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bloatedandalone04 · 2 days ago

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Under the Tree

➪the one where you and tyler celebrate christmas together, and he has a surprise waiting for you underneath the tree.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, mentions of smut, nothing too wild (yes, i write fluff too).

Word Count: 2.8k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ | Merry Christmas !

The department store was crowded, but what store wasn’t during this time of year? Christmas was next month, after all.

You were currently in the ornament aisle of the store, practically shoulder to shoulder with Tyler and an elderly woman that was standing to the left side of you. While you felt a little bad for dragging your boyfriend here after he just finished a rather grueling chase yesterday and likely still needed to rest, Tyler was still a pretty festive guy. And the chances of there being another tornado for the next few months was unlikely, so he would have lots of time to rest.

And he didn’t even look annoyed or irritated at the moment, even though you had been in this aisle for about fifteen minutes now. His arm was slung around your waist as your eyes flickered all over the various boxes of Christmas tree ornaments, an active debate going on in your head as you thought about what theme you wanted to go for this year.

This would be yours and Tyler’s first Christmas together, alone that is. You’d been together for almost three years, and the first year you had spent the holiday with your own families, and the second year with all of them together, but this year it was just you and him. Tyler’s family is going on a vacation this year, so you and he spent last weekend with them, and your mom was taking care of your dad since he just had surgery on his leg, so it wasn’t really a good year for them. Though you were planning on stopping by a few days after Christmas.

With that being said, this was the first year it was just you and Tyler, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t so excited to spend the holiday with him.

“No rush, babe, but is there a reason we’ve been standin’ here for over ten minutes?” he asked after watching you glance between two different boxes over and over again. “Again, no rush at all, but…someone’s grandma is looking a little pissed off.”

When you looked to your left and saw the elderly woman glaring at you, your hand came up to cover your mouth as you tried to hold in a laugh. “She has a valid reason,” you said, leaning more into your boyfriend’s side to give her a little more room. “This time of year is…stressful for everyone.”

Tyler hummed in agreement, wrapping his arm tighter around you as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “True…but I don’t think pickin’ out what to put on the tree is very stressful,” he teases, “Or at least it’s not supposed to be.”

You laughed quietly, watching as the woman grabbed a box of all red ornaments before briskly leaving the aisle. “I don’t know which ones I want,” you whined, pulling him back to where you were before. “I don’t know if we should do red and green, or white and gold, or white, gold and red.”

Tyler laughed under his breath as he looked at the multitude of different colored ornaments on the shelves. “Well, we have a pretty big tree, why don’t we do a mix of all of them? And maybe we can add some random ones here and there. We still have the ornament my mom got us last year to put on too, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” you smiled, looking back at him. His mom had gotten you a cute ornament that said both yours and Tyler’s names on the brims of a Santa hat that two penguins were wearing, and you were kind of obsessed with it. “That’s actually a really cute idea. You’re better at this than I thought you’d be.”

Tyler smirked, wrapping his arm around your waist again as he pulled you back against his side. “I love Christmas, you know that,”

You nodded, wrapping both your arms around his middle as you leaned your head against his chest. “I know you do,” you hummed, “But most guys don’t.”

“Baby, I think we’ve long since discovered that I’m not like most guys,” he grunted, reaching for both the big boxes of the red and green ornaments, leaving you to grab the smaller box that held both white and gold ones.

When he gestured for you to finally leave the aisle, you rolled your eyes. “Must you always show off?” you huffed, grabbing the smaller box before following after him.

“In front of you?” he grinned, “Always.”

“Pick a movie already,” you groaned, worried that the candy cane hot chocolate you had made for both you and Tyler would be stone cold by the time a film was even chosen. The living room was only lit up by the recently put up Christmas tree in the corner, an array of ornaments scattered on its branches, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think it was one of the cutest and prettiest things you had ever seen.

Tyler turned around from where he was hunched over the fake fireplace. The remote had been lost a long time ago, so whenever either of you wanted it on, you had to get onto your knees and hit the button manually.

The look he gave you had you cackling as you draped the big throw blanket your mom got you a few years ago across your body. “I did,” he said, “Two of them, actually. You said no to both.”

You laughed and sipped on your drink. “The Grinch is so overrated, and Home Alone is so overplayed,” you mumbled, placing your whole palm around your mug to warm your hand. “We watch it, like, five times every December.”

Tyler, once he turned the fireplace on, stood up and towered over you, his hands on his hips. His red and green Christmas pyjama pants he was wearing made your smile grow, even though you were wearing matching ones, complete with Max from The Grinch scattered all over the fabric. “Because it’s a classic,” he defended his choice of movie as he moved towards the couch. “And it’s good. Your choice was awful, but you don’t hear me complainin’, do you?”

His words weren’t harsh at all but rather teasing as he grabbed his own mug before sitting next to you and leaning over to kiss your cheek when you draped the blanket over him as well. “Love Actually is good,” you muttered, bringing the rim of your mug up to your mouth again.

Tyler laughed, reaching for the remote with his free hand. “Babe, it’s barely a Christmas movie,”

“Okay, you have not seen it enough times to be able to say that,” you said and Tyler grunted.

“Alright, fine, it doesn’t feel like a Christmas movie,” he corrected himself as he flipped through the Holiday section on Netflix. “How about…this one?”

