professor Reid,’ and ‘sir’ to address me,” he went on. You slowly started to realize that he was profiling you, and you felt your face grow redder, already knowing the outcome: He would figure you out.

In hopes of making yourself seem clueless, you shrugged. He wasn’t buying it, and asked, “Does this have anything to do with your continued nervousness around me?”

“I- I’m not nervous,” you could barely manage to get out, let alone lie properly. Deflection was your last hope of getting Spencer to drop this topic, a hope that you were almost positive would not be worth hoping for.

“Look at me, then, Y/N.”

No. Immediately, no.

“If you’re so ‘not nervous’ around me like you say, then look at me. If you’re not anxious, or shy, you should have no problem doing so,” Spencer said in a confident tone.

“I- I can’t look at you,” you immediately returned. You wanted to, but given the context of this situation, you knew he’d easily get you to talk if you did.

“Why?” he asked, his tone one of pure and utter confusion. Because I’m afraid of what I’ll say if I do.

“I just can’t,” you repeated, rubbing your eyes.

He sighed again, sounding genuinely exasperated. “Do you need me to profile it out of you, Y/N? Because I have no trouble doing that,” he said sternly. “I want you to feel comfortable around me. But I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on with you.”

When you didn’t respond, he took a deep breath, tapping his fingers on his desk before standing up and continuing. You were really looking away now. The fact that he was at least five inches taller than you was not helping.

“You show common signs of tenseness when I’m around you, like a stiff jaw, sweating, shaking, and, above all, avoiding eye contact,” he started, and you scoffed. Fucking profilers.

“Your body language offers common tells of your continued nervousness around me, like touching your face, constantly fidgeting with your hands and hair, and turning red when I say your name.”

“Stop,” you managed to say, your face growing darker at his words. But he continued.

“You’re talkative and open with others, but closed off and shy with me. You talk with your hands during class but they find their way into your hair the second I’m in your presence,” he went on.

“Stop,” you tried again, your voice growing quieter and your singular word coming out in a low whisper.

“You’re my only student who seems to refuse to call me by my first name. You can present in my class without flash cards but are unable to form clear, coherent sentences around me-“

“For fuck’s sake, Spencer, I’m attracted to you!” you finally blurted, unable to take any more of this.

He stopped talking, looking at you as if he was physically unable to process what you had just said. “What?”

“I’m attracted to you,” you repeated again, finally looking up at him and now realizing how hard it would be. Your cheeks were clearly flushed red, and your body was trembling.

He chuckled for a second, then immediately stopped. “That’s what this is?” he asked you in disbelief, his tone evidently amused, as if this was something he heard on the daily basis. “Attraction?”

“Yes,” you returned.

“And it makes you this nervous to talk to me?” he asked you genuinely, but his voice still showed underlying tones of amusement.

“Yes.”

He thought for a moment, truly taking in your words. Then, a faint smirk danced across his face as he walked around his desk with his hands in his pockets, stopping a few feet away from you.

You refused to give him whatever satisfaction he seemed to be gaining by teasing you and looked away as he looked at you. He chuckled, stepping closer. “You’re nervous because of a little crush? Come on, Y/N. How old are you?” he teased.

You rolled your eyes again and remained silent.

“Look at me,” he said sternly, taking another step closer. There was now minimal distance between the two of you. It would be easy to lean and kiss him. What the hell is he doing to you?

All you did was shake your head. Absolutely not.

He reached out to cup your cheek, caressing his thumb over it as he looked down at you with a smirk, from what you could see out of the corner of your eye.

“You’re always so good in class. Be a good girl for me now, won’t you, Y/N?” he cooed, continuing to smooth his thumb over your face. You felt yourself growing redder by the second.

You shook your head, not at him, but at yourself for what you were about to do. You were too easy. You made eye contact with him, gazing lewdly up into his auburn eyes.

“That’s it,” he murmured. You were correct: He was smirking at you. He spoke up again. “Three months is a long time, sweetheart. How many fantasies have you had about me in that time?”

You blushed harder at that, stuttering out, “A lot.”

“Voice one to me,” Spencer continued in a raspy tone. His voice was riling you up, and you were almost unsure of how to answer. “What’s on your mind?”

“I- I’ve thought about-,” you tried, but you stopped, unsure if you should even speak the explicit fantasy that came to your mind first into the universe.

Noticing your hesitation, Spencer said, “You can say it, sweetheart. What have you thought about?” he demanded, although his words were almost sweet.

You took a breath of courage before replying, “A- About you, bending me over your desk,” you barely managed to stutter out.

He chuckled even further at your shy admission. “Doing what to you?” he asked in his teasing tone.

You let out a small frustrated groan. Isn’t it obvious?

“Fucking me.”

He gave you a flirty smile at your words. “What do you want, sweetheart?” he now asked you in a raspy tone, the distance between you becoming too hard to resist closing.

“To take you across this desk,” you openly admitted, finding it difficult to stare at his eyes when his lips were so close.

“Then do it.”

His words mixed with his proximity gave you the confidence to finally pull him in, wrapping your arms around his neck and fervently kissing him. To your surprise, he reciprocated instantly, roughly grabbing your waist and backing you into his desk.

He lifted you up with ease and sat you on the only part of it that wasn’t filled with papers, his lips never leaving yours as his tongue explored your mouth. After a few minutes, there was nowhere his hands hadn’t roamed, as he shamelessly grabbed your neck, cupped your tits, and squeezed your ass.

His fingers found their way under your dress, his cold hands meeting your warm skin. You shuddered at the contact, moaning surprisedly into your kiss. You could feel him tugging at the hem of your panties as he pulled back from you, breathing heavily.

“Professor,” you breathed out, calling him ‘Professor’ out of habit. He shook his head at you in response to it.

“Say my name,” he demanded of you, continuing his movements with his hand as he looked down at you.

“Sp- Spencer,” you stammered out, breath quickening at his dominant tone.

“Attagirl,” Spencer praised, hands dipping suddenly into your panties. You gasped, looking up at him with a sultry stare. His fingers slid in between your soaked folds and you involuntarily let out a whorish moan.

“Fuck, doll, you’re already this wet?” he asked you in a tone that was a mixture of both surprise and excitement as his fingers felt all of your built up arousal. “Is this all for me?”

You didn’t know what to say, in pure and utter shock that this was even happening.

He gave you a look that screamed both pleading and demanding at the same time. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he cooed, moving his fingers in no particular direction, which made you moan softly anyway.

“I- It’s all for you, Spencer,” you stammered.

“There you go. I like hearing that pretty voice of yours,” Spencer cooed. He buried a finger into your cunt, and you groaned at the sudden intrusion. He started slow, making sure you were comfortable with this sensation, then stuck another in, quickening his pace.

You arched your back as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting a spot that you had never been able to reach when you were touching yourself alone. He knew exactly what he was doing, using another finger to rub slow circles around your clit. He pumped his fingers in and out fast, eliciting several moans of pleasure from you.

You leaned in to fiercely kiss him as he continued to finger you, sliding your tongue into his mouth. He accepted it gladly, gently choking you with his other hand as the two of you kissed. You groaned into it, his use of force getting you closer and closer to your high.

He pulled away, then started on your neck, kissing and sucking harshly as he continued to finger you below. His pace was getting faster, pushing his fingers deeper with every second that went by. When he curved them further than he had before, he found exactly where your pleasure point was: Your G-Spot.

“Fuck, Spencer,” you groaned out, your climax directly around the corner as he left kisses and no doubt hickies all over your neck.

He payed close attention to your reaction, making sure to continue to finger you directly where you needed him and continuing to rub your clit in quick motions. You were nearly there, and he surely knew that. However, suddenly, all movements ceased, and he pulled away from your neck to lustfully look down on you, retracting his fingers from your wetness.

You looked up at him with a mirroring lustful expression, but only because you were so close to releasing, and he had just taken that away from you.

“Sp- Spencer? Why’d you stop?” you stuttered out a little frustratedly.

“Because that’s not where I want you to finish,” he said, like it was the most simple thing to humanly comprehend. He backed up a step, then lifted you from his desk, spinning you round and bending you over it in one swift movement. You gasped as his hand found your lower back, his crotch pressed up on you and his bulge pressing into your ass.

“Spencer-“

“You said you saw me bending you over across my own desk, right?” Spencer reminded you in a low voice.

“Y- yeah,” you returned in a needy voice.

“Thought so.”

You could hear him unbuckling his belt from behind, working quickly to undo it with his only free hand. The sound was followed by that of his zipper, and then of him shrugging his pants partially down. He then turned his attention to you, pulling your dress up and revealing your red panties that matched the color of your dress. He chuckled, no doubt at that fact, then pulled them down.

He took his cock out of his boxers and pumped it up and down a few times. You tried to turn your head back to look, but he used his free hand to turn your head back around. You were about to say something about it, until he suddenly thrusted deep into your cunt, and you let out a whorish moan.

“F- Fuck, you’re so big, Spencer,” you couldn’t help but moan out. He was far inside of you, and his throbbing cock was no doubt seven inches minimum.

“You can take it,” he groaned back, placing his hand on the back of your head as he moved slowly but deeply into you. His hands roamed your body again, settling on your tits. He used a hand to grab one, eliciting a mewl from you. He fondled it with force, running his thumb in forceful circles around your tit as he pounded into you relentlessly.

“You like being fucked like this, sweetheart?” he cooed in your ear, voice audibly raspy as his movements didn’t cease.

“Yes, sir,” you responded in a slutty voice, calling him ‘sir’ for the first time in what felt like years.

“Such a, fuck- Slut for me,” he said in between thrusts. His pace was getting faster now as he rammed into you from behind, going at a speed you were finding difficult to not readily climax from. His words only enhanced this feeling.

He grabbed the back of your head by your hair, turning you to face a part of the classroom to your left.

“That’s where you sit in my class. Perfect view of my desk. Do you fantasize about this when you look at it?” he asked. His words came out in groans as he tried to both talk and maintain his quick pace.

“Maybe,” you breathed as you looked at your own desk where you had been sitting mere hours beforehand, never in a million years anticipating this.

“That’s not an answer,” he forcefully said, ceasing his movements and beginning to pull his cock from your cunt.

“Wait- Fuck,” you sighed, whimpering when you no longer felt him inside of you. “Yes, I do,” you admitted, telling him exactly what he wanted to hear.

He chuckled at your needy attempt to feel him inside of you again, teasing your wet entrance with the tip of his cock. “That desperate, huh?”

“Y- Yes, sir,” you said softly, finding it hard to get any words out as you took note of his teasing. He thrusted back into you, pushing hard and fast.

“Slut,” Spencer grunted. He pulled your head back by your hair, managing to grip it gently despite his rough pace. “My fucking slut.”

You moaned at his use of degradation, feeling your climax beginning to bubble up inside of you again, but you held it back, wanting to prolong the pleasurable feeling that you were receiving.

“Such a, fuck- Slutty dress,” he suddenly commented, toying with the hem on your dress. “Always wearin’ skirts hiked all the way up to your ass. Hoping I’d notice that, sweetheart?” he asked, the hand that was pulling your hair roaming over to your neck and choking you.

All you could do was nod as your words failed you, coherent sentences vacant in your head and absent from your mouth, as they usually were regardless.

“Use your words, baby,” he demanded of you, squeezing down harder on your neck.

You groaned out, complying and stammering, “Y- Yes,” in response to his question.

“That’s a good girl. Doin’ so fucking good for me,” Spencer praised you.

You were moaning loudly now, the sound of both of your grunts filling the air as Spencer continued at his quick speed. You could feel your eyes watering at the pressure and size of his cock that was deep into your cunt, and your climax was approaching as fast as his pace was going.

“Spencer,” you whispered, cheeks hot and absolutely flushed.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Spencer groaned back.

“I’m close,” you breathed, words breaking.

He let out a soft moan at your words, then moved his hand away from your neck and down to your clit. He rubbed it in quick circles as he had done before, gladly helping you to reach your high. You bit your lip, loud moans and whines falling from your mouth.

“That’s it, doll. I want to hear you,” he demanded of you in response to your moans, his long fingers moving on your throbbing clit as fast as his cock was pounding into your cunt.

You happily complied, continuing to moan out as broken murmurs of his name fell from your lips. He let out his own moans as he chased his high, too. He used his free hand to grip your ass, holding you roughly as he groaned behind you.

“Come for me, sweetheart. Let it out,” he groaned.

His words pushed you over the threshold, being all you needed to finally moan out his name loud as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Spencer groaned out your name, too, as he finished inside of you, gripping your ass as roughly as he possibly could.

When you were both done, he pulled out, breathing heavily as he returned his cock to his boxers. You pulled your panties up and your dress back down, breathing heavily too as you looked back at Spencer with tousled hair.

Spencer stuck the two fingers he’d used to finger you into his mouth, sucking away whatever elements of your release he had managed to get on his hand. You let out a soft moan at the view as Spencer looked down on you. He moved his other hand on your waist.

“You taste sweet,” he whispered to you, caressing his thumb over your hip. Your legs were shaking, and, taking note of this, he picked you up and sat you on his desk. You smiled tiredly up at him as he did.

“I take it this means I’ll get a good grade on my essay?” you joked, giggling.

He smiled down at you, planting a sweet kiss onto your forehead. “A+, baby. A+.”

[moonsaver]

Thank you thank you thank you for answering my ask about the "accepting a confession you dont want". I was afraid Tumblr would eat my ask. I didnt expect so many HCs so Im truly very grateful. I really enjoy reading your hcs and writing.

I totally agree with Aventurine using it to his advantage and Argenti being delusional and love bombing you constantly. I dont know if Aven would ever get desperate/tired/sad of you not loving him, or if Argenti would ever realise theres something wrong. But thats a problem for the future haha.

Thank you so much for the feedback and appreciation!! Also yes i understand lol, tumblr is a very glitchy app and its half a minute away from experiencing half life of a radioactive substance.

Aventurine has many mixed feelings about it, in my opinion. I didnt expand more on it in case it went off topic and the post got too long, but i guess ill do it here.

Aventurine, despite being cunning and shallow regarding his profit at times, still does hold sincerity inside. He does want to be loved by you in a romantic way, and at times both of you share quiet moments, where you stare into space conflicted about your relationship, and Aventurine stares at you in silence, wondering about everything he's done up til now, and perhaps all the things that could have been avoided if he'd done something differently from the start. He does get jaded about your own conflicts. Regardless, it's not too soon before you snap out of your daze and look at Aventurine, his solemn face turning into a relaxed smile. Something on your mind, sweetheart? And he feels a pang seeing the conflicted look in your eyes return.

Argenti, on the other hand, is .. just painfully oblivious. Even if you tried explaining to Argenti and tried to back out, he won't understand. A part of you wonders if it's that he doesn't understand, or just doesn't want to understand. Regardless, if you of all people can't explain it to him, there's no hope of anyone being able to step up for you.