You looked up and saw that he was hovering over Four Christmases, and your lips curved into a smile. “Okay,” you answered, cuddling close to him while being careful not to spill your drink.

When the opening scene started, Tyler turned his head and nuzzled his nose against your temple. “We should do that,” he murmured, draping his arm around your shoulder as he pulled you closer to his side.

“What?” you laughed, your eyes still on the TV but your focus was almost entirely on your boyfriend.

“You know…roleplay,” he said, and your face heated up as you looked over at him, seeing the mischievous look in his eyes you were very used to by now.

“Roleplay?” you echoed, tilting your head back to get a better look at his handsome face. “You wanna call me a bitch, hmm? And tell me you hate my earrings?”

Tyler’s face heated up now and he quickly shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant,” he rushed out, but you just laughed and draped your legs over his under the blanket. “I just meant, like…you know, pretendin’ we don’t know each other, only for me to kiss you in front of a room full of people like it’s the only thing I want to do for the rest of my life.”

You bit your lip and pressed your cheek against his shoulder, running the tip of your nose along his jawline. “You already do that,” you murmured, “Kiss me in a room full of people. What would be different?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before pressing his own against it. “We could make it like our first date all over again. I could act all cool and confident, when really I was already fallin’ head over heels for you, and you could pretend you aren’t completely obsessed with me already and just dyin’ to hear more of my storm chasin’ stories.”

You scoffed, pulling back to lightly slap his shoulder. “You’re so full of it,” you shook your head before moving closer to him again. “It wasn’t your stories that drew me in, it was you. Just you.”

Tyler smiled down at you before leaning in and pressing a firm kiss to your mouth. “Everythin’ about you drew me in,” he mumbled against your lips. “Your eyes, your laugh, your smile…and those tight jeans you were wearing definitely did somethin’ to me.”

You rolled your eyes and placed your hand flat against his face, pushing him away from you. “Once again, you’re full of it,” you muttered, quickly pulling your hand away from him when his tongue poked out and licked your palm. “And disgusting.”

Tyler laughed, and the sound made your mouth curve upwards in a smile as you turned your gaze back to the movie. “You love it,”

Christmas Day always seemed to creep up on you ever since you became an adult, unlike how it seemed to take forever to arrive when you were a kid.

With that being said, it was just as exciting as it was when you were younger. Back then, you, like any other kid, loved receiving gifts, but now that you are older, you love giving them out.

Okay, maybe you go a bit overboard every year, but your mom could always use another mug, and your dad could always upgrade his housecoat. And Tyler could always stock up on that piney, sexy cologne you fucking love.

When you woke up on the 25th of December, alone and cold in your bed, you groaned and grabbed Tyler’s Tor-nae-do hoodie and shrugged it over your shoulders, the grey fabric matching well with your Grinch pajamas.

You left the room and walked down the stairs, hearing the faint sound of Christmas music playing from the living room. When you entered the room, you found Tyler sitting on the couch, his laptop placed on his thighs and his legs kicked up on the coffee table as he scrolled through the comments on an old upload.

“Working on Christmas?” you asked with a tired grin, crossing your arms as you leaned against the doorway.

Tyler looked over at you, his handsome grin forming on his lips as he closed his laptop, instantly giving you his full attention like he always did. “Someone has to,” he teased, setting it aside as he leaned back on the couch. “Kinda hard to make money when you’re in bed and sleepin’ all morning.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, pushing off the wall when he reached his hand out to you. “It’s only ten thirty,” you mumbled, crawling onto his lap as you snuggled up on his chest. “And yeah, yeah…you’re the breadwinner out of the two of us. I know that.”

Tyler hummed as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms wrapping around your body as he held you against him. “That’s not true and you know it,” he murmured, dipping his head down to nuzzle his face against your neck. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

You smiled, closing your eyes as you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. “Merry Christmas, Ty,” you said back, sitting up on his lap and placing your hands on his chest. “What do you say? I make breakfast, we sit for a bit, then open presents? Maybe after we can have a nap too…you kept me up late last night.”

Tyler smirked, shrugging a bit as he ran his hands up your back, under his hoodie. “What can I say? I know how to celebrate a holiday,” he grinned, then sat up a bit. “How ‘bout presents first? I got you somethin’ I’ve been dying to see you open for weeks now.”

One of your brows raised as you let out a soft hum. “Weeks, huh?” you echoed, a small smile forming on your lips. “Alright, we’ll do presents first.”

“Okay,” he immediately agreed, his hands giving your hips a gentle squeeze. “Open mine first. It’s right there, under the tree.” he nodded towards the corner of the living room, the Christmas tree lit up in a soft, warm tone, and under it was a small, surprisingly well wrapped box.

“Okay,” you said, getting off his lap to retrieve the box, and one of the gifts you got him. You walked back over to him and sat down on the couch beside him, rather than on top of him again, and placed your gift for him on his lap. “Remember, we said we weren’t going to go overboard since it’s just us this year, right? You remember that?”

Tyler grinned and draped his arm around your shoulders. “Babe, just open it,” he laughed, his other hand wrapping around one of your thighs to pull you closer to him.