I imagine the only time Argenti could be on the verge of understanding is if you've escaped his grasp multiple times, and someone strong gives him a stubborn battle and beats some sense into him while he (hunts you down) searches for you. I imagine he only ever contemplates on it for a brief moment, before alluding it all to Idrila simply testing him and his devotion.

Sigh, he's incurable.

[dot-png]

PLEASE TALK MORE ABOUT AUTISTIC CODED BRYCE PLS PLEASE its so fun to read ur thoughts abt him/hfjone characters in general :33/nf

i went a little over this on my mini analysis of him:

since im not good at organizing my thoughts (very apparent in this image tbh) ill pick some of the asd diagnosis criteria and elaborate based on how i see it fitting bryce

Difficulties in social emotional reciprocity, including trouble with social approach, back and forth conversation, sharing interests with others, and expressing/understanding emotions.

again, bryce's monotone, he has a lot of trouble expressing himself. i think it's also interesting to bring up how he's sarcastic, people tend to think most if not all autistic people don't understand irony and while that's the case for a lot of us we can still understand and be sarcastic we're just bad at it most of the time . he has a hard time expressing himself so he chooses to be obnoxiously sarcastic. maybe to fit in who knows

for the trouble with social approach i can think of how in onei 4 kylie talks about bryce snapping at their boss, but specifically the visual part because like they were just talking to him and he snapped out of nowhere. you can argue that kylie said he was acting unusually but, what if its unusual because he couldn't make an effort to mask because of how much one was bothering him. a workplace is a very common place to mask. he wasn't acting unusually, screaming at people is very common for bryce, kylie just doesn't know about it because she only sees him at work and he'd like to maintain his job. do you get what im saying probably not

i'll go on a tangent actually, this scene with oscar also feels like masking to me... notice how he's carefully picking his words and putting on a character so that they can leave already because oscar was not collaborating. even if he seems to be communicative while trying to find a way out of the conversation hes still trying to find a way out of the conversation like, he doesn't know how to approach it so he makes something up. he even forces a smile

this sounds a little dumb considering how he was just trying to prevent liam from dropping a bombshell to oscar but if you squint it does makes sense and im one hundred percent right

Difficulties in nonverbal communication used for social interaction including abnormal eye-contact and body language and difficulty with understanding the use of nonverbal communication like facial expressions or gestures for communication.

i can think of this scene:

(transcript bc tumblr wont let me add two videos)

but you can argue that everyone has a hard time understanding stone lol

i just think it's interesting that when stone resorted to pushing bryce he immediately took it personally, like, he didn't try connecting the dots based on what he was gesticulating before. and thats because bryce is very defensive - which is also an autistic trait.....! it mainly relates to the frustration we feel when someone is annoyed that don't understand them, but to us they were clearly not being clarificatory at all. even if we don't intend to sound confrontational when contesting them, we end up doing so

i kinda wish we got a bryce interview so we could see how he acted. i like how cheesy portrayed the characters' mannerisms in the investigations like, how most of them act really awkward, and that's enhaced by the fact that we're viewing it from ava's perspective

Deficits in developing and maintaining relationships with other people (other than with caregivers), including lack of interest in others, difficulties responding to different social contexts, and difficulties in sharing imaginative play with others.

i dont think i need to explain this one that much like bryce's not very social, he doesn't talk to anyone at work, his only friend is bradley and the police thought one of the best people to interview for his disappearance was a co-worker. bryce's closest relationship ever aside for liam and amelia seems to have been stella (a caregiver) and that's it

even with liam and amelia he has some problems with communication

getting into headcanon territory i wanna expand on that last part with imaginative play, it's obviously referring to children but like we saw bryce as a child so i can come up with something

to me it always seemed like bryce and stella had a big age difference for siblings, like by looking at that image alone you can deduce that bryce's a small child while stella's already a teenager. and as someone with just one sibling really older than me it really affects our mannerisms when playing, like a child would want their sibling to play with them but they're already a teenager so they don't find interest in it. it can demotivate the child and how they interact with people their age, specially if they're autistic, since they already feel left out so not knowing how to engage in playing with other children makes that feeling even worse

but that's at least how it was for me and again its just a headcanon .... i make up a lot of headcanons based on that flashback sequence alone for some reason

Rigid adherence to routines, ritualized patterns of verbal or nonverbal behaviors, and extreme resistance to change (such as insistence on taking the same route to school, eating the same food because of color or texture, repeating the same questions); the individual may become greatly distressed at small changes in these routines.

when bryce gets sent to the plane he shows this a lot. everyone talks about how they want to go back to their lives but bryce specifically talks about his routine . he's so pretentious about it its funny

when liam wants him to go to bradley with him he does this again also

most of the confronts bryce has with liam in s2 can be linked back to his resistance to change

Increased or decreased reactivity to sensory input or unusual interest in sensory aspects of the environment, such as not reacting to pain, strong dislike to specific sounds, excessive touching or smelling objects, or fascination with spinning objects.

i went over this one on the analysis, bryce gets stimulated very easily by sensory inputs and the smallest things startle him (ill include the gifs i used again because i find them silly

(ik on the second one he was like mutilated or whatever but compare his reaction to liam's . and also to amelia's after literally shattering to death)

he also has a sensory related phobia so

kinda unrelated but i think it would be funny if the "not reacting to pain" bit was attributed to humanized bryce based on how object bryce is like. made out of plastic. and he was ok after falling from a pole since that makes his resistant

cheesy said he didnt intend to write any of the characters as autistic (but doesnt mind if people see them that way) but bryce is still very coded to me..... maybe its just because i always try to find a way to relate my favorite characters' experiences to my experiences lol

[kanmom51]

A walk down memory lane.

I was feeling a little nostalgic today. Perhaps it's me missing the guys, and JM and JK in particular. Perhaps it's me sitting here and thinking about everything that's happened since 2023, culminating in their enlistment together, and now us getting, all at once, this barrage of JM - Jikook - JK content.

All this had me thinking of my own journey in the fandom, and especially here, as Kanmom51 in this little insignificant blog of mine.

The things I've learnt, the friends I've made (lifetime friends for which I have to thank BTS and Jikook in particular for - so thanks guys, love you for who you are and who you have helped me evolve into). It's nice to stop once in a while and ponder about it all.

Next I went diving into the blog a little, to remember when and where I started.

As mentioned in previous posts, I knew of BTS before, but truly discovered them and fell in love with them after basically being forced to watch MOTS ON:E live online concert. That was back in October 2020. Noticed our two and their dynamics and dived right in. Tumblr was a new discovery as well (Twitter/X came much later).

I started out by reblogging other's posts (some blogs don't even exist anymore, some are still around - makes me happy to see those that stuck around - and some I guess either didn't like what I had to say or the other way round, life happens).

What I wanted to share, oh so very randomly, was my very first post.

Now, listen here. I'm writing this without even seeing that first post yet, so it's probably a huge cringe moment, but Idk, I thought it would be fun.

So here we go. My very first stand alone post, written and posted (didn't even know you could keep drafts back then, lol) 31 January 2021:

A little cringe reading that today, lol.

Since then over 8,500 posts written. Many of which I am very proud of.

😊

Thank you all for making this journey with me.

I love you all!!

[nanamineedstherapy]

Literally cannot wait for the next chapter to drop!! Please post it soon so I don’t end up sneaking chapters at work again.</3

Thank you for reading it all Pookie, my sincere apologies for the delay. I'm unfortunately a perfectionist and needed to add more details to make it real. Hope you enjoy it :)

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/Crack Warnings: Graphic Violence, Emotional Abuse, Medically accurate Pain/Injuries Horror (yes, I do alot of research), pregnancy complications, Weaponized Guilt, Mentions of Rape (past, non-graphic), Psychological Manipulation, Mild Suicide Ideation (implied), Brainrot-Inducing Dialogue, Reader May Require Therapy After This, Emotional Damage Simulator 2025, Sukuna is Down Bad – Yuji said so, Mafia CEO AU (kinda), Reader is So Tired, Found Family? Or Found Emotional Damage?, Gojo Satoru's Consequences, Nanami Kento Deserves a Nap & to be able to pee in peace without his wife+husband combo broadcasting it, Unhinged Girlboss Reader, Murder as Romance, This chapter is a war crime. Trillionaire Tech Wife With Two Useless Men, Emotional Support Chicken. A/N: I feel like the reader is the biggest comedian in this series, tbh lol. Like??? She's fighting for her life, trauma bonding with eldritch horrors, & still has time to serve face & sarcasm in the same breath. Queen behaviour. Honestly, if I were her, I too would commit crimes while sipping Sprite out of a hospital cup. POOKIE SUKU IS HERE!!!!

Previous Chapter 23 (alt ending 2.14) - How the Salt in Our Wounds Was the Ocean - [Tumblr/Ao3]

Chapter 24 (alt ending 2.15) - Shattered Constellations

Aftermath | Their POV

They called her mortal.

They forgot she was trained by monsters.

Hour One

Nanami burned through every Tokyo contact. Then called Anna Wintour.

"Who did she meet tonight?"

There was a pause. The silence that comes when too many people are in the room, and you suddenly realise you’re the prey.

Anna’s tone was clipped, as ever. “Kento.”

“Anna. She’s missing. We can’t find her.”

“You must be very upset.”

“Who did she meet today? What was the investor’s name?”

“I was told if I revealed that name, if I tell you anything about her movements without her consent, I’ll be dead before the phone line disconnects. And you—you won’t even know who killed me.”

He closed his eyes. “It’s not about control. I think she’s in danger.”

Silence. Not even the buzz of static.

“Goodnight, Mr. Nanami.”

The Koenigsegg Jesko had been the first to betray them.

It shouldn’t have.

It was registered to her company but custom-built by Megumi’s black-ops R&D. Eight embedded trackers—nano chips, tyre sensors, two voice AI failsafes. The works.

But one by one, the signals blinked out like dying stars.

First, the GPS. Then the emergency LTE backup.

Then the engine monitor started sending Morse-code gibberish, as though something inhuman had possessed the car.

“She cut the battery?” Megumi asked, horrified.

The smoke alarms were disabled.

The flames were superficial, controlled—nothing damaged except the bed, the mattress soaked in Tom Ford and Dior and spite. Nanami didn’t smell arson. He smelled intent.

Megumi’s team—your personal security detail, his people—had been scrambled into a full lockdown.

“She shut down the internal feeds,” he gasped, crouched on the cold marble. “Her penthouse went dark mid-step. She disabled the elevator cam.”

“She shouldn’t even be able to do that,” Gojo said, eyes flashing cerulean. “The feed’s encrypted.”

“She built the system,” Nanami added quietly.

Gojo activated the Six Eyes at a higher altitude.

He’d only ever used them like this twice—once, back when they were hunting the remnants of the Star Plasma cult. Back when Geto still— And the second time was when he was trying to find you in your home country when you’d disappeared after the gaming convention.

Nanami was watching the flame flicker and die in Gojo’s face.

Gojo balled his fists in frustration. “Why can't I see her? There’s no cursed energy hiding her. She’s not suppressing her aura. She’s not using a veil or a curse technique—she can’t. She’s just a normal woman!”

“No.” Nanami corrected coldly. “She’s lived with you for years, and you talk alot about your conquests, Satoru. By now it’d be a miracle if she didn’t figure out how to counter you, given the way she is – all or nothing.”

Hour Two

“She’s still not showing up,” Megumi whispered.

Not on satellite. Not on traffic cams. Not even on Gojo’s six eyes, which were burning as he stood barefoot on the balcony, sweat crystallizing on his cheekbones.

“No cursed energy signatures,” Gojo muttered. “No barriers. No pings.”

“She’s not a sorcerer,” Haibara said, leaning against the glass. “She’s just angry.”

“She’s not just anything,” Nanami half-yelled, eyes scanning five monitors showing nothing but static. “She disappeared mid-day. Mid-breath. That’s not normal.”

The Jesko went through one toll booth. Then stopped showing up.

Gone. No transponders. No speed violations. No tyre marks.

“Tracker’s off,” Megumi said, barely keeping it together. “All of them. Phone, car, security fob, coat lining. Gone.”

“She’s still wearing the tracker from last week's security update,” Nanami muttered, clicking on her medical vitals screen.

"Not anymore," Haibara said, holding something bloody in his hand. A tiny sliver of metal he'd found on the toll booth she’d disappeared from. "She cut it out. Used the same blade she cut me with."

"Was she bleeding?" Gojo snapped, voice shrill.

"Not when she bit me. After? Who knows."

Hour Three

They stood in the war room.

Screens everywhere. Her last known locations. Holograms. Pulse tracking. Voice AI failed prompts.

A red string corkboard in a glass room.

Haibara, biting into an apple like it might be poisoned.

Megumi, rocking back and forth, hands pressed to his skull.

Nanami, silent.

Gojo pacing like an animal.

“She fucking ghosted us,” Haibara laughed like the irony was too much.

“She can’t ghost the Six Eyes,” Gojo muttered. “I’ve found people in other dimensions. She can’t—she’s not supposed to be able to—how is she doing this?”

“She’s deleting herself,” Megumi whispered. “Not hiding. Erasing.”

They all turned to him.

He kept staring at the floor. “You don’t know what she’s capable of when she feels cornered. You don’t know what she learnt from my father. Hell, even I never really knew what they talked about.”

Hour Four

Your location-shared signal blipped once.

A rural highway. Eastbound. Then silence.

“She left it on just long enough for someone else,” Haibara murmured. “Not us.”

Gojo slumped to the ground, blindfold in his fist.

Security teams deployed.

Megumi’s own private elite—trained to hunt rogue sorcerers—went silent within thirty minutes. They followed a false signal to the western district. Found nothing but a pile of burner phones duct-taped together.

It wasn’t signed. It didn’t need to be.

Haibara laughed, unwrapping the bandage on his bitten hand. “God, I love her. Bites like a jackal.”

“Shut up,” Nanami hissed.

“She’s fucking incredible.”

“Shut up.”

“She could’ve been a serial killer.”

Gojo slammed him against the wall. “Shut. Up.”

“Are we trying to find her or fight each other!” Megumi yelled, and Gojo backed off with a grunt from a smirking Haibara after a beat.

Hour Five

“She was smiling when she lit the bed on fire,” Haibara whispered, staring at the footage one of Megumi’s corrupted drones caught before she destroyed it.

The flames danced across your face like a rite. You looked holy. Like a woman who knew God personally and had decided He wasn’t worth the apology.

And none of them—not even the strongest sorcerer alive, not the meticulous executioner, or the boy born of a cursed blessing, or the resurrected demon from society’s trash heap—

None of them could stop you.

Because you weren’t human anymore.

Hour Six

They found a lead.

Not from tech. Not from tracking.

From blood.

Haibara licked his injured hand, still oozing from her bite. He stared at it. Smiled.

“She didn’t take the knife to hurt herself. She took it to threaten us. And this? This isn’t desperation.”

“What was the reason then?” Gojo whispered, eyes burning from overuse.