You laughed quietly too, draping your legs over his lap. As your fingers began ripping at the wrapping paper, you noticed that Tyler began to shift beside you, but he only gestured for you to keep going when you looked over at him. “Are you okay?” you asked, glancing up at him again as you pulled off the rest of the paper. “You’re acting kinda weird or anxious or-”

You cut yourself off when you opened a small box, and you quickly looked down to see what was in it. When your eyes caught sight of the princess cut ring that was sitting on the velvet cushion inside the box, your throat closed up as a soft gasp left your mouth.

“Ty,” you murmured, your eyes burning a bit with unshed tears as you tore your gaze off the stunning ring to look over at him.

Tyler looked less nervous now as his fingers ran up and down your thigh, his eyes wide but his face relaxed. “Baby,” he said back, reaching up to caress your jaw in his hand. “I love you. More than anythin’ in the world. You know that.”

You nodded quickly, your hands shaking a bit as you looked between him and the ring in the box. “Yeah,” you whispered, gripping his arm tightly with the hand that wasn’t holding the box.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Tyler rasped, taking the ring out of the box as he held it between his fingers. “I want to marry you, babe. I want everythin’ with you, forever.”

Your cheeks heated up in a blush, your eyes filling with tears as you moved closer to him. “I want that too,”

“Yeah?” Tyler grinned, taking your left hand in his as he held the ring up to you. “Will you marry me, baby?”

You were nodding before he even finished asking the question, your arms thrown around his shoulders as you pressed a deep kiss to his mouth. “Tyler, oh my God,” you mumbled against his mouth, your voice muffled by his lips. “Yes.”

Tyler laughed against your lips, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he pressed multiple kisses to your mouth. Neither of you knew how long had passed before you finally broke the kiss and pulled back so he could slide the ring onto your finger, and already you were absolutely obsessed with it.

“It’s so beautiful, Ty,” you said quietly as you gazed down at the new addition to your left hand.

“Yeah? I tried findin’ the prettiest one because you’re the prettiest girl,” he smirked, running his hand up and down your spine as you snuggled up against his side. “This one will have to do.”

You scoffed and shook your head, nuzzling your face against the side of his neck. “It’s perfect,” you mumbled, kissing his shoulder. “I love it. I don’t even want you to open my gift now because you’ve given me the best one by far. I feel cheap.”

Tyler laughed, holding you tightly against his side as he looked down at the gift bag you had put on his lap. “Oh yeah, it’s gonna take you at least…I don’t know, four Christmases to catch up to me now,” he said, a proud smile on his face, and he was clearly happy with his stupid joke as he reached for the bag. “Oh, and thanks for the cologne by the way, wifey.”

#grumpys glen grove #tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens smut #tyler owens fic #tyler owens twisters #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens fanfiction #tyler owens x you #twisters #twisters movie #twisters 2024 #twisters fanfic #twisters tyler owen’s #twisters x reader #twisters imagine #glen powell

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nanamineedstherapy · 2 days ago

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Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceres 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.

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy Horror, Unhinged Husbands, Emotional Chaos, Desperation, Chasing the Uncatchable, Cursed Relationships, Polyamory Drama, Sorcery Meets Reality.

Major Content Warnings: Graphic depictions of distress (physical and emotional), mentions of stalking behaviors, power imbalances, body horror (pregnancy), intense angst. Other Warnings: Crack moments in otherwise serious situations, manipulative tendencies, morally gray characters.

A/N: My Christmas gift to you ≧◠‿◠≦✌ Let me just say: I’m not sorry for the emotional rollercoaster you’re about to board. The safety harness? It’s Gojo/Nanami brand of dysfunction. Prepare yourselves for sorcery-fueled absurdity, body horror vibes, and enough angst to fill an Infinity Room. Also, if you’ve ever wanted to see Gojo wrestle with drunk Norwegian women or Nanami quietly descend into bread-obsessed madness, you’re in the right place. Buckle up. And yes, you’re allowed to throw virtual tomatoes at me in the comments.

Previous Chapter 3 - Corporate Warfare: Protocol The Circus of Two (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 4 - The Gravity of Running

But no one could outrun Gojo Satoru and Nanami Kento.

Denmark was off the table. Nanami knew you’d never hide in his ancestral grandmaland, so they aimed for Norway instead—specifically, a place you’d once mentioned wanting to visit.

This brilliant deduction led to their current predicament: boarding Gojo’s private jet at 2 a.m. for a 12-hour flight to Oslo.

Gojo had his tousled white hair peeking out from beneath his hood, the fabric of his oversized hoodie hanging loosely over his broad shoulders and accentuating his athletic build. His sweatpants clung just enough to hint at the strength beneath. He wore photochromic, transparent-framed glasses .

Nanami, too, sported an oversized hoodie that draped comfortably over his muscular frame. His normal world green-tinted Cannin glasses rested casually on the bridge of his nose, just visible beneath his hood, while his hair fell softly around his forehead. Both men wore slightly baggy sweats, adding to their relaxed vibe.

The plane, Gojo’s luxurious Bombardier Global 7500 , gleamed with sleek leather seats, gold trim, a full kitchen and a bar so well stocked it could supply a frat house for weeks.

Unfortunately, none of it could save the two men from their current downward spiral as they tried to commit substance abuse to drown their feelings, but instead they were the stars of the most unhinged reality show no one asked for.

Hour 3:25 AM

The cabin was quiet except for the occasional hum of the engines and the steady clinking of utensils. Or it would have been quiet if Gojo wasn’t demolishing an entire cart’s worth of desserts.

“Where do you think she is?” Gojo asked.

Nanami, five glasses of scotch deep, stared at him. “Maybe she’s on a beach. With a book. No loud idiots.”

Gojo gasped. “Are you calling me a loud idiot? I’m your husband, Nanami. Respect the bond, or I’ll bend you right here and add you to the mile-high club.”

Nanami didn’t flinch. “Respect the bond? You mean the one where I tolerate your endless noise? Bend me, and I’ll file for divorce the second we land. Along with a restraining order.”

“Then I’ll levitate you forever and do that thing you like,” Gojo waved his fork. “But I’ll forgive you because I’m a generous fairy like that.”

The plane jolted with turbulence, and Gojo clutched his dessert tray.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice softer now, “she left because we took her for granted.”

Nanami paused, then sighed. “Maybe it’s because you ate her last imported chocolates.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his hoodie. “You swore you’d never bring that up again!”

Nanami drained the rest of his scotch, gesturing to the flight attendant for another. “It was mutiny.”

Gojo teased again. “You know, if we don’t find her, I’m just gonna move into your apartment. I call the big bed.”

Nanami groaned, closing his eyes; Gojo had forced him to sell that apartment ages ago because he was worried Nanami would run away. “Go to sleep, Gojo.”

“You go to sleep,” Gojo retorted, his words slurring as his head lolled from all the sugar.

Hour 4:10 AM

“I’m stress eating,” Gojo declared, stuffing a tiramisu into his mouth. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Nanami glared at him over the rim of his scotch glass; it was his 8th or 18th—who knew anymore. “You’ve eaten everything except the in-flight magazines.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Gojo said, mouthful of frosting.

The flight attendant approached cautiously. “Sir, we’ve run out of desserts. Perhaps—”

Gojo's ripped off his glasses. She jumped. His radioactive eyes seemed to bore into her very soul, like a genetically mutant from the Umbrella Corps lab, struggling to comprehend the mundane world beyond the confines of his oversized hood. “What do you mean, run out? There’s a whole Gojo Clan dessert inventory on this flight!”

She blinked. “Sir, that’s… not meant for passengers. That was a gift, as you declared earlier.”

“Guess what?” He said. “They mine now.” Holding his own desserts hostage.

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should’ve left you in Tokyo.”

“You couldn’t have,” Gojo said smugly, shoving mousse in his mouth. “I’m the sugar to your bitter.”

Nanami’s reply was drowned out by turbulence, which sent his scotch splashing onto his lap. He sighed, leaning back into his seat. “I should’ve ordered vodka.”

“Don’t blame the scotch for your crotch crisis,” Gojo quipped, taking a swig of Nanami’s drink before he could stop him.

The turbulence worsened, and the cabin lights flickered. Gojo glanced at Nanami, his grin weak. “Do you think this is a sign?”

“A sign of what?” Nanami deadpanned, swirling his next glass of scotch.

“That we’re bad husbands.”

Nanami froze. “You’re just now realizing that?”

Gojo slumped against his seat. “I mean, yeah, but I’m trying. I even brought dessert for her!”

“You are inhaling all the dessert.”

The turbulence jostled them again, and this time, Nanami spilled a bit of his drink on Gojo’s sleeve.

“You know,” Gojo started, wiping at the stain, “if this plane goes down, at least I’ll die with a tummy full of cake and regret.”

“Good,” Nanami muttered. “Because if we survive this flight, I’m leaving you in Norway.”

“You say that, but then show up like Batman when you think I’m in danger,” Gojo smirked, leaning closer.

Nanami didn’t respond. He’d fallen asleep, the glass still in his hand.

Gojo blinked, nudging him lightly. “ Min min ?”

Nanami stirred, mumbling something unintelligible before straightening abruptly. “What did I miss?”

Gojo grinned. “Just turbulence. And the shocking revelation that beneath that muscle mass, you’re really just a big softie who’d probably cry at a frog video.”

Nanami muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “I married the frog.” Gojo smirked, satisfied.

Hour 5:15 AM

Gojo now sat manspreading with a tower of dessert plates now teetering on the tray in front of him. He bit into a chocolate tart with the energy of a man trying to solve world hunger through sheer caloric intake. “You know if we don’t find her, I’m just gonna eat my feelings forever. This is who I am now. The Dessert Man .”

Nanami was now sitting hunched over a plate piled high with an assortment of bread—baguettes, croissants, ciabatta, even a slice of pumpernickel he was aggressively buttering. “You can’t eat your feelings. It’s not sustainable.”

“Says the man eating enough bread to open a bakery,” Gojo waved a forkful of tiramisu at him.

Nanami tore into a white chocolate-stuffed croissant like it owed him a kidney. “Bread is practical. Dessert is diabetes.”

“Bread is boring,” Gojo said. “You’re boring. This is why she left us.”

Nanami's jaw froze mid-bite, lips glistening with garlic butter, his regular human world glasses sliding. "She bailed because you can't keep your mouth shut for five seconds, and you eat like a raccoon on a trash binge—minus the charm and coordination."

Gojo gasped. “How dare you? I dine with the flair of a royal peacock!”

Nanami grabbed a slice of rye and spread a thick layer of cream cheese on it. “I’m starting to think we deserved this.”

“Excuse me,” Gojo snapped, licking frosting off his fingers. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be the stable, boring one. Why are you spiraling?”