“It’s theatre. She left us a trail. Just enough to make us panic. Just enough to remind us…” He looked at Gojo, gaze gleaming like a blade.

“…That she’s smarter than all of us combined.”

And somewhere, far beyond their reach, in an untraceable place with prepaid electricity and blackout curtains, you stared at your own reflection.

Still. Silent. Pregnant. Waiting.

Then you peeled back your coat. Checked your stomach. Ran your fingers over the black bruise near your ribs—where the babies kicked too hard in your stress while you were pulling out the car batteries.

You weren’t safe. Not really.

A phone ping.

Mom: Flight's delayed a little further. Get yourself food but stay away from view.

Hour eight

“Why can’t I fucking see her?” Gojo demanded again, voice rising. He was glowing faintly now, like a sun left to rot in a glass coffin. “I can see everyone. I can see through walls. Why not her?”

“Because you don’t know her,” Haibara said without looking up from his phone.

The words dropped like a knife.

Gojo turned. Nanami didn’t stop him.

“You wanna say that again?”

“You don’t know her. You know the woman who cooked for you and sucked your cock and gave you children you aren’t worthy of. You don’t know the girl who broke her own jaw so her cousins wouldn’t rape her again. Or the girl who lived under a bed with rats and still makes Blackrock shudder. The one who cried blood the night you came on each other right next to her sleeping body.”

Nanami’s jaw clenched, hard enough to hear a faint crack.

Haibara kept going. “You didn’t even know she was pregnant. You called her bipolar. Your little baby killers club didn’t tell her shit.”

Megumi punched Haibara out of nowhere, and the latter straightened back up like an unkillable pest, spitting the blood from his lip tear.

Megumi yelled, “If you can’t be bothered to help, then get lost.”

“I am helping.” Haibara smirked, “By laughing at them.”

Megumi eyed him suspiciously. “You know who she called, don’t you?”

Haibara smirked.

---

Before the meeting with the investor and the subsequent disappearance—

You’d barely slept.

Not because of discomfort, though your swollen ankles and the relentless ache in your lower back would’ve justified it. No, sleep had eluded you because of them—the disasters you somehow forgave, loved, and carried children from. After months of icy silences, bruised egos, and walking on eggshells sharpened by betrayal, a night last week had finally broken the drought.

Satoru cried five times. That you know of.

The first time was silent—his face buried in the curve of your neck, a hand trembling on your side, like he thought if he held too tight, you’d vanish. The second was louder, gasping, muttering apologies into your skin like they were spells. By the third, he’d woken you up entirely, whimpering as he clung to you in his sleep, kneading the soft swell of your hip like a needy white tiger. The fourth came when you cupped his face and kissed his lashes and whispered, “I missed you.” And the fifth—well, that one came when he was already inside you.

Slow. Soft. No cocky grin, no teasing flick of his tongue. Just desperate Satoru with tears slipping down his cheeks and his forehead pressed to yours, as if he were scared that blinking might separate you again.

Kento didn’t cry.

But he looked at you like a ghost. Like if he blinked, he’d wake up so he’d woken before either of you, face buried in your neck, lips pressed to your pulse like he was checking you were still warm. There was no ceremony to it—he was already hard, already leaking against your thigh. His hand curled protectively over your bump, reverent, steady, like he was anchoring himself to proof that this—all of this—was real.

You don’t remember how it started. Only that your hormones had made you wet and half-dazed. Satoru had slid inside you without even waking properly, moving in that lazy, sleep-drunk way he always did when overwhelmed. You'd been too sensitive lately—your body a minefield of electric nerves—and soon you’d ended up on Kento’s lap, Gojo moving behind you while Kento’s cock rested hot and hard under your soaked folds, rubbing him and you off.

It wasn’t pornographic. It was tender. Messy, yes. But real.

Your arms around Kento’s shoulders. Satoru's hand splayed over your belly like a talisman, anchoring you so as not to hurt the twins. The low, breathy sounds you made when Kento pressed kisses under your jaw, whispering that you were beautiful. Sacred. A miracle.

You moaned so sweetly that Kento chuckled low in his throat, eyes closed, face tilted to the ceiling in something like prayer.

Then came the chaos.

You were so lost in the rhythm that you didn’t notice Satoru getting bolder—until he grabbed Kento’s thigh and tried to shift his leg up in a mating press. Kento’s leg jerked with surprise, and he just snorted. Loudly.

“I’m not a yoga mat,” he groaned, covering his eyes with one arm, stifling his laugh.

You burst out laughing. And felt it in your ribcage, like someone was letting light back into your lungs.

Satoru paused mid-thrust, blinked, then looked sheepishly between the two of you.

“Well, you both keep trying to get me pregnant, so this is me turning the tables,” he said, deadpan, then he kept thrusting.

Kento’s laugh shook the bed.

You turned and kissed Satoru—salt and saliva and need—and then turned and kissed Kento, who looked more in love than he’d ever admit. For a second, the three of you just stayed like that. Tangled. Breathing. Full of each other.

By the time the sun climbed over the skyline, you were dozing again between them, skin sticky, sheets tangled, legs heavy. The morning routine happened in sacred silence—no fights, no tension. Just Kento helping you into your dress while Satoru brushed your hair, quiet and reverent, as if caring for you was penance and prayer combined.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “You look powerful,” he whispered.

Kento kissed your wrist, slipping your wedding ring back on after cleaning it. “And the mother of my children.”

“Mine too,” Satoru chimed in.

“You’re such a narcissist,” Kento said.

“So are you,” Satoru shot back, smiling now, eyes clear.

You rolled your eyes, heart full.

This was what peace looked like. No chaos. No yelling. Just the quiet, perfect calm that came when everyone chose to stay.

You had ten minutes before take-off. Your phone buzzed.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, depending on what he wants and the flight time,” you promised, turning at the door.

They both followed you—of course they did. Satoru tugged your hand. Kento wrapped his arm around your shoulders. They walked you to the elevator like you were made of glass and gold and unspeakable power.

You kissed Satoru first. Then Kento.

They both held your gaze as the doors closed. You caught Satoru mouthing I love you. Kento didn’t speak, but his expression was the same one he’d worn when you walked down the aisle.

The last thing you heard before the metal doors shut was Satoru murmuring, “Call me if there’s even an ounce of doubt. I’ll teleport you out.”

And Kento’s quiet, unwavering, “Keep the life vitals tracker on and call me once you land.”

---

The jet was quiet, save for the muted purr of climate control and the occasional shift of turbulence against steel. You’d boarded at noon—twenty minutes ahead of schedule—surrounded by a sixteen-person armed security detail and your logistics assistant, who kept glancing at your ankles like they might explode mid-flight.

She asked if you were comfortable three times before takeoff. Like she was stalling. Like the jet wasn’t just taking you to New York, but to the guillotine.

Anna hadn’t sent the jet. He had.

The new investor. No name, just gravity. A black hole in the shape of a man—silent, never photographed, but powerful enough that Anna had stumbled over her sentence when his assistant called.

When you’d first told Nanami about the request for an in-person, he’d exhaled like a loaded gun. Pressed his hand to his forehead and muttered, “Can’t we just kill him?”

He wasn’t joking. He spent the next three hours building worst-case flowcharts in that calm, terrifying way he did—like even apocalypse could be optimized.

Satoru had stopped joking altogether. That was worse.

Takahashi, at least, had behaved for his first flight. Curled at your side in a little albino ball of privilege, snoozing through turbulence like he was made of clouds and sedatives. You kept stroking the patch between his ears. It soothed nothing, but pretending helped.

Across from you sat a PR assistant barely old enough to rent a car. Her eyes kept flicking to your bump like it might blink back. “You don’t look that pregnant,” she offered hesitantly.

You smiled, didn’t answer.

Because it wasn’t the look of it. Never had been. It was the feeling—like your body was being rewritten in a language you didn’t speak. Nights were the worst. The way the skin moved—too fluid, like something inside was stretching out. Like it wanted more room.

Scans didn’t capture that. Machines didn’t feel the slow-shifting horror of cartilage loosening, knees dislocating if you stood too long, lungs compressed to the size of childhood grief. The doctors said miracle. You said miscalculation.

You’d worn red today. A deep, cruel red. It felt… appropriate for some odd reason.

---

Vogue Private Office — Manhattan

The orchids were wilting by the door. You walked in like the third act of a tragedy—heels cracking marble like closing statements.

The staff didn’t question you. They swung the lobby doors wide, as if bracing for a storm in stilettos.

Inside, the air clung with the scent of dying flowers and fragile wealth. Glossy surfaces, curves designed to look expensive, chairs meant to be admired, not sat in. They led you to a glass-walled suite where the city still bent to your silhouette—even if your shares never did for them.

You folded yourself into the seat, spine negotiating with memory. Accommodations were never an option.

Anna was late.

Of course.

When her heels finally announced her, you didn’t rise. Couldn’t, really—not with the way your body had begun to betray you, bone grinding against bone.

She stood haloed by light, a magazine-cutout of power, her smile sharp with the arrogance of someone who still believed timing was a weapon.

“You glow,” she said. “Like women do before they’re devoured.”

“Unmedicated,” you replied.

Her grin widened, all teeth and conquest. “We’ll keep this clean. You know why you’re here.”

You blinked, slow.

“The new investor wants your story. The twins. The empire. The marriage. He thinks your silence is sinking your company.”

One of the twins kicked—hard enough to fracture breath. Lately, it didn’t feel like movement. It felt like revolt.

Anna tapped her nails against the table. “How are the husbands?”

You exhaled.

“Protective. Armed. Near breaking.”

She tilted her head. “Would they die for you?”

You mirrored her.

“They already did.”

A pause. Her eyes flickered—assessing whether it was poetry or prophecy.

Then, the ice of her smile.

“Now that,” she murmured, “is a Vogue quote.”

Soon enough they led you through a corridor so silent it felt like something had been sacrificed to keep it that way.

No corporate logos. No gaudy art. Just sharp edges, sliding doors, and the kind of air that had passed through too many purifiers. The kind that made you feel sanitized, surgically so. You were shown into a tea room so traditional it bordered on uncanny for New York—tatami mats, shoji screens, and incense coiling faintly in the corners like an old ghost. For a second, you thought it might be a set. A psychological stage.

And then he walked in like a theory made flesh. The kind of man who survived the apocalypse by looking like prophecy.

He wasn’t what you’d expected.

Long raven hair swept back into a precisely tied half-bun. He wore a form-fitting black turtleneck beneath a long trench coat, the fabric whispering as he moved. Polished leather shoes. No noise. No dust. The kind of outfit that commanded attention without asking for it—quiet, curated power. His face was too symmetrical to be trustworthy, his skin untextured in that uncanny, expensive way. No jewelry except for a Rolex that said old money or old blood.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Geto Suguru.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Geto,” you shook his hand briefly. “You’re very composed for someone hiding behind NDAs and empty LinkedIn profiles.”

He smiled, unfazed. “I don’t like being photographed. It makes it harder to disappear when people disappoint me.”

You blinked and filed that away.

Another man stepped in—vaguely inbred in posture and temperament. The kind of man who inherited his surname like a loaded weapon. He poured tea like it was beneath him.

You didn’t need an introduction to know what he was.

Zenin.

Naoya, specifically. Blond, lean, the sharp-boned entitlement of someone who'd never been told no by someone who could make it stick. There was a feral brightness behind his eyes, like something hungry and bored. He poured tea with the grace of someone imagining your autopsy.

Geto glanced toward him. “Naoya. Thank you.”

The man gave a short bow that wasn’t quite a bow.

You smiled, tilted your head slightly—your expression deliberately soft, even as your voice curled with something sharper. "You're really beautiful. You shouldn’t be in corporate. Milan seems more appropriate."

Suguru chuckled, almost surprised. “Fashion is a battlefield. This is where I’m better suited.” He gestured to the tea cup in front of him. “I hope the flight was comfortable.”

“It was fine. Apologies if I kept you waiting—my husband insisted we play a little longer.”

He didn’t blink. But in the corner of the room, a man with stitches across his face twitched slightly. Like the mention of something domestic scratched at his teeth.

Naoya, who was now pouring your tea like it was poison, said nothing. Suguru didn’t offer introductions. He just let the platinum blond ghost linger at the room’s edge like a lion watching your blood pressure with a smirk.

Then he looked back to you and said, with no real warmth, “Ah. Is he still obsessed with Digimon?”

The shift was instantaneous.

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe wrong. But beneath the table, your fingers twitched once—an involuntary microexpression.

Satoru had never said that online. Not to fans. Not to journalists. Not even in investor decks.

But you didn’t bite, not so easily. “So tell me, Mr. Geto, what are your plans?” You didn’t specify whether you meant plans for your company or for you; he’d clear that for you soon enough.

He began flipping through a file. “As I’m aware, you’ve had… an eventful quarter.”

You kept your smile. “Define eventful.”

“The employee assault. The digital blackouts. The marriage leak. The #TwoHolesForAReason campaign. Your stock drops. The public threats. And of course…” His eyes dropped, just briefly, to your stomach. “The pregnancy reveal.”

You took a measured sip of tea. Let the silence breathe. You could feel a fish curling beneath the floorboards—koi or curse, you couldn’t tell.

“I didn’t come here to relive the timeline.”

“Of course not,” he said gently. “You came here because I asked politely.”

That stopped you. Just a breath.

Suguru chuckled, as if he'd made a harmless joke. “Satoru always did get possessive when he felt threatened.”

You blinked once, slowly. He was no longer implying leverage. He was showing it.

“How do you know my husband?”

“From a different life. We were in Jujutsu Tech together, some ten years ago or more.” He didn’t elaborate. “He’s... very consistent. Even back then.”

“Were you close?”

“We were best friends. Classmates. Same special grades. Different curse techniques, same suicidal ambition.” His voice didn’t change. “Then the world changed after your guardian killed a girl we were protecting, and I… left.”

You didn’t react.

You recognized the tempo. The bait. He knew more about you than he was supposed to.

“Are you still in touch?”

“The last time I spoke to him was eight months ago.”

He said it like a wound. Or a warning.

Blood crawled up your throat, but you smiled and sipped your tea like a lamb, luring him into a false sense of comfort. “What happened eight months ago?” you asked softly, like you couldn’t put two and two together.

He smiled—not kindly. “I lost.”

The silence that followed was polite. Hollow.

You inhaled. “You joined the corporate sector after that?”

“Mm. Sorcery has its limits. I realized my skills were better suited to cleaning up PR messes.” His eyes flicked over your bump, your body, the controlled inhale of someone used to performing normalcy under duress. “Your company’s been through enough chaos lately. The world turned fast.”

You didn’t rise to the bait. “That’s the risk of marrying violently private men.”

“Or of marrying two of them,” he said, too evenly.

You didn’t reply. Let him talk.

He didn’t. Clever bastard.

Instead, the blonde set down another cup of tea with a thud that felt deliberate. You glanced at him, properly now.