Nanami waved a baguette at him like a baton. “Because I’m married to you. That’s reason enough.”

Gojo squinted at him, then burst out laughing, crumbs flying into Nanami’s face. “You love me, Ken Ken. Just admit it.”

Nanami wiped his face but smeared more butter on it. “I love silence more.”

Nanami shoved a Swiss roll in Gojo’s mouth before he could retort, and they continued their loop of stress eating and drinking, only to spontaneously doze off mid-bites. The silence was punctuated by the occasional jolt of turbulence that sent them both jolting awake, looking like startled deer.

Hour 7:05 AM

Gojo slurred, about to go into a sugar-induced coma. “ Nono.” He tried to get Nanami’s attention by nudging him but used too much force and ended up pushing him into the window. “Do you...” Hiccup . “Do you think… do you think she’s cold? Like, colder than me?”

Nanami sipped his Flamingo Fizz—the same drink he’d mocked Gojo for years ago, now guzzled from a bottle he’d bullied the flight attendant into making. His face was a strange mix of tipsy philosopher and bread-obsessed gremlin. “You’re not cold,” he muttered, voice rasping like a tired kazoo. “You’re… a heat urchin.” Yes, that was definitely the word.

Gojo squinted at him, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

Gojo’s fork clattered to the floor. He leaned down to grab it, only to lose his balance and end up sprawled across the carpet. “HELP. MAN DOWN.”

Nanami continued sipping. “No.”

“Some husband you are,” Gojo grumbled, hauling himself back into his seat. “Do you think she’s laughing at us right now? Like, somewhere out there, she’s probably sitting by a fire, drinking tea, and laughing because we’re a mess.”

Nanami took a contemplative bite of sourdough. “We are a mess,” he said finally. “But we’re her mess.”

Gojo nodded sagely, his head bobbing as his eyes started to droop. “Yeah… her mess…” His voice trailed off as he slumped forward, face landing squarely in a half-eaten pie.

Nanami stared at him, unimpressed, before his own head began to droop. “We’ll… we’ll find her…” he mumbled, falling asleep mid-sentence with a Vienna bread still clutched in his hand.

A flight attendant sighed from the galley, his arms crossed. “Do they ever act normal?”

His coworker, balancing a tray of more desserts, snorted. “Normal? These two? One’s eaten 75% of the dessert inventory, and the other’s chugging alcohol like it’s a juice box. I walked in earlier, and the white-haired one was trying to shotgun a whole party cake.”

“And the bread guy?”

“Won’t stop asking for ‘just one more roll.’ I swear he’s got a bread tower going over there.”

The first attendant peeked out from behind the curtain, eyebrows shooting up at the sight of Nanami’s precariously balanced bread pyramid. “Oh my god. Is he using butter and cheese as glue?”

The plane jolted again, and Gojo startled awake, lifting his head from the pie with frosting smeared across his face. “TURBULENCE. WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!”

Nanami jerked awake. “Where’s the fire?” he mumbled, blinking blearily.

The attendants sighed.

Gojo leaned over to Nanami, his voice conspiratorial. “Do you think they’re judging us?”

“They’re absolutely judging us,” Nanami replied, grabbing another slice of Pane di Altamura and slathering it with butter.

Gojo sighed, grabbing another pudding. “Whatever. At least we’re rich.”

The two clinked their glass and bottle—Nanami’s now filled with an experimental cocktail of pink flamingo and butter. The plane hit another patch of turbulence, and they both tipped sideways, slurring incoherent nonsense as they fell back asleep mid-toast.

When the plane hit another bump, it was a sight to behold: Gojo was snoring with his face buried in Nanami’s armpit above his hoodie while Nanami was sliding off the seat in his sleep.

Hour—Sometime Closer to Landing

"Do you think we should stop them?" one attendant asked, glancing out to see Nanami trying—and failing—to balance his entire drink tray on his head while simultaneously attempting to perform a kickflip in his seat. Gojo, in his infinite wisdom, had decided the best way to contribute to the moment was to start an impromptu squillo routine, swinging his hands around in wide arcs.

Hour—Sometime even more closer to landing

Gojo, now completely oblivious to the fact that he had frosting lodged in his hair and across his face, had his one leg draped over a dessert tray like a cat who had just been fed his weight in treats. He was stuffing his mouth with the same grace as a baby who needed to be fed by telling it, ‘ Here comes the chu-chu train .’

I still don’t get it,” Gojo muttered between bites. “She just... left. No fight. No warning. Just poof! Abracadabra! Bam! Disappeared like a fart in the wind. Not very demure.” Burp . “Is it because I’m too much? We were good , right? Like, we were normal before, I swear. I mean, I’m the best, right? You'd agree. She just... couldn’t handle the heat, Nanami. It was too hot for her.”

The smell of butter and booze mingled in the air around Nanami like some cursed scent. He squinted at Gojo like he was analyzing the deep mysteries of the universe. "She didn’t leave because we were bad... She left because... because she had to escape the heat . You’re like a…” He paused, trying to understand the magnitude of his own wisdom. “You know... one of those little things that explode if you get too close.”

Gojo blinked, his head tilting back as if he was hearing the meaning of life. “Yeah. I’m explosive and damn hot.”

Nanami sighed. "I'm cold." He tore another chunk of bread. "And. Calculated. I don't break."

Gojo waved his dessert-sticky hands around like a windmill. "Calculated, my ass! You can't even calculate the right amount of butter on your bread! It’s obscene!"

An attendant peeked through the crack in the curtain. “I swear to God, five minutes ago one of them was chugging straight from the chocolate fountain.”

Nanami suddenly snapped to attention from his dozing off. “You think you’re better than me, huh?”

Gojo paused. “Better than you?” He was so full of smugness it could rival his domain. "Please. Wanna fight?”

At that precise moment, Gojo’s fingers twitched—almost involuntarily—as if something had triggered an electric shock in his brain. “Too late!” He snapped his fingers, and a flurry of tiramisu and macarons levitated into the air. He started to fall back asleep mid-fight.

“Don’t do it, Gojo," Nanami grumbled, his cursed energy shifting as his technique began to hum to life. The very air around him seemed to shimmer.

Gojo suddenly woke up with a snort. “Wait! Nanami, don’t—DON’T use that technique!”

But it was too late. Nanami, with the precision of a drunk surgeon, unleashed his Domain Expansion. The golden grid of perfect symmetry expanded around them, snapping with the weight of its own force. Gojo’s whiskey glass rattled against the table, the precise balance of the universe shifting under Nanami’s power.

Gojo’s eyes sparkled in drunken delight. “Nice try, buddy,” he slurred, twisting his fingers. “But I’m Infinity-ing your fractured space.”

Reality itself seemed to bend as Gojo’s domain erupted. Nanami’s grid of perfect balance twisted like a rubber band as the two domains collided—whiskey, pastries, and bread flying through the entire cabin.

The flight attendants sighed, having worked for the Gojo clan; they were used to it.

It was a miracle the two men were only unleashing their domains in low volume because one had decided it would ‘ scorch the bread.’

The jet hit another bump, sending the two sorcerers toppling sideways. Nanami slid off his seat, clutching his bottle of Flamingo Fizz, his last connection to sanity.

Gojo, however, had less dignity—he landed face-first in Nanami’s ass. That was the moment Gojo decided to blow raspberries in the curve.

Nanami crawled away in disgust, scowling.

Hidden behind the curtain, one flight attendant whispered, “This is why I drink.”

“I’m switching careers,” the other deadpanned, ducking as a baguette flew past.

“Take me with you,” the other replied, watching Gojo snore, holding Nanami’s leg like a dog that won’t leave you alone.

The other rolled her eyes. “I don’t even care anymore. Let them wreck the plane. It’s probably still safer than their relationship.”

Hour—God knows when, time had lost all meaning.

The plane jolted, sending a plate of half-eaten sweet bread skittering across the tray table. Gojo snatched it mid-slide with the reflexes of a man who valued carbs more than common sense.

“She used to help us get along nicely. You know,” he said, “now I think food is the only thing holding our marriage together.”

Nanami didn’t even look up. “Yes, you are insufferable.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his hoodie. “How dare you? I’m the heart of this marriage!” He stood. “Without me, it’s just... silence.”

“Which is exactly what I want,” Nanami muttered, tearing into a Bâtard.

The plane jolted, sending Gojo sprawling onto Nanami’s bread tower. “Help me, Husbando!” Gojo yelled, his face buried in baguettes.

Nanami stared at him, unimpressed. “Get off my bread.”

“Never,” Gojo mumbled, making himself comfortable.

Nanami grabbed a croissant and lobbed it at Gojo’s head. Gojo’s Infinity shimmered faintly, stopping the pastry midair. He plucked it out of the air, looking scandalized. “Did you just throw bread at me?”

“You deserved it,” Nanami took a slow sip.

Gojo looked genuinely offended. “This is assault. I’m calling an adult.”

“You are an adult,” Nanami deadpanned.

“Exactly!” Gojo threw the croissant back, but it was cut down by Nanami’s ratio blades without him even moving a finger.

Meanwhile, in the galley, the flight attendants huddled near the coffee machine, whispering.

“Fifty bucks says the blond one passes out first,” one said.

“No way. The white-haired one’s been on a sugar binge since he got on. He’s going down any minute,” another replied, scribbling names on a napkin.

“What if they both pass out at the same time?”

“Then we split the pot.”

Their quiet betting was interrupted by Gojo’s yelling from the cabin. “I’ve secured the snacks. Nanami, don’t touch them unless you want to face my void!”

“After I gave you my cinnamon roll?” Nanami looked heartbroken, making Gojo immediately hold him close.

The flight attendants stared, slack-jawed, as a tray of éclairs hovered ominously above the men’s heads.

“I quit,” one of them muttered, turning toward the coffee machine.

“Is it too late to call in sick?” one whispered, watching Gojo suddenly serenade Nanami.

The other shrugged. “After this flight, I’m switching to cargo planes. No snacks, no drama.”

Soon both men were passed out—Gojo with his face sideways in another bowl of mochi ice cream, Nanami clutching a half-eaten yakisoba pan like a teddy bear, half his face covered with his hoodie—two special-grade sorcerers, completely obliterated by their own no-thoughts-smooth-brain-moment , battling the forces of reality itself over petty arguments and a missing wife.

Hour—Landing

The private jet rolled to a smooth stop on the Oslo runway. Both men were in deep sleep, but their cursed techniques were very much awake—and making life difficult for everyone else.