“You didn’t introduce your company.”

Suguru didn’t look at him. “Naoya Zen’in. Logistics director. Don’t take his silence personally—he doesn’t like powerful women.”

“Must be exhausting,” you said, sipping your tea without breaking eye contact with Naoya’s sneer.

Naoya’s lip curled, but Suguru raised a finger, and the man stilled like a dog leashed by old violence.

You glanced around the room again—and noticed the other man was too still. Too silent. Sitting near the incense tray now, legs folded like a child mimicking meditation. Young. Heterochromatic eyes. Face like a cherub carved by a sadist—unblemished except for the stitches, soft, but off.

You didn’t recognize him.

But something primal in you curled. Not fear—yet—but revulsion. He watched you with a kind of gleeful interest people usually reserved for vivisection videos.

Suguru didn’t introduce him either.

The air felt heavier suddenly. Your skin began to itch under your dress, and you couldn’t tell if it was hormones or the way that stranger tilted his head slightly every time you moved.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t ask. Let the wrongness root itself in your memory.

“So what’s your plan, Mr. Geto?” you asked calmly, eyes never straying. “You want to scrub my company’s image. Why now?”

He met your gaze with something that almost felt like recognition. “Because Satoru did what he did for you. And the world saw it as a threat.”

You stayed silent.

He was skirting around Kento’s name—which meant Nanami, in Suguru’s eyes, was just as guilty.

And neither of you were forgiven.

He continued. “Beating your own employees in the middle of a crisis? Then disappearing. Leaving your CHRO and Higuruma to spin internal terrorism as a ‘security concern’ while the internet tore you apart. And the marriage leak…”

His voice lowered. “The rape threats. The arson calls. The memes.”

You exhaled, slow. Steady.

He didn’t know Higuruma either.

His mouth twitched. Almost sympathetically. Almost.

“Your men love you,” he said like an obituary. “But the world is still too cruel to forgive a woman for being adored.”

You tilted your head and met his violent violet gaze. “And you do?”

Suguru leaned back, folding his arms. “I understand optics. I understand what it means to be seen as unnatural.”

He hadn’t once referred to Satoru by his full name. Hadn’t asked how he was. Hadn’t asked to set up a meeting to catch up. Hadn’t insulted him either.

Every mention dripped with intimacy. Personal. Familiar. Irreversible.

You glanced at the tea again.

You were being dissected.

Not you exactly. The idea of you. The blueprint. The soft horror of a woman who had everything and bled alone.

You smiled. Not sweetly.

“So you stayed hidden all this time. Why?”

His eyes glinted. “Because sometimes, anonymity is power. I don’t need to be seen. I need to move.”

You hummed, sipping.

You weren’t stupid enough for men like him. Suguru wasn’t obsessed with investing in your company. He was trying to replace you in your own life.

Naoya stepped forward again. This time, it wasn’t tea. He whispered something into Suguru’s ear. A coded phrase, maybe. Or a trigger.

Suguru nodded once.

And then the man with the uncanny smile by the incense tray finally spoke.

“Has it kicked yet?”

The room shrank by degrees. You froze mid-breath, head swivelling toward him slowly. “What?”

He beamed. It didn’t reach his eyes. “The baby. Or babies, I suppose.”

Your stomach twisted—not from pregnancy. Instinct. Deep and ancestral. Like recognising a predator that shouldn’t exist anymore.

Suguru didn’t stop him. Naoya grinned.

Your fingers brushed the inside of your coat pocket, finding the cold edge of your phone. You didn’t need to see the screen—just feel the lock button. One long press, and the emergency contact would trigger. Satoru had set it up himself, laughing like it was a joke. “Just in case you’re ever too tired to scream.”

You weren’t screaming now. But you were tired. And surrounded.

Your thumb hovered over the side of the phone, ready to press and hold.

He’ll feel it. He’ll come. He always does.

But you needed answers.

Across from you, the scared man’s gaze skittered over your body, hesitating on the weight of your pregnancy like it offended him. Like he was doing the math on your vulnerability.

Your fingers twitched again—hovering but not pressing.

"Funny," you murmured, voice honed to a razor's edge—quiet enough to slit the throats of every man in that room who dreamed of hurting you. Of hurting them.

"You didn't introduce him, either."

Suguru’s gaze dragged over you—slow, careful, like he was calibrating the threat level of a black widow spider beneath his shoe. “Ah. That’s Mahito. He’s not an employee. Just… an enthusiast.”

“Enthusiast of what?”

“People.”

Mahito’s laugh was a rusted scissor drawn softly across silk. “Of change.”

Your fingers tightened around your teacup, the heat biting into your palm. “I don’t discuss my children with men I don’t know, Mr. Geto. Remove him, or this meeting ends now.”

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then, at Suguru’s faint nod, Mahito walked out—but not before his eyes dipped to your swollen abdomen, lingering like a promise.

Suguru tilted his head. “You’re not what I expected.”

“And you’re exactly what I prepared for.” You didn’t take the bait, just sipped your tea and wished you could gouge out Naoya’s wandering eyes on your body with the teaspoon.

“Your men could’ve fixed this,” Suguru mused. “Instead, they buried you alive under their failures.” He leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper. “Let me dig you out.”

You let out one sharp smirk. “You want my loyalty.” Naoya’s gaze continued to crawl over your skin, but it was Suguru’s quiet hunger that made your pulse stutter.

He didn’t just want your empire. He wanted what you had with him.

“No,” Suguru said, and for one suspended breath, you saw something ancient behind his eyes. “I want the myth they buried you in. I want to rewrite it in your bones. You can keep your loyalty. I know how fragile that is.”

Naoya smirked.

You traced the rim of your cup again, as if you weren’t about to be eight months along and evaluating three likely special grade threats in a building without exits.

“I remember he used to hoard candy in his coat pocket,” Suguru said idly. “Said it was for focus. But he always saved the strawberry ones. Said they tasted like the spring of youth.”

Your breath caught—only for a second.

He smiled.

You didn’t give him more.

“Why now?” you asked. “You’ve had years to insert yourself. Why wait until after they ruined everything?”

His smile thinned. “Because now the narrative is fragile. Vulnerable. Editable.”

You didn’t smile back. You narrowed your eyes, the way a knife narrows a throat.

“Editable?” you repeated, voice flat as the heartbeat monitor they once used when your blood pressure dipped from stress-induced anemia. Third trimester. High stakes. Too much noise. Too many men trying to rewrite your obituary before the children even arrived.

He leaned forward with the casual precision of a man who’d once taught his enemies philosophy before killing them. Elbows on the table. Like a professor who enjoyed watching you fail upward and spiral into myth.

“Everyone loves a redemption arc,” Suguru said softly. “Especially when the protagonist is already bleeding.”

You watched the way his fingers interlocked, how his eyes held yours without fear, pity, or desire. Familiarity, yes. But it was impersonal. Surgical. “You’re smart. You built a world-changing company, held it through five hostile acquisition attempts, and somehow survived being married to two emotionally repressed men with god complexes.”

A pause. Letting it land.

“But your narrative is a mess. Right now, you’re not a visionary. You’re a punchline. A cautionary tale.”

You didn’t blink. You’d stopped blinking for fragile men a long time ago.

“So you want to help me out of the goodness of your heart, Mr. Geto,” you sarcastically mocked, voice like cooled steel.

“I want to curate,” he corrected. “The public needs a villain. I’d rather it not be you.”

Your breath didn’t change. Your spine did.

“And who should it be instead?” you asked quietly.

His gaze didn’t falter. “The men who made you disappear.”

You didn’t answer.

Because your brain was already screaming. Eight months. That was the moment the light began to fracture. The lies weren’t clumsy—they were rehearsed. Gojo crying in the shower without making a sound, standing too close to the shower faucet like he wanted to burn off his skin. Nanami avoiding eye contact with you like you were Medusa.

They hadn’t just betrayed you.

They’d buried someone.

And this man across from you—

—this Suguru—

He wasn’t the villain of the story. He was the page they tore out.

You shifted slightly in your seat, careful not to press too hard against the left hip joint. It ached from carrying too much weight—twins, fear, expectations.

“I don’t trust men who speak softly for a living,” you said, finally.

He smiled, not kindly. “Then you’ll appreciate that I don’t live. I manage. I observe. I insert pressure.”

“That sounds dangerously like extortion.”

“That sounds like truth.”

You stood, feeling the subtle catch in your hip again. A strain, not a collapse. You could handle it. You’d handled worse.

“Then here’s some truth for you, Mr. Geto,” you said, staring him down while Naoya twitched beside him like a dog smelling meat. “I don’t care what happened between you and him. I don’t care if Satoru fed you strawberry candy with his mouth. I don’t care if you’re here to drag me into whatever unresolved soap opera you three left fermenting in a casket.”

Naoya flinched like a puppet yanked by ancestral strings.

Suguru just kept smiling, unflinching.

“But if you want a stake in my company, you’ll need to do more than spill secrets and wear pretty silk. I’ve already survived two of the most powerful men in Japan loving me to the brink of destruction. Fear’s a luxury I ran out of two assassination attempts ago.”

Suguru rose slowly. Elegantly. Offered a hand as if any of this was normal.

You didn’t take it.

You left.

And you didn’t realise your hands were shaking until the door sealed behind you. The tremor was slight, concentrated in the fingertips—just enough to betray you to yourself. Just enough to remind you that no amount of tech, intelligence, or control could reverse the trauma of being known by dangerous men.

You didn’t take Suguru’s jet.

Instead, you boarded your own—slid into the leather seat with Takahashi curled against your belly like a breathing talisman—and told your assistant not to speak unless the plane was on fire.

By the time you hit cruising altitude, your nails had already scrolled through Nanami’s phone.

Not because it was hard.

His password was still the same.

Gojo never had one.

You found messages you were never meant to see.

Shoko: 15 days until abortion is off the table.

Gojo: She won’t agree.

You: Then we don’t ask.

You stared at the screen for a long time.

So they all lied.

Not just Gojo. Not just Nanami. All of them. Shoko even pretended to be in your corner.

There it was.

It wasn’t just about control. It wasn’t even about love.

It was the assumption that because you didn’t throw cursed techniques like tantrums, you couldn’t possibly comprehend risk. That your life—your mind—was collateral. Disposable in the face of their warped logic and misplaced savior complexes.

Like talking to you was useless. Like reasoning with you was redundant.

Like you were some beautiful, ignorant thing to be protected and deceived in equal measure.

Like you were some animal incapable of critical reasoning when your own life was in danger.

So they could fuck each other guilt-free.

So they could play noble martyrs in the privacy of the wounds they gave you.

And still, that wasn’t enough. Because anger—real anger—needs witnesses.

You opened a signal sniffer, rerouted through two proxies, and tapped into your neighbour’s WiFi. Not because you couldn’t afford better surveillance, but because her router overlapped with the garden of Megumi’s penthouse.

You shouldn’t have looked.

You: She wouldn’t have agreed.

Haibara: Then don’t give her the choice.

You: She’s not a sorcerer. She doesn’t understand what these kids could be. My mom almost died trying to give birth to me, and I wasn’t even half as cursed.

Haibara: Yeah, she’s blind to what they’ll do to her.

You: I’m not going to let her die over a fucking ideal.

Haibara: That wack doctor says she’s fine, so stop obsessively worrying.

Your vision blurred—but not from tears. From calculation.

The rage came quietly. It didn’t scream or collapse. It focused.

You unclasped the ring from your finger. Gojo’s design, Nanami’s metal of choice. A perfect storm of sentiment you no longer had room for.

You handed it to one of the PR assistants travelling with you—someone young, hopeful, still romantic about the world.

"Get rid of it," you said. "Melt it. Turn it into something you like. Give it to your girlfriend. Or your mother. Or leave it on the street. I don’t care. Just make sure I never see it again."

She didn’t ask questions.

And you didn’t explain.

Because you knew your husbands were capable of cruelty. You’d lived long enough in the shadow of it. But what you hadn’t expected—

What truly broke something you couldn’t name—

Was Megumi.

Megumi, whom you’d grown up with. Who unknowingly saved you. Who you’d trusted with more than your safety. Who you’d let in on the soft, unfinished parts of your life.

He hadn’t just betrayed you.

He’d calculated your erasure like a business decision.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything Gojo or Nanami had ever done.

---

That was yesterday morning.

Now it was twilight in Tokyo.

They probably thought you’d thrown yourself into the sea.

But instead, here you were, crying into a bucket of fried chicken.

And you were borderline dehydrated, emotionally overloaded, stuck in a fucking KFC parking lot on the outskirts of the city, trying not to break down into raw animal sobs as you cried into your Zinger.

Your hypercar—a pearlescent black Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut—was parked sideways across two spots, hazard lights blinking like a distress beacon. The carbon-fiber passenger door still hung open. Your mascara was not waterproof.

The sandwich was getting soggy in your hand, fries had gone cold, and the second tub of soft serve was pooling slowly into your leather seat. Your coat smelled like fried oil, and you didn’t care. Not after the two days you’d had.

You missed Takahashi. You hadn’t meant to leave the house without him. But you had to run. And your mother's flight had been delayed without warning, your pelvic pain had spiked again, and your body had decided—in the grand tradition of pregnancy craving betrayal—that you absolutely needed karaage from KFC right now or you’d lose your mind.

You shoved another fry in your mouth. Your sunglasses slipped to the tip of your nose, and you wiped your nose on your sleeve. Your phone buzzed again in your coat pocket—ignored. The car’s touchscreen blinked up missed calls: Nanami. Gojo. Fushiguro. Haibara. CHRO. Keji. Shoko. Even Higuruma and Kashimo.

But your fingers only twitched when you reached into the Karaage Kun box and found it empty.

You blinked at it. Then stared at it again like it might refill itself if you focused hard enough.

It didn’t.

You muttered something vile under your breath, threw it into the bag, and reversed sharply out of the space, startling a group of high school boys who had been trying to take selfies with your car.

You pulled up to the drive-thru window again.

The teenage employee there—a scrawny, gentle-eyed boy with two acne patches on his chin—took one look at your blotchy face, your designer maternity wear, and the angry tears still clinging to your lashes like guilt, and leaned in awkwardly.

“Would you, uh… like to eat inside? In the back? It’s private. No one will see.”

Your eyes narrowed. Not because he was wrong. But because it was too damn late.

Fushiguro probably already had Tokyo’s entire surveillance grid running facial recognition on CCTV footage. You had thirty minutes, max, before someone pinged your license plate and alerted the staff that you were a missing trillionaire heiress with a God Complex Husbands Alert Level 5.

You opened your mouth to politely decline—and that’s when it happened.

A sharp, gravel-thick voice from behind your Jesko snarled loud enough to startle pigeons off the KFC’s roof.

“What’s taking so fucking long?”

You froze.

This. This was your final straw.

Not the delayed flight. Not the ghost of Geto Suguru. Not the stress migraine. Not even the go-bag full of burner phones in your trunk.