“Why are we even trying?” one of the male flight attendants muttered, eyeing the flickering crackle of Gojo’s Infinity with trepidation. The other gestured at Nanami, whose Ratio Blades hovered ominously near his hands, ready to slice anything that got too close.

The pilot shook his head. “I’m not touching that. Send the women.”

“What?!” the female flight attendants chorused, glaring at their male colleagues, who were now firmly rooted behind the safety of the galley door.

“Just... poke them gently,” one of the men offered.

“Poke them? With what? A ten-foot pole?”

Eventually, after a heated debate, one brave flight attendant inched toward the slumbering sorcerers with a dessert fork in hand. She extended it toward Gojo like a knight wielding a sword. “Sir?” she ventured cautiously, tapping his shoulder.

Gojo’s Infinity flared, sending a startling ripple of energy through the air. “Not the desserts!” he stirred, still asleep, drooling over Nanami’s stomach.

The attendant stumbled back, glancing desperately at her colleagues. He was plain untouchable—so unwakeable by default.

Nanami's hand clutched Gojo’s head closer like it was his phantom pregnant belly. “Ahh, bread,” he muttered with a sleepy smile.

The attendant then aimed her fork towards him with misplaced courage and dared to tap his arm.

The fork never made it.

Ten centimeters from his skin, it disintegrated into metallic confetti as Ratio Blades snapped into existence, their glowing edges then stretched further, humming ominously like murder was their sole purpose in life. The attendant squeaked, leaping back as if she’d narrowly escaped being diced into human sashimi.

“Forget it,” she hissed. “We’re calling ground security.”

Before anyone could escalate, one attendant clapped her hands loudly. “Gentlemen, we’ve landed, and there’s fresh bread waiting outside!”

Nanami’s eyes snapped open immediately. “Bread?”

Gojo stirred, wiping drool from his mouth. “Is it sweet bread?”

The attendants exchanged relieved looks as the men groaned, stretched, and finally shuffled off the plane.

The drive to Nanami’s grandmother’s house was quiet, save for Gojo humming and fiddling with the car’s radio. Nanami stared out the window, mentally bracing himself.

Nanami didn’t want to do this. Not because he was afraid of his grandmother’s cousin—a retired army woman with an intimidating poker face and a propensity for offering unsolicited life advice—but because he knew bringing Gojo anywhere was like handing a toddler a live grenade.

They arrived at a modest but sturdy home surrounded by a well-kept garden. Before Nanami could knock, the door swung open.

“Kento?” The woman standing in the doorway was tall and broad-shouldered, her silver hair tied back into a no-nonsense bun. She looked them over, her sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly. “And who is this... tall man?”

Gojo offered a hand, leaning into her personal space like a golden retriever. “I’m Gojo Satoru! The better-looking husband.”

She ignored the hand, crossing her arms. “Husband?” Her gaze shifted to Nanami. “And you didn’t think to warn me about this?”

Gojo grinned wider. “Oh, didn’t Kento tell you? He’s married to me and someone else. Polyamory is very in right now.”

The woman stared at Nanami like he’d just announced he was defecting to Mars. “I didn’t even know you were married, let alone to two people.”

Nanami sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m sure it is,” she said, stepping aside to let them in.

The interior of the house was as orderly as the woman herself. Gojo immediately flopped onto the couch, his long legs sprawled out.

“Shoes off,” she barked.

Gojo froze, then scrambled to comply, grinning sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am.”

Nanami stood stiffly by the door, unsure where to begin. “We’re here to look for our wife.”

“Your wife?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nanami nodded, ignoring Gojo’s delighted “Yes.”

The older woman’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something—amusement? Annoyance? “You can stay here.”

Gojo’s grin widened. “Thanks, Grandma! You’re the best.”

“I’m not your grandmother,” she replied curtly, already walking toward the kitchen.

Gojo leaned toward Nanami, whispering loudly, “She likes me. I can tell.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please behave.”

“Define ‘behave,’” Gojo said, kicking off his socks and reclining on the couch.

From the kitchen, her voice rang out. “If he puts his feet on my furniture, I’ll break them.”

Gojo immediately sat up. “Point taken.”

Once she was pouring tea for them, Gojo asked. “So, when Kento was little, did he always have that stick-up-his-butt attitude, or was it a recent development?”

Nanami’s grip on his teacup tightened dangerously. “Satoru!” For the first time he was less worried about Gojo and more worried about what his grandmother would say.

“Oh, he used to be sunshine,” the woman said, her voice dry. “Good in studies and arts. Not many friends, but was still cheerful. Developed discipline when he became a teenager.” She said the last part eyeing Gojo.

“Called it,” Gojo said smugly.

“Though I didn’t expect him to marry someone so… loud.”

Nanami sighed heavily. “We’re not here for this. We’re here to look for our wife.”

“You’ve mentioned misplacing your other spouse,” the woman said, her tone sharp.

Nanami sighed. “She’s not misplaced. We’re searching for her.”

Gojo perked up, leaning forward. “She’s smart, kind, gorgeous—like me.”

The woman looked at Gojo, her expression unreadable. “Good for her, but if she’s avoiding you, I can’t say I blame her.”

Later that night, Nanami stood outside, the cold Norwegian air biting at his skin. He stared out at the dark forest beyond the house, his jaw tight.