No. It was this man, some impatient Tokyo businessman with too much money and too little self-awareness, honking at a crying pregnant woman ordering a ¥700 chicken snack set.

The teenage cashier turned pale and scrambled to shush him, mumbling something apologetic and helpless in corporate lingo.

But you were already getting out of the car.

Your heels—flat, orthopaedic, pregnancy-safe—hit the pavement with a purposeful thunk. Your bump was covered in a loose belted trench, collar flipped up, eyes bloodshot, mouth red from crying, ketchup and eating your own lipstick with the fried chicken.

You strode across the parking lot like your water might break from rage alone.

The man was in a Porsche 918 Spyder.

Rich, then. But not you – rich.

You knocked on his tinted window hard enough to make the glass vibrate.

The man inside—long dark hair, too many rings, cigarette hanging from his lip like an accessory—rolled it down and looked at you.

Your heart stalled. Had Geto found you?

Then he turned fully—and no, you didn’t know him.

“Hey,” he started. “I’m sorry for—”

He trailed off. His eyes didn’t leave your face. But his hand went back, casually, like muscle memory. He grabbed something—or someone—in the back seat and yanked.

A pink-haired burly man, Fushiguro’s age, popped into view. Eyes wide. Face pale.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, staring at you.

You didn’t care. You were done being polite.

“Do none of you have the decency to wait your fucking turn? You’re not the only ones starving!”

The pink-haired one gawked. The long-haired one blinked, snuffed his cigarette.

And then—

The rear door of the Porsche opened with a heavy, expensive click.

A man stepped out.

No—a wall of a man. Towering. Black spiky hair. Tattoos across his neck, his hands, the visible sliver of skin beneath his bespoke coat. His suit looked Brunello Cucinelli. His gait was slow. Controlled.

Somehow, he was taller than Gojo.

Which should’ve been illegal.

You took a step back. Your hip twinged.

He looked at you the way sorcerers looked at curses: like you were made of secrets and danger.

His voice was almost gentle when he spoke in English to you.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. I’m sorry for yelling. I was just… stunned. We were supposed to meet yesterday in New York, but you never came. Do you remember me, princess?”

You stared at him.

Confused.

Nauseated.

Because you did not remember him. Not the face. Not the voice. And especially not the “princess.”

Your hand—coated in fries and fatigue—slowly curled into a fist at your side, “Don’t call me that. Who the fuck are you?”

---

He’d seen a lot in his many lives.

Flesh peeled from bone in war. Gods weep beneath shrines. Kingdoms rise on the shoulders of men who lied.

But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for this: A woman powerful enough to end markets with a swipe of her hand, pregnant and a little crazy, yelling at a man twice her size at a Tokyo KFC lot like he’d committed a crime.

And to him? He had.

Because she didn’t remember him.

Not the face.

Not the voice.

Not the name he’d written for her the first time they’d met in Norway—softly, like it would break something if said out loud.

She stared at him now like he was a stranger. And it knocked the breath from his lungs harder than any curse ever had.

The same eyes. The same sharpness in her jaw when she was pissed, the same raw edge to her voice.

He opened his mouth. Could’ve told her. Could’ve said everything.

But the car behind him honked. Loud. Disrespectful.

And she turned.

Didn’t even wait.

Walked back to her car like he was just another suit in the noise.

Slammed the door. Didn’t look back.

He stood in the fading orange-pink glow of Tokyo twilight, heart slightly colder.

“Broooo,” came Yuji’s voice from the passenger seat. “You got rejected by a pregnant woman, in public. That’s generational humiliation, man.”

“She didn’t reject me,” He muttered, eyes still on her.

“She forgot you existed,” Junpei added helpfully from the back, licking spicy powder off his fingertips. “You’re a ghost. A failed Tinder date. A plotline that didn’t make the final cut.”

“Don’t you think she’s kinda scary, though?” Choso chimed in quietly, looking almost reverent. “She gives off strong mom-you-don’t-wanna-piss-off energy.”

“She is a mom,” Yuji pointed out.

“To twins,” He corrected, voice too soft.

They all looked at him.

“What?” He snapped.

“Nothing,” Choso said, already climbing out of the car, like that was answer enough as he walked to the car that had honked.

So of course, he didn’t think. Just walked.

Over to her Jesko, one hand raised, careful to keep his body language non-threatening. He knocked. Once. Lightly.

She looked up. Eyes bloodshot. Hands gripping the tub of chicken like a war trophy.

He held up the takeaway bag like a peace offering. Didn’t say anything.

She didn’t roll the window down. Just glared at him like she might reverse into him and not lose sleep.

Behind him, Yuji, Choso, and Junpei leaned out of the Porsche like hyenas watching a National Geographic special. “Go on then, Romeo,” Yuji stage-whispered.

The giant man ignored him. Nudged the bag closer. Still no window roll.

She shifted slightly—hand brushing toward the ignition.

But then… her stomach growled. Loud.

An indecent, almost comic little groan from deep within.

She froze. Looked horrified.

He bit back a smirk.

She sighed, finally rolling the window down with the resignation of a god forced to make peace with a lesser deity.

“Who the fuck are you?” Her voice was sandpaper and citrus. He almost missed it. The familiarity.

“Calm down, woman. I don’t hurt defenceless pregnant women.”

“Who. The fuck. Are you?” She snapped again, unbothered by his size, his tone, or the heat radiating off him like a threat.

He admired that. Always had.

“Ryomen Sukuna,” he said, slow, voice low. “From Itadori Industries, we specialise in market manipulation. I was trying to invest in your company. We met in Norway.”

She blinked. Sniffling. Mistrust etched deep in the slope of her shoulders.

“Show me your passport.”

He didn’t argue.

Instead, he turned and yelled, “Choso. You got the passports?”

Choso, saint that he was, was already halfway out of the car, rummaged around in his coat and brought it over.

As he handed it over, he leaned close and whispered, like it was sacred, “He wore this suit just because he was excited to meet you.”

Sukuna shot him a glare that could've flattened cities. Choso walked back, unbothered.

He flipped to the front page of the passport with one hand, takeaway bag still in the other.

Held it out.

She scanned it on her phone with the tired efficiency of someone who’d been betrayed before.

It pinged. Verified. Real.

She gave it back.

“I came to the meeting,” she murmured. “Some guy named Suguru showed up instead of you.”

Sukuna’s face darkened.

Who the fuck was Suguru?

Before he could say more, she sniffled.

“Princess,” he started, softer now. “Do you want to have this conversation while I stand outside your car with a takeaway bag like a solicitor?”

She wailed, openly now. “Nooo. Give me the food.”

And she got out of the car.

Didn’t stray from the door, but her body relaxed the slightest bit. Maybe from the scent. Maybe from the warmth of fried food. Maybe from the fact that Sukuna didn’t flinch when she got close enough to punch him.

He leaned against her car’s hood, offering the bag.

She rummaged through it like a raccoon with opposable thumbs.

Found too much food—because of course, he’d ordered one of everything Japan-exclusive. KFC bento. Teriyaki Twister. Pepper Mayo Twister. Chicken Katsu Sando. Matcha Tiramisu. Peach Mango Pie. Sakura Milk Tea.

She blinked. Whispered, almost suspiciously, “Did you poison it?”

He raised a brow.

Sukuna had been trying to meet with her for months. Months. And yet here she was, passing him the milk tea like it was some kind of test, like he wasn’t exactly who he said he was.

His hand almost brushed hers as he took the cup, and for a moment, he wondered if she’d noticed the slight tremble in his fingers.

He doubted it. She was too busy with the storm that raged behind her eyes to care about something as trivial as that.

He took it. Sipped. “Sweet,” he said, licking the sugar off his lip like it might make her remember.

She didn’t respond, her eyes still sharp like she could see every secret he kept buried behind his smirk.

“You look like you’re going through something,” he said, stealing a fry with the air of someone who didn’t have the blood of entire lineages on his hands. (He did. But not today.)

Her gaze barely moved, and her voice came out in a low, bitter monotone. “I hate my husbands.”

He smirked wider, his amusement sharp as glass. “I’ve seen the news.”

Yuji snorted from their car, and Sukuna glared at him.

She narrowed her eyes. “You look like a criminal.”

“'Cause I am,” he said, but shrugged. “Nah, just a sorcerer. Was."

“Get away from me,” Her mouth twisted as she began to pull away, pushing herself back into the uncomfortable space of her own thoughts. “God, they say sorcerers are rare but I keep encountering them like flies. Like cursed venereal diseases. It’s disgusting.”

Sukuna jumped to his feet without thinking, like it was second nature to console her, even if the reason felt foreign—some instinct buried deep in his chest, one he couldn't quite shake. He didn't need to comfort her. Hell, he probably shouldn't have. But for a moment, he wasn’t the monster he had been in another life; he was just a man, holding out a hand when it was needed. “No,” he said softly, his voice almost gentle. “I used to be one, but I’m not anymore. Don’t care about it, either. My brothers over there, and Yuji’s friend? They’re sorcerers too, but none of us participate in that die-a-thankless-death game.”

Junpei made a gagging sound behind the car. Choso threw a napkin at him.

“That’s what he said too,” she mumbled, shoving a mango pie into her mouth with the viciousness of someone who wanted to eat and disappear.

“Who?”

“The guy who showed up instead of you and … And there was this stitched-up guy and that fucking Naoya, and I thought I was going to die, and my husband lied to me about Suguru and his beautiful hair; he never told me about him.” She continued wailing.

Sukuna was confused between her sniffling, eating and crying combo. “Wait, slow down; start with the smallest one. Who’s the stitched guy? What did he look like?”

“His name was Mahito; he had stitches on his face and pale blue hair and looked at me like he was gonna open my stomach and take my babies like a claw machine prize.” She continued sniffing and also somehow sipping her tea.

Sukuna’s fists clenched.

He turned to Choso and yelled out, “Find where Mahito is. Now.”

Choso already had his phone out, mouth a thin line.

Sukuna turned back to her, voice low. “What about the other one? Naoya?”

“He looked at me like he wanted to assault me. I wanted to blind him with a tea spoon.” She said it so flatly, like violence was just a normal Tuesday.

“Naobito’s kid?” Sukuna asked. She nodded, still chewing. He gave a nod to Yuji, who was already on a call, voice sharp.

And then:

“Who’s Suguru?”

She went quiet.

Then, with all the ceremony of a royal confession, she slid him her half-eaten burger.

He accepted it like it was holy.

Then ate in silence with her for a while.

She began again, “He told me his name was Geto Suguru. That he and my husband were soulmates. And that I was their enemy. How the fuck am I someone’s enemy when I didn’t even know he existed?”

“Wait—Geto?” Sukuna stopped mid-chew.

She nodded, slow. “Yeah. Long black hair. Pretty, in that ‘will definitely commit a felony against humanity’ kind of way.”

Sukuna felt something shift in him.

“He’s supposed to be dead. There was a war a few months ago in Kyoto. Your husband killed him.”

Her eyes widened, horror blooming.

“Did I see a ghost? A curse?”

“Not possible. He was a curse user, yeah, but no one survives your husband.” Then he smirked. “Unless it’s me. I’m very strong, princess.”

She rolled her eyes and buried herself in the chicken like it could shelter her from the fact that apparently nothing in her life was real. “Less peacocking. More finding who’s impersonating you.”

“I’ll find out,” Sukuna said. His voice was flat, but his chest thrummed like a curse trying to break its seal. “And I mean that.”

Of course he did. She just nodded absently, like it was a customer service promise she’d heard before. There was Sprite condensation running down her fingers. Her lips were slightly swollen from all the salt. She looked exhausted. And holy.

That part hadn’t changed. Not in a thousand lives.

But then she said, “I have two husbands. And they’re both absolute clowns.”

Sukuna didn’t laugh.

(Okay—he let out a very soft, involuntary snort. Behind him, Junpei was wheezing into his Armani jacket, Yuji muttering “bro’s down bad”, and Choso took a photo of the moment like he was documenting a rare animal sighting.)

She kept going. “I wake up every morning to a new scandal,” she said, gesturing vaguely with a limp fry. “They bicker like old women in a laundromat. One of them tried to cheat on the 3AM Test with a voice actor, and the other failed so hard the internet started a NanaMoobs hashtag.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, more amused than he’d let show. “And yet, you are still married to them.”

“Bad decision-making, obviously.” So she was still in love with them.

He hummed, reaching for one of her fries again. Her wrist didn’t flinch this time. Small victories. “What did they do this time?”

She sighed, the kind that aged you five years in one breath. “Oh, nothing major. Just tried to abort my babies without telling me.”

Sukuna’s drink went down the wrong way. He coughed, violently, his eyes watering as Junpei whispered, “Bro…” with the reverence of someone witnessing an execution.

“…Excuse me?” Sukuna rasped.

She took a slow sip of her Sprite, eyes dead. “Yeah. Something about ‘if it was her or the baby, we’d choose her’ blah blah blah.’ I don’t know. I stopped reading after.”

For once in centuries, Sukuna had no words.

And that, in his world, was a fucking problem.

Because he’d once bathed in the blood of tyrants. He’d reduced kingdoms to ashes and made death feel like a mercy. His name had been enough to unmake faith.

But he had never, not once, been asked to comfort a furious, hormonal, fast-food-devouring, betrayed woman who used to be his entire world and now didn’t even recognize him.

And who was still, somehow, unspeakably radiant through it all.

This—this was worse than war.

So he said the only thing that came close to honesty. “You love them, right?”

She glared. Not just at him—through him. “What does that have to do with it?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. “So hypothetically, if they were pregnant and historically too stubborn to save themselves, would you let them die?”

She blinked. The words caught her off guard. Her fry stilled halfway to her mouth.

“That’s an oddly sentimental thing to say,” she said.

He smirked. A slow thing, calculated, but tired around the edges. “I’m a businessman. Can’t let my biggest asset disappear, can I?”

She rolled her eyes, but the edge had dulled. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Mr. ‘Not a Criminal.’”

But she wasn’t crying anymore.

And Sukuna decided that—pathetically, pathetically—that was his greatest win in years.

She turned to him again, half her chicken gone. “But like—hiding an ex that fucking relevant is still bad, right? Like ‘my one and only’ and shit.”

The words twisted something deep in his ribcage. Deeper than his heart. The one that still beat only for her, even after all this time, all his deaths.

Sukuna hummed. Not dismissive, just thoughtful. “I guess. But then I have an ex—though I never called her that—who nearly set my entire life on fire. Yandere, textbook. I don’t talk about her. Not because I’m hiding her, but because she… made living unbearable. Some people are like that. Maybe your husband didn’t tell you because it hurt too much, and the other one didn’t because it wasn’t his secret to tell.”

He looked at her then. Really looked.

There was mango sauce on her lip. Chicken grease on her coat. Her hand trembled just slightly, probably from the sugar crash. And still—still—she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

But she didn’t remember.

Not the wedding. Not the way she’d laughed into his neck. Not the way she’d once laughed when he brought her those blobfish plushies for the babies.

She didn’t smile that tired smile while saying his name now.

There was no hate in her voice. No love either.

Just air.

She kept eating. Sipping her Sprite. Talking about two men who didn’t know what they had until they almost threw it away. Two men she still loved.

Behind him, Yuji laughed under his breath, “he’s got it bad.”

Choso handed him a tissue for the Sprite spill that hadn’t happened. Junpei was still smirking.

And Sukuna—he just sat there, breathing through a heartbreak that didn’t even have a name in this timeline.

---

Small A/N: Before/After reading the next bit, to draw the parallel, read this - [Tumblr/Ao3]

---

On the other side of Tokyo, the Fushiguros had gathered.

“Mom.” Megumi offered a hand when she climbed out of the jet.

She didn’t take it, just kept walking with her guards.

“I didn’t know. Then that doctor said she was fine, so there was no need to tell her in case the stress got to her.” He snapped.

She turned to him, “Your father would be disappointed in you.”

Megumi didn’t speak after that.

---

Across town, Nanami and Gojo were in hell. Again.

Nanami looked like a man trying to mathematically quantify grief. A golden ratio blade flickered and died in his palm every few seconds,  uncontrolled—his body stuck in a loop, like it was trying to fight something that wasn’t there anymore.

Gojo’s Six Eyes still burned. Pupils dilated too sharp, skin gray-blue, the corners of his mouth twitching from the static in his brain.

Neither had slept in twenty-eight hours.

They had tried every scenario.

None of them ended with a pin drop at a KFC.

Incoming Message: Location

They stared at the screen.

Gojo broke the silence, cautious—hopeful like a man hoping the corpse in the morgue might still breathe.

“She’s—?”

“KFC,” Nanami said. Flat. Not deadpan—dead.

Gojo squinted. “You think the universe hates me personally?”

Nanami didn’t answer. Just turned the key and revved the car like he meant to drive it through Heaven’s gates and make someone answer for it.

---

By the time they arrived, the sun was bleeding into the horizon.

She was outside. Sitting on the hood of her car like the world hadn’t just ended two days ago. Barefoot. Anklets catching light. One hand held a melting Sprite float, the other a neatly folded napkin like she’d just wiped off a joke.

She was laughing.

Not alone.

Two—no, four others lingered around her. All vaguely wrong. One looked like Haibara on benzos, another like a Megumi with worse judgment and better hair. A third had cult survivor written all over him, and the last—

The last looked like he’d walked out of an ancient curse and decided to become a CEO.

Nanami’s breath stalled. Rage bloomed slow and clinical—an aneurysm waiting for a reason.

Gojo’s voice was already splintering. “Who the fuck—”

Nanami’s cursed energy cracked across his wrist like stained gold glass—subtle but loud if you knew him.

She saw them.

Across the street, with her mouth still full of fries, she called out, “Oh hey, look who finally decided to show up. I was gonna save you some, but figured you’d make me eat a granola bar and cry about my blood sugar.”

Gojo stopped in his tracks.

Nanami blinked.

She grinned like she hadn’t haunted them for past 29 hours. Like she wasn’t the reason Gojo started drinking his coffee black again.

“Come here,” she called, louder. “You two look like you haven’t peed in hours.”

Gojo, under his breath, muttered, “Because we haven’t.”

Beside her, reading their lips, Choso grimaced. “Jesus.”

Sukuna chuckled low in his chest, his attention never leaving her. “You really made them come to a KFC?”

She laughed harder, grabbing her side. “You don’t get to judge. You literally told me you’ve been burning cash just for a ‘chance meeting.’”

“Your business is lucrative,” Sukuna said.

“You’re covered in money.”

He glanced at his bespoke three-piece. “It’s decorative.”

“Okay, American Psycho.”

Sukuna smiled. His hand twitched once—almost like he was going to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, but didn’t.

Same as Nanami, Gojo was already halfway across the street. “Who are these people?”

“They’re my friends,” she said sweetly, swinging her legs off the car. “Don’t be jealous, Satoru.”

“I am jealous,” he muttered, eyes glued to her.

Nanami’s voice cracked, sharp and brittle: “What did you tell them?”

She stood. Twirled her straw once. Shrugged. “That my idiot husbands forgot I was dangerous. Corrupted my friends. Lied to me. So I made new friends. Ones who don’t gaslight and lie to me.”

Nanami took a single step forward.

She pointed a fry like a weapon. “Don’t. If you breathe without apologizing, I will stab this into your brain through your nose.”

Gojo wheezed. Somewhere between a sob and a snort.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I was already craving wings. Otherwise, I’d be halfway to Bhutan.”

She stepped off the curb.

Licked sauce off her thumb. Like she hadn’t been running for her life a day ago. Like she’d never had a panic attack in a jet with the lights off. Like the world didn’t owe her blood for making her survive it.

Her gait was relaxed. Chin high.

And then—

CRACK!!!

No echo. No cinematic recoil.

Just nerve, bone, and fate snapping in sync.

It was intimate. Like an exhale through a silencer. Like a trapdoor closing.

Her hand jerked. The Styrofoam cup slipped from her grip mid-sip, spiraling sideways—Sprite and melting ice cream spraying in a soft arc. Her other hand, still holding the napkin, trembled like it knew something her mind hadn’t yet registered.

Then—

Red.

A bloom at the base of her skull. Not metaphorical. Not poetic. Surgical. The kind of red that silences conversations mid-sentence. That never washes out.

Her shoulder twisted, tendons snapping like overstretched cables. A clean fracture. Deliberate.

And then she dropped.

Mid-step. No scream. No gasp. No hands thrown up in defense.

Just a body folding in on itself. Puppet. Cut strings. Floor.

Her knees hit first. Then her hips. Her skull would’ve cracked open if—

“NO—!”

Gojo’s voice split the air.

His body slammed the pavement just in time, arms sliding under her skull before it struck asphalt. His knees hit hard. He didn’t notice.

She was convulsing. Fingers twitching. Legs spasming like her nerves were glitching through static.

Her eyes fluttered open—barely. One blown wide. The other slow to respond. Her mouth moved, soundless, forming shapes she couldn’t say.

The back of her head was caved in. Blood bubbling at the base, wet and hot against Gojo’s thighs.

“Hey—hey. Look at me. Look at me—fuck, baby, just stay. Please stay—”

His voice was wreckage. No power, only panic. Shaky hands curled around her cheeks like he was afraid he’d break her worse.

She blinked. Just once. Then her pupils rolled up.

And still, he held her. Cradled her like a lifeline. A wrecked thing trying to hold together something softer than himself.

Her breath came out uneven. Like a machine trying to reboot.

Gojo didn’t feel the pain in his legs. Didn’t feel her blood soaking his clothes. All he saw was her face—lagging, like her brain was buffering behind real time.

For one breathless second—

Even Sukuna forgot who he was.

He blinked. Twice. His head tilted. Like something ancient had stirred from beneath his ribs.

Her face. Her blood.

The stillness.

He didn’t move. His hands twitched once at his sides. His throat clicked dry.

It was like watching a ghost die again.

“…No,” he breathed. “No—no, no—fuck.”

A memory surged:

He’d seen her bleed before. In another life.

Him, cradling her. Her gaze empty. The room sterile and humming with cold fluorescents. That awful antiseptic smell. The nurses whispering about miscarriage like it was a math error. All because the trauma to the womb was too violent.

A month later, Gojo. And Nanami. Suicides. News headlines.

She hadn’t remembered him in this life. Hadn’t even looked twice.

But Sukuna remembered everything.

The way her breath had sounded when she laughed in that life. The shape of the twins she lost before he could name them. The soft sigh she let out as she fell asleep in his arms. The nightmares—always the same men, the guilt too heavy to swallow. The way her eyes had looked when he told her she deserved to live, to be happy anyway—even after everything. The way they had looked when she told him she loved him. The way her lips had moved when she tiredly said his name for the first time.

That "Ryo" still ran through his bloodstream like a curse—he’d remember even if he forgot his own name.

The way she had asked him for help, like he wasn’t cursed.

He hadn’t begged for reincarnation.

He’d ripped it from the jaws of nonexistence—not to be a god, not to be reborn.

To see her again.

And now—

“No—” Sukuna’s voice came low. Not pleading. Not broken. Controlled.

Like a warrior watching the aftermath of an explosion he couldn’t stop. A man built to destroy, watching the one thing he didn’t want broken shatter anyway.

His hands curled into fists. Slowly. Silently.

Across from him, Gojo was still holding her. Still whispering like prayer was a reflex he’d never believed in until now.

“Stay with me. Just stay with me. Please, stay—don’t fucking do this to me—don’t—”

Choso turned pale, like the horror had wind behind it. “Who do we call?” he asked. “Hospital—police—do we—what the fuck do we do? We need a doctor—who’s treating her—”

No one answered.

Gojo didn’t even hear him. His voice kept going. Quiet. Shredded. “Stay. Stay. Please, stay. Just… just stay with me.”

Choso ripped Gojo’s phone out of his coat pocket, fingers slipping. His hand shook as he dialed.

Somewhere behind them, Yuji and Junpei were already moving—eyes dark, steps soundless, splitting off like wolves catching a scent. Trained. Tracking. Gone.

Nanami hadn’t moved.

Not yet. Not immediately.

Like his brain had glitched mid-frame. Like the universe had misfired—like the seconds between the gunshot and the collapse were just another nightmare in the endless reel of them.

He stood there.

Still.

Watching her bleed.

A man built on logic. Precision. Ratios and rules. Cause and effect.

But this?

This was mathematics without an equation. Balance without meaning.

Another cosmic joke played on a man foolish enough to believe he could keep something sacred in a world like this.

Then he saw it.

The red halo at the base of her skull. The unnatural kink in her spine. The shoulder pulled out of socket like a bird with a snapped wing. And the exit wound—clinical, too clean. Efficient.

Something in him shifted.

Not broke. Shifted.

Like a knife turning in its sheath.

He straightened.

He moved like something had been switched off.

Like the weight of a man whose grief wasn’t a feeling—it was a law.

Rage in Nanami was never hot. Never loud. It was the collapse of structure. The moment when the scaffolding gives and all that’s left is gravity.

He didn’t speak. He just walked.

His technique activated without gesture. No ritual. No threat.

The ground cracked beneath him. Golden ratios burned through the pavement like divine geometry. Reality bent into fragments, everything around him rearranged into lines of perfect consequence.

He was already measuring the moment—the bullet’s entry, the blast radius, the arc of collapse. Calculating, silently, the seconds she had left before brain death.

“What did you do?” Nanami asked. His voice didn’t raise. It was the sound of a hypothesis being disproven. A balance sheet that refused to align. A verdict already passed.

Behind him, golden blades began to hum violently—too precise to be called weapons. They weren’t made for war. They were made for correction.

Weak points blinked into the air like constellations on a surgical map.

He moved toward Sukuna.

And Sukuna didn’t retreat.

His hands twitched—not from fear, but restraint. Part of him wanted to summon every cursed tool he’d buried across the globe. His mind cycled through the names of every mercenary he had killed in secret to keep her safe. The spells he’d never used—not even when dying.

And the rage—the sheer, blistering fury—that he had let his guard down for one hour just so she could feel normal.

And this was what happened.

“You shouldn’t have looked at her.” Nanami’s voice landed like cold steel. “You shouldn’t have breathed the same air.”

Around Sukuna, the air sliced itself into pieces. Invisible blades hovering in calculus patterns—dozens of trajectories, all of them fatal. Reality split like a frog in a biology lab.

Sukuna didn’t flinch. Didn’t lift a finger.

“It wasn’t me.”

Gojo looked up, blood in his mouth, his eyes, his thoughts. Staining. Hers. “He’s lying—she was smiling,” he looked back at her. “She was smiling—”

“I didn’t,” Sukuna said again. Quieter. Still watching her. “I couldn’t. Why the fuck would I—?”

Nanami’s voice came like frost on a blade.

“I will burn down the laws of this world if it means ripping you apart.”

Sukuna straightened. Deliberate. Like a tree refusing to bow in a storm.

“You want to fight me now?”

Nanami didn’t answer.

His Domain cracked open behind him—reality cracking, rewinding, clockwork splitting open like a broken timepiece. Golden lines spun outward in spirals, mapping every single version of this moment.

Every version where she survived.

Every one that didn't.

This wasn’t rage.

It was annihilation.

Sukuna’s own Domain shuddered into existence—scarlet, grotesque, brute, heavy, like an axe swung through a cathedral.

The shadows warped around his frame. The air vibrated with it. The ground buckled.

“I didn’t fucking touch her.”

Even he—he—hesitated when he saw Nanami’s face.

Because there was no wrath there.

No vengeance.

Just the flat certainty of a man with nothing left to protect and nothing left to fear.

Sukuna’s rage curled inside him like a parasite chewing through meat. But he couldn’t exorcise it. Couldn’t spit it out.

Rage was all he had.

And rage felt like prayer.

“Do it, then,” he growled.

His voice cracked once—just enough to show the rot underneath.

“Fucking do it.”

Gojo didn’t move. He just held her.

His mouth against her temple. His hands cradling what they could not save.

“I didn’t say sorry,” he whispered. Not to anyone. Not to her.

Just to himself. Just to the air. Like he was giving the words permission to leave him now.

“I didn’t even get to say sorry…”

His fingers were red and shaking.

Her coat stuck to her ribs, soaked through.

Sukuna had trained himself not to feel. Feeling made you fail. Love made you late. Attachment got people killed.

But then she’d said his name.

In this life.

In that soft, exhausted voice. With eyes like she’d already forgiven him for whatever he hadn’t even done yet.

He wasn’t a god anymore. He knew it the moment she touched his wrist and didn’t recoil.

He was just a man.

A man who remembered what her laughter sounded like. What it felt like to be seen.

A man who was about to end a continent for her.

But she wasn’t blinking anymore.

And then—

A twitch.

Small. Shallow. The kind of movement most people would’ve missed.

But Sukuna wasn’t most people.

Her eyelids fluttered. Once.

Only he saw.

His jaw locked. A breath hitched in his chest—sharp and quiet.

He didn’t scream. Didn’t shout it aloud. Just—

“I didn’t do it,” he said again. The words were sharp now. Precise. Not a defence but a promise. “But I’ll help find who did.”

Behind him, Nanami’s golden blades froze mid-rotation. Suspended like judgement delayed.

The air stopped humming.

“Why?” he asked. Flat. Unbelieving.

Sukuna’s eyes never left her. “Because in another life, I watched a woman like that bleed out protecting idiots like you. And I don’t even know her.”

Nanami didn’t lower his hand. “I don’t care if you knew her in a fucking dream.”

Choso stepped between them—hand up, body rigid, his own technique thrumming in a futile attempt to shield his brother. But even he knew he was useless here. He was trying to hold back two tectonic plates with nothing but his spine.

Sukuna opened his palms. Empty. Still.

“I don’t want to fight you.”

“I don’t want to think,” Nanami replied like a man who didn’t want to hear his own thoughts anymore.

Gojo’s shoulders shook like a child’s.

Not from panic. From something worse—recognition. That this was real. That this might be the last time he held her with warmth still in her skin.

He whispered again.

Not to her. Not to them.

Just to the shape of her still in his arms.

“I didn’t even get to say sorry.”

His voice caught in his throat. A hiccup. A prayer’s corpse. Like he was whispering it to the version of her who’d already left.

Choso’s voice broke through in the background, rising in panic as he screamed into the phone. “She’s bleeding from the brainstem—there’s spinal trauma—we need an ambulance NOW—”

Gojo folded over her, head bowed, as if shielding her from the sound. “Baby, no,” he begged. “You’re strong. Stronger than both of us. So stay. Just a little longer. Just—stay. Please. Protect me. One last time…”

Something in his voice—not words, but the way he said them—stopped Nanami cold.

The blades vanished. His Domain closed.

And the silence returned—not peace. Not grief. Just that awful stillness that comes before a scream.

Gojo leaned lower.

His lips brushed her stomach.

“The twins…” he whispered, breath hitching.

His voice broke.

“I didn’t even get to say sorry.”

Sukuna moved again.

Slow. Controlled. Cautious, like approaching a dying god.

Red stained his collar. His shirt. His wrists. Her blood had dried at the corner of his mouth, but it still glinted in the light.

Yuji and Junpei were already gone—disappearing into alley shadows like bloodhounds with no leash. Their cursed energy sang behind them in violent harmony.

And the street was painted red.

Gojo rocked her body slightly. Whispering into her hair now. The words meant nothing. They were only shape and sound. “Don’t go,” he kept saying. “Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go—”

Except—

Her hand.

A twitch.

Not a movement. Not a miracle.

Just a final neuron firing.

---

📱Twitter/X

@CHRO, Gaming Studios | May 2, 2025

Today, the unimaginable happened.

Our CEO, founder, and my friend of seven years was the victim of a targeted shooting outside a private engagement. We are currently working with authorities. Out of respect for her family and those of us who love her, we ask for space and privacy.

She built a dream from nothing. She made this world more than it was.

Please keep her in your thoughts.

🗞️Official Press Statement

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Gaming Studios | May 2, 2025

Our studios are devastated to confirm that earlier today, our Chief Executive Officer and founder was involved in a violent incident outside a private location. The matter is currently under investigation, and we are fully cooperating with law enforcement.

A visionary behind one of the most influential gaming empires of the decade—a friend, a to-be mother, a wife, a daughter, a relentless force who refused to build anything less than a revolution.

We ask for patience, respect, and privacy for her loved ones and the gaming family during this profoundly difficult moment.

Further updates will be provided when appropriate.

---

After the hit

Haibara didn’t blink when the sniper’s echo died. He just exhaled softly, like he’d been holding in a cough. Then, with a gentleness that made Naoya shift uncomfortably, he patted Maki’s shoulder—twice. Like a priest giving last rites to someone still breathing.

He turned. Winked at Naoya like they were sharing a private joke.

“Let her go.”

Naoya scoffed but obeyed. His fingers slipped from Mai’s arm, slow with disdain.

Haibara’s voice lowered, flat and unimpressed. “It’s just a bullet. You’ve choked your own blood out for less, haven’t you?”

Maki didn’t flinch. Not when Mai stumbled into her arms. Not even when Mai clutched at her ribs and rasped her name. Maki’s gaze stayed fixed on Haibara. Unshaken. Surgical.

“You picked the wrong sister to threaten.”

Haibara smiled without teeth. “See, that’s the part I liked. Do you know why?”

No shout. No gloat. No warning. No waiting for an answer. “Because you shouldn’t have said that.”

He raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

Click.

One shot. Centered. Clean. Right between Mai’s eyes.

The sound was small. Not dramatic. Not final. Just... clinical.

Mai’s spine locked—then folded. Her weight slumped into Maki’s arms like a structure losing tension.

Maki didn’t scream.

She laid Mai down like she was putting her to sleep. One hand on her shoulder, the other cushioning her fall. Quiet. Focused.

Haibara didn’t wait for grief. He turned, flicked a hand in the direction of the body.

“Naoya. Get her out of my sight. My shoes are limited edition.”

Naoya grunted and kicked Mai’s corpse to the side like loose garbage. The body thudded against gravel, limbs folding awkwardly.

Still, Maki didn’t move. Her hands were slick. Her face unreadable.

“Megumi will kill you for this.”

Haibara grinned. All enamel. “Good. I’m counting on it.”

He paced a tight, deliberate circle around her. The gun swung in lazy loops from his fingers like a child’s toy.

“I’m not doing this for sport,” he said. “Or politics. Or whatever messy little revenge fantasy you’ve spun in your head.”

He stopped beside her. Then shifted slightly—gun lowering, gaze sliding past her.

Toward the street below. Toward you.

“Two heartbeats,” he murmured. “Feather-light. One flutters more than the other. Girl, maybe. You hear it?”

He didn’t wait.

“Twins. Inside her. You don’t need Six Eyes to hear it. Just patience. Stillness. Obsession.”

He smiled then. But it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I want them.”

It wasn’t said with lust. Or cruelty.

It was said the way collectors say, I want that painting.

The way scientists say, I want that body for dissection.

The way sorcerers say, I want that power.

“They’ll make glorious cursed objects,” he added. “Personal. Tragic. Intimate.”

Maki didn’t speak.

She moved.

No warning. No scream. Just acceleration—like a spring snapping forward.

Pure Toji’s curse. Clean, unstoppable violence.

The gun didn’t rise fast enough.

Haibara stepped back off the rooftop ledge.

But not in fear.

In invitation.

Behind him, his Domain bloomed open—slick, immediate, and silent.

Like silk unfurling from a box.

A trapdoor for gods.

He fell into it like he'd done it before.

Like he wanted her to follow.

And she did. Her foot crossed the threshold—

crack.

Another shot.

Clean. Efficient.

The bullet hit her mid-air, just below the sternum—left side, precise angle.

Her breath hitched. Her spine jerked. Blood bloomed from her chest like a curse blooming into form.

She shook.

Mid-lunge. All momentum gone. Her body folded in on itself—like a puppet yanked by frayed threads.

She never reached him.

She never touched the Domain’s edge.

She crashed. Bone snapped. Limbs bent wrong.

No scream. No dignity. Just meat hitting stone.

Ten minutes later, Yuji and Junpei found her.

There was no poetry. No storm. No wind cue. Just heat and buzzing flies.

Just traffic that didn’t stop.

No mourning. No rage.

Just reality. Still moving.

And somewhere else—clean, calm, unbothered—Haibara sent a message:

"Hearts are still fresh. You’ll need gloves."

---

A/N: hehehehehehe laughs like Mahito in a Gucci showroom this chapter was a psychological workout & a KFC commercial in disguise (Yes, I did it to torture Gojo; idk why he's growing more on me lately.) This chapter took a LOT of rewrites & delulu-fuelled breakdowns, but shoutout to my Todo (my beta bestie), who simultaneously enabled my fictional insanity & made sure I took naps like a toddler on a juice crash (she also made me eat fruit). My brain feels disturbingly relaxed even though I finished this in 2 days like a woman possessed by a keyboard demon. Thank you, girl, for keeping me from rewriting the ending 17 times. Did anyone clock Mamaguro?? LMAOOO & not Megs catching strays for existing 😭😭😭. Idk why I've been torturing him; he didn't even do anything except exist & love her. And, btw—Nanami’s reaction isn’t emotion bc he’s not regular, tax-paying Nanami anymore; he’s a special grade war ghost with grief compression issues. Also: HOW MUCH DO WE HATE HAIBARA NOW??? Please scream in the comments. I crave your rage essays like cursed energy. Your thoughts genuinely help me improve & shape this story—it’s my first time writing something this long & plot-based instead of just vibes & hot people with serious issues. How’d we like Suguwu-chan (or… whatever he is 👀) & the reader’s convo?? Was she not peak powerful, bad-bitch energy?? And don’t EVEN get me started on Sukuna!!! This man reappeared after 84 years & somehow aced every column with the highest marks possible?? I’m not even a Suku-girly, but maybe I’m also fictionally insane & it’s showing (but no, I’m not talking about canon Sukuna—I have no interest in murder or maternity, pls. I’m just tired). Also, Sukuna’s hair being black in this ending was an aesthetic choice bc I’ve seen the manga panels, & he’ll be built different next season. You’re free to hallucinate him however you want, just like my beta is doing as we speak. Also when he said “Ryomen Sukuna”? I flatlined. And not even his own spiritual homeboys spared him 😭. Absolute roast session. Peak television. Not Gojo crying like Andrew Garfield in The Amazing Spider-Man when Gwen died. Lmaooo. Loser. Please send your essays, memes, analysis & betrayal theories in the comments!! I re-read & reply to every single one like Gojo rereading her texts at 3AM.

Next Chapter 25 - Losing Sun - [Tumblr/Ao3]

All Works Masterlist

Beta - @blackrimmedrose

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[oldphanny]

HOW. WAS. THE. SHOW. ⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️

AAAAHHH Sorry, I did see your asks earlier, but today has been such a blur cause I only went to sleep at 3am, so I've been napping on and off all day and kept forgetting!!

(I'm an old soul that requires 23 hours of sleep a day)

THE SHOW WAS ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE!!! Thank you for asking :)

However, the more I read and the more I'm answering questions, the more I'm realising that we were missing a lot of props. And obviously, the entire set!

So I like to lovingly refer to my version of tit as 'Bogan Tit' (thanks australian customs!!)

We were missing:

(Starting off with the ones I noticed from seeing spoilers on here prior to the show)

The set - we got a projection like Brisbane did. I don't know whether the same happened in Brisbane, but a bunch of the videos lagged or didn't play properly at all. Honestly, it just led to funnier moments, like Dan weirdly stomping over to the screen and yelling, "WELL THAT WAS A GREAT VIDEO!!!" When the clips for the tour bus conspiracy didn't play lol

The Golden Pig - I'm guessing the golden pig was supposed to be there but Phil managed to find a Golden Koala piggy bank at Woolies as a replacement (who he declared was named Clint, which Dan side eyed lol)

The Dioramas and Dolls - We had bunnings boxes cut up and with a background printed onto them while the dan and phil dolls were replaced with Obi-wan (Dan) and Goku (Phil). I would have loved to have seen PJ and Sophie's work but, again, it honestly made it funnier to have Obi-wan and Goku 'wrestle'?

Phils Silicone Abs - This was the biggest disappointment for me personally 🥲 I don't know when the Abs were supposed to come out through the whole boxing bit but phil just wore a blue singlet. Sucks but obviously shit happens and that's out of their control. I did have the aisle seat because someone wanted to trade seats so I had both dan and phil fly by me (and Dan collapse on the ground in view of my seat) so I really can't complain too much! I'm pretty sure Phil and I made eye contact for a split second before he sped off at a speed I didnt know was possible for him, so heeeyy I'll take it over the Silicone titties

The screen that gets smashed over dans head at the end of the boxing match/ Confetti- it was an officeworks box cut to look like a screen with like paper as the screen. I don't know whether that was supposed to be a better prop? Everyone around me laughed when the officeworks logo was visible on the side. Also, I'm assuming Confetti was supposed to fall out of it? But nothing really came out besides a bunch that got stuck to dans shoulder when he stood back up, which Phil came over and preened off of him 🥲🥲 Dan later on in the bit shook the boxes aggressively so the confetti did fly out over the stage but I'm assuming that wasn't supposed to happen? I'm not sure if this is the confetti you were referring to or whether there was supposed to be more? I didn't notice any other confetti, so perhaps no?

Phan bucks - I was not close enough to the stage to say whether they were the authentic phan bucks or some form of replacement, but something was sprayed out into the front row with one of those money guns.

Foam Fingers - No, I honestly don't know what you were referring too... which I guess means we missed out 🥲

BUT DESPITE ALL THIS, I LOVED THE SHOW! Clearly, they put a lot of work into making the show still feel seamless, and had I not been a chronic tumblr user, I wouldn't have noticed anything was wrong! They really carried themselves well and I loved Bogan Tit, I wouldn't have had it any other way <3 It kind of makes it more special since our show was slightly different :)

I would be interested to see the full show some day if they do post a recording to know how different it really was, but I'm so happy with my experience!! The audience was fantastic and cheering the entire time, so I hope that easied they're anxiety on not having everything to plan <3

[timeslipcamp]

honestly looking up the demons in the ars goetia was the worst because as i was reading through it and looking at some of the connections i was like DAMN this is really cool. aw man, now ive gotta do a whole post on subarus demon smh

spoilers through ep 15

back at it again with the crack theories!! it's what i do best, what can i say.

initially, when i was going through the demons in the ars goetia, i was like "huh, dantalion sounds a lot like dandelion. i wonder if that's going to have to do with us." and then i got further in my list and saw it was subaru's demon and there went that theory. and THEN i read more about dantalion and holy shit dude

anyways this is just a post going a lil more in depth on subaru's stigma, demon, and where i think he fits in the story

so first off, the ars goetia is fucking bonkers. in my professional opinion (i'm an opinionated nerd and a former humanities major), all grimoires that were written around the 13-15 centuries (and were widely publicized) are so goofy. the like, "modern" witchcraft thing is so funny to me because these experts were just making things up and making up their rules and all wildly contradicting each other in every book. i love the drama

but that's not what you're reading this for so i'll get off my soapbox

several of these demons are listed in a bunch of grimoires, but the tkdb wiki (however reliable) lists the ars goetia, so we'll go with that description

shoutout to wikipedia for having one of the only compilations of info that didn't have pretentious drivel to get through (i'm not being a hypocrite shh). tumblr mobile stop deleting my drafts challenge

as far as i can gather, the rankings in the ars goetia are meaningless lol. each demon has their title and their legions and satan rules over all. each demon is also listed as the things they were meant to teach, because the purpose of having these demons in a list was for summoning purposes. you would summon a demon, wear its seal so you could control it, and ask it questions based on what it had dominion over.

the demon's other abilities were what i was really interested in, especially in relation to subaru. the first one listed is the ability to declare counsel on anyone; basically he can read minds. he knows anyone's secret thoughts and can also apoarently change them to his will.

this one applies directly to subaru's stigma. his stigma is the ability to read residual thoughts from people and objects. there is zero doubt in my mind that if we were to enhance his stigma, he'd be able to read active thoughts. or more! luca summoned a whole ass creature with his and all he can do is guard or whatever. who knows what he could do? change thoughts maybe?

manipulate thoughts to the point of someone being intermittently amnesiac? side eyeing my incomplete taiga theory post

the next ability listed isn't as relevant, "cause love and show similtude", but the NEXT part: "show the same by means of a vision." could subaru, in theory and while using us, project the memories he's seeing so that everyone can see them as well?? i think so!!

the last part is also just so subaru, "many faces," meaning he can appear as anyone, man or woman. ngl, i thought subaru was a lesbian the first time i saw him and got so excited, but this is definitely referring to his ability to act. we saw a bit of it in episode 15 where he auditions for the haunted house and then acts like SUCH a freak in that room. love him.

there's also a part about the demon always being depicted holding the book but idk what that means yet, will revisit later

subaru's abilities are so fascinating and honestly he has so much potential to do some crazy shit with us boosting his stigma. i do think he fits aomewhere into my theory about what's going on with taiga's memory but again, i don't have a solid theory yet just because of how little information we have.

the main theory thatni have about subaru is that i think he did have something to do with taiga's memory issues, and i do think he's the type of person that could be blackmailed into helping the faculty and work against the ghouls. his stigma would allow him to get an insane amount of information on the other ghouls simply by touching things discarded by them. the galaxy express area is full of lost items, it'd be a field day for him. who knows how much he's found out about the campus just by grabbing things in there?

maybe he doesn't leave his room anymore because he found out too much last year. maybe he doesn't want darkwick to use him any more than they already have. who knows?

what we do know is that subaru is a squishy little freak and i'm so fascinated by him and his story. can't wait for the next sinostra chapter to come out and (hopefully) get more info on taiga.

asks and dms always open!

[kimberlygbart]

Role Swap AU Masterpost

If you're old enough in my blog then you remember [this]

Yeah in the end I never even updated that, it's almost a year since the mod was actually released but hey I'm here!

This also might be the last post regarding the AU. It's over fr, I've reached my dream in wanting to release a mod of it and getting fanart sooo yay, the AU is done for, but dw! I've kept Whitmore, turned him into an OC.

If I don't forget to post again lol Y'all will see more of him!

Anyways here is the mod!!!

Above it's all art I've made for it alongside a GIF :P

And below the cut, you will find more links, such as gameplay and all the music! INCLUDING the full-ass complete lore of the AU!

ya that's right!! Community game played my game ain't that crazy! Okay so here is all you need to know:

This is an AU where Whitty (now who's referred as Whitmore as his last name only) and Updike (Gabriel in this AU, he doesn't know his last name or anything since he was abandoned) switch places. ONLY they do in this AU, all others stay the same. Conrad Whitmore was raised by The Greater Good (similar concept to SCP) after being found in abandoned and crashed down lab as a doomsday experiment. TGG saw him as an useful tool Being fed well and trained since childhood, he's naturally taller and bigger than average Whitty. Also more tired. Just because Conrad had a good childhood doesn't mean he was free of trauma btw ☝ He had many experiments done on him such as vivisectomy, endoscopy and multiple blood tests and even organ removals, however he was often manipulated by TGG into doing this of free will, ever since as a kid.

For those who ask "well what about Carol? Does she still date the Whitty from this universe?" yes she did! Hex and Carol are/were still Conrad's closest people he has had in his life But Carol eventually broke up with Conrad once she learnt the true nature of his job. A big rift developes between them, with her trying to desperately convince him TGG is not the better solution it claims to be, while Conrad defends it with his life for is the only thing he knows. Their fights escalate a lot, until she visits him in his office. Needless to say it didn't go well.

I have an animatic as well! In a resume, their (verbal) fights gets him so agitated, he enters his ballistic stage where he hasn't felt that in years besides while a kid. And during his rage he pulls the trigger while Carol calls him names (monster being one). TGG covers the crime, the lyrics are important btw!

This all happened when Conrad was 21, Carol's death is tragic enough he enter a depressive episode + is taken back to his 'original bunker house' (where he was raised) by TGG for 5 years for reevaluation. Hex is the only one who knows what happened because Conrad told him. That's pretty much the lore? I think? UH anywasy tldr I became so attached to Conrad I've scrapped the 'swap' alternate reality of it and turned him into Whitty's twin brother (and Carol isn't dead there).

Also out of respect for Sock.Clip, Gabriel, or TGG no longer exists, I'm just dumping this here to be registered in my tumblr since it was the only social media I never uploaded the lore of my AU completely. But yes, swap whitty is fully dead, ofc ppl can make art for it duh, I just mean I won't be making content of it ever again, Conrad instead is being brought to the 'original' fnf world, and will be currently Whitty's twin, but his lore or story has been completely rebooted.

Thank you for reading all this damn ur a true homie!!!

[mischiefmaker615]

Literature Lurking

Summary: Loki knows about your writing hobby, but never really looked into what you wrote ABOUT. One day he snuck onto your computer and discovered your smut secret. However, you've never done all these kinks with him, so he gets the idea that you must have been cheating on him! 

Rating: PG14

Note: I might as well have called our ass out Lol

Loki never judged you for what you were into. Even when you told him you were a fan fic writer, he assured you that if anything made you happy, he was happy. You didn’t push the subject after that because you knew you’d die if he even read any of your content. Just the mere knowledge of him knowing you did it at all was enough to feel like you told him everything and left it at that.

Whenever he heard you typing until there might be smoke coming from the keyboard, he knew not to bother you. Youd come to him eventually, and he did make a note in his head that whenever you seemed to have finished your little writing moods- or stopped in the middle of it sometimes, you’d both have sex. It was by far never unwanted, but he often did think of if whatever reason, writing seemed to make you horny.

Curiosity seemed to prod the cat one day enough to finally get up and investigate.

You had a work meeting, so your laptop was left behind and granted Loki the perfect opportunity to take a peek. He wasn’t to educated when it came to navigating the internet, but he did know enough to go to your ‘history’ and click on the most popped up word on the list.

Tumblr.

He wasn’t sure what you wrote about, just that you.. wrote. Half the time he assumed it was perhaps making up some grand make believe plots of dragons or singing people you often enjoyed watching on the television. That’s what fan fiction was right? You had explained it was something where people wrote within the realm of the fandom they enjoyed, but sort of made the existing characters your puppet. Loki was confused enough to just shake it off and just tell you ‘You being happy is all I care about’ but now he wished he asked more questions.

Taking a bit of time to try to figure things out, he saw ‘Account’ and clicked on it. He almost felt guilty sneaking about on this when you weren’t home, but he figured you were already open about this, there should be no shame in him actually reading what you spent sometimes hours working on.

That’s when his eyes grew wide when he saw his name. a lot. Everywhere. On a page that followed with a lewd word and topics, his cheeks instantly grew red. After having a small debate in his head on if he really wanted to know, he clicked on a link that said ‘Masterlist’.

‘’Norns to grace..’’ he breathed, seeing the various titles that ran down for a mile on an endless page. ‘’did she write all of this?” he thought out loud, finding the devoted time to have built all this quite impressive.. it’s the content that had him hesitating.

Until he finally began clicking links. All of them..

Biting. Slapping. Begging. Edging. Fingering. Oral. Daddy. Brats. Doms. Public. Sucking. Threesomes. Masturbation. Cucking. CNC. Ra-

Loki quickly pushed the roller chair back and he slide halfway across the room backwards, his eyes wide while all this information swam in his head. He read them all. He. Read. Them. All.. his heart raced while his hands white knuckled the arms of the chair.

‘Where was she getting her inspiration from.. she hardly talks of her dating life before me.. she and I most certainly haven’t tried even half of these.. is this what she’s into- no.. we would have talked of this.. we would have tried most of this..’

His eyes widened as he stared at the screen across the room. His mind went to if you were cheating on him.. he most certainly haven’t picked up on another man’s scent on you.. and your time is always spent on him if you weren’t at work- work! A coworker? A backroom? You work with men- not just amongst the Avengers.. who were these guys? What were you doing? Loki’s mind was going practically a thousand miles a minute, he felt like he was going insane before he found himself slamming the lap top shut.

This just won’t do..

You exhaled a sigh of relief when you finally shut the door behind you and let your purse fall from your shoulder and land on the ground. Your height dropped about two inches when you slipped off your heels and let the jacket fall next while you continued to walk further into the living room. There was nothing more relaxing than to finally get home after work- almost nothing.

You immediately sought out your boyfriend, looking around to find him nowhere in sight while you furrowed your brows. ‘’Loki?” you called, walking into the bedroom and looked around before the door shut behind you, making you jump and turn around to see his hand flat against it, having closed it firmly.

‘’Loki- how was your day?” You smiled, obviously oblivious to his stare while you scampered over to hug him, but his free hand met you halfway and gripped your chin, stopping you in place.

‘’who is he?”

Your face immediately fell to confusion. ‘’who?”

‘’him. the one you’ve been apparently fulfilling your fantasies with.’’ Loki hissed, stepping forward towards you and his hand gripped your hip from stepping away, immediately pulling you forward so he could bury his face in your hair. With the way he was inhaling, you could tell he was searching for a scent and you immediately pushed against his chest with a mild irritated look.

‘’I’m not cheating on you.’’

‘’of course you’d say that, everyone says that to deny the truth. Jut as you had denied me of all your.. erotic.. nonsense’’ he waved a hand, trying to find words while you raised a brow and scoffed.

‘’nonsense?’’ you stopped yourself from laughing and looked at him to await the joke, the punchline, the ‘got you’ moment while he stared at you with nothing but seriousness. Your face fell and immediately took a step back. ‘’what are you playing at?”

Loki huffed at your denial. ‘’do not play me for a fool darling, in all our years as a couple, you have not once presented yourself to me in such a way you do to others. Are you in love with someone else? Is that it? Or perhaps you’ve grown bored at what I offer you because apparently it’s not enough!’’ he nearly spat and caught your wrist just as it had moved to slap him. ‘’please,’’ he looked mockingly amused. ‘’you’d probably get off on that.’’

‘’Loki..’’ you said through a careful breath while you searched his face to try to figure out what he was talking about. He claims you to have cheated on him? on him?? the god of pleasure! Erotic he had mentioned.. there was nothing you’ve done in your life in the realms of erotic.. all that kinky shit and-

Your eyes grew wide while Loki continued to demand with his eyes, still having his hand on your wrist while his other hand moved over your shoulder to rest against the door, ensuring your place while your eyes looked over towards your computer. No.. nononononono-

‘’you looked? …”

Loki narrowed his eyes. ‘’yes of course I looked- I have every right to look, and I’ve clearly seen all of your apparent experiences you’ve so thoroughly have kept away from me.’’

‘’Loki..’’ you started and looked back at him with red cheeks of embarrassment and your heart began to race ‘’-none of that is real..’’

‘’oh please,’’ he huffed and turned away from you finally. ‘’the description was as accurate as taking a breath. Every detail, every step, it was a vision upon paper. The only concerning moment is that you’ve lacked to share this knowledge with me.. unless you are trying to protect him..’’

‘’there is no one to protect!” you threw your hands in the air before you took a step forward and grabbed his shoulder, turning him to face you. ‘’that is what being a writer is! To be able to create.. anything in such detail, readers believe it to be true- none of that was real, obviously- because those stories are with you..’’ your face became redder by the second, wishing you could curl up in a hole with the very face that he had read your smut blogs.

Gods.. how many..

‘’obviously you and I haven’t participated in not even half the list- you must have replaced the name with mine or something-‘’

‘’oh for heaven fake-‘’ you sigh and cup his face, standing as tall as you could while you pulled him down a little to be better nose to nose with you. ‘’you’re the damn god of lies- look at me right now and tell me I’m lying! Those. Stories. Are. Made. Up! No one has done any of that with me, it’s just the.. sick thoughts that come somewhere far deep in my mind where my body apparently feels the need to write and share it..’’ your voice got a little quieter, having to take a few deep breaths while you forced yourself to confess and your eyes immediately dropped down to the ground.

‘’the dark thoughts.. I don’t know where they come from.. but I know much of the.. topics that are upon that account is things that perhaps I wish to try with you- but I’m to embarrassed to try or bring it up.. writing in a way makes me feel like I sort of done it and gets that itch away..’’

Loki’s brows were furrowed, gazing upon you like he was trying to study, to pick up on something like a lie but found none. He blinked several times, his own feeling of embarrassment through assumption twisted into now feeling terrible by his approach on things, making his eyes widen and his body took a step back.

‘’Y/N..’’ he started, his lips searching for words that only came out in a whisper. ‘’I’m sorry..’’

‘’no, I’m sorry..’’ you sighed and looked up at him. ‘’you knew I wrote, but I should have been more specific on what.. it’s just a little embarrassing talking about any of that stuff in real life..’’

‘’then.. why write it if you are unable to talk about it?” Loki asked.

You looked at him sheepishly and rubbed your arm. ‘’it’s easier to do embarrassing stuff you really want to do behind a screen where no one can judge you.. which is why I dreaded to day anyone I know in real life would come across it..’’

Loki raised a brow and chuckled. ‘’you think doing such things is embarrassing?”

You blushed. ‘’well.. it feels out of my character.. how people see me, and then perhaps doing the complete opposite behind closed doors.. and angel in the streets and a demon in the sheets, type deal..’’

This had Loki laugh and move forward to wrap his arms around you in a tight hug, your cheeks pressing against his chest while a hand cradled the back of your head while an arm wrapped around your middle. ‘’so.. these are things you secretly want to do- or at least try.. but your to shy to ask me.’’

You squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face more in his chest. ‘’yes..’’ though writing as a whole is fun anyway.. ‘’but I don’t want you to do things you’re not comfortable with and suck it up for my sake- nor do I wish you to do things just because I had to mention it..’’

Loki laughed and kissed the top of your head. ‘’despite my many powers darling, I cannot read your mind. If you wish to try something, that is where we are going to have to communicate.’’ He said gently and pulled back enough to place a finger under your chin and tilt your head up to look at him. ‘’it may be embarrassing of sorts, but I promise I will not judge you or think of you any differently. I promise.’’

Despite your red cheeks, you smiled up at him and tilted your head down to kiss your hand. ‘’I’ll work on my communication, I promise.’’

‘’in all regards, your writing skills are quite impressive and much of your stories and ideas intrigued me.’’ Loki lightly shrugged with a smile while his hands then began to travel down to your waist before going to grip your ass, his ‘missing you’ state coming back since you did just come home from work and was always a ‘to long apart from each other’ state.

‘’but I do wonder.. how did you know to write particular things if you’ve never even done them yourself before?”

You looked at him sheepishly while your hands rose to rest on his shoulders. ‘’the list where I have all the books I read is far longer than the list where I write..’’

‘’well then,’’ Loki smirked and leaned down a little just enough to curve his hands before he had you jump up and wrap your legs around his waist, your arms wrapping around his neck and caught the lustful look in his eyes.

‘’which one of your topics should we try first?”

Biting. Slapping. Begging. Edging. Fingering. Oral. Daddy. Brats. Doms. Public. Sucking. Threesomes. Masturbation. Cucking. CNC. Ra-

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life @soulpiercing @westwindrhapsody @lulubelle814 @katelinp @cueloki @hailey-laufeyson