Gojo had followed Nanami, hands stuffed in his pockets. “You think she’s okay?”

Nanami’s chest ached with guilt and heavy regret. “I don’t know. But we’ll find her.”

Gojo’s voice was bittersweet. “Yeah. We will.”

Then, because Gojo couldn’t leave a moment untouched, he added, “And when we do, she’s going to yell at you first. You know that, right?”

Nanami sighed, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll take it.”

You had thanked Higuruma for showing up when he did; he had always been a great mentor to you during your time at university. You lost contact with him after he completed his master's and left to go back to Japan while you were just starting your second year. It wasn’t until you moved to Japan and added him to your company’s retainer that you reconnected. It was an added bonus that he was now a jujutsu sorcerer, which had come in handy for you at the perfect moment. Haibara had held them off nicely. He was ex-MI6 and had been introduced to you by Megumi’s father a long time ago.

But the second time, it was worse.

You spotted him first—Nanami, tall, composed, his eyes scanning the crowd like he was searching for something he knew he had lost. Your heart stopped; a cold shiver ran down your spine.

You ducked into an alley, clutching your coat tightly around your stomach. The pain was an immediate, sharp throb that made your breath hitch. The twins were active now. The feeling of their movements inside you, sharp, like claws raking at your insides, as if they were fighting to escape.

You pressed your hand into the wall of the alley, trying to steady your breath. Your other fingers dug into your coat, but it didn’t help. The air felt suffocating. You couldn’t stop shaking. You couldn’t stop thinking about them, about him.

You slipped past the alley into side streets, desperately trying to lose him. The pain inside you was unbearable—each movement, each step, felt like it might tear you apart. But you couldn’t stop. You had to get away.

You could feel him getting closer. He was a shadow that clung to your every move, like he was always just a breath away from finding you. And the worst part was, you knew he would. Eventually, they would find you.

Too bad you couldn’t get the same security team you had hired for your company because they did not specialize in the world's literal strongest sorcerers, or so you had always thought. You had only been able to dominate that fight because they were not using their cursed techniques; if they had, no one would have stood a chance against the both of them.

Besides, the security detail would draw too much attention in this country, and you were living without any form of bare minimum luxury just to keep your head low.

Then the third time, you weren’t so lucky.

It was an evening when the sense of unease crept up on you. You were walking to the pharmacy because your pregnancy pain made you run out of medicines fast. You were trying to blend into the crowd of Tromsø, Norway, hoping that today would be different. Maybe you could make it through without feeling like you were being hunted.

But the air shifted, like a subtle warning. Your hand instinctively went to your stomach, feeling the familiar pressure of the twins inside you, their presence both comforting and terrifying.

You looked around. Nothing. The street was crowded, the world moving too fast for anyone to notice you. Yet, something wasn’t right.

And then you saw him.

Gojo.

He was lounging at a café near the entrance of the store, looking completely at ease, as if he hadn’t been searching for you for months. His long legs stretched out under the table, his sunglasses glinting in the aurora borealis high in the sky. He wasn’t looking at anyone in particular—until his gaze locked onto you.

You froze.

It wasn’t a simple glance. He saw you even though you were covered in an absurdly oversized coat, beanie and mask. His eyes were trained on you. You could feel the weight of his gaze like a sniper locking in.

“Sweetheart,” he mouthed from the distance, his features smooth, taunting, and way too familiar.

His grin was there, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes, even behind the tinted lenses, felt like they were cutting through you, dissecting you. It was the same grin he used to give you when he thought he had you cornered, when he was in control. And now, he was. He knew it, and he wanted to enjoy it.

The cold, calculating way he said it—like he’d been waiting for this moment, like he had all the time in the world—it made your stomach turn. You could feel the weight of the moment, the slow burn of realization creeping over you. He had found you.

You had been momentarily frozen, but you didn’t wait. You didn’t hesitate. The second he stood up, you turned and ran.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as your feet pounded the pavement, but no matter how fast you moved, the fear gnawed at you, making your limbs feel like lead. The city blurred around you, a dizzying whirl of colors and sounds, but you could still feel his presence—close, like a shadow following you, getting nearer with every step.

“Sweetheart!” His voice rang out again, a command, not a plea.

You could hear the faintest trace of amusement in his tone, but underneath it, there was something darker. It was as if he was enjoying this chase, enjoying the fear he was instilling in you.

You ran faster, but the air around you felt suffocating. It was like the world was shrinking, like every step you took was pulling you closer to him, not further away. Your breath came in sharp gasps, and you could feel the twins inside you, their frantic movements mirroring your panic. It was almost like they could sense the danger too.

You pushed yourself harder, but it was no use. You knew it.

Gojo wasn’t just a man; he was a god, something you couldn’t outrun.

His laughter reached you, soft but dangerous, and you could almost hear the smugness in his voice. He wasn’t out of breath. He wasn’t struggling.

You were.

“I told you,” he yelled, his voice smooth like velvet but laced with something more sinister. “You can’t hide from me.”

And you realized then—he was toying with you. He knew you couldn’t escape. He knew that you were trapped in this game, and no matter how fast you ran, he would always be one step behind, waiting for you to make the wrong move.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. But deep down, you knew the truth.

He would catch you.

Just then, salvation appeared in the most unexpected form.

A group of loud, drunk college girls stumbled onto the road from a bar, their laughter echoing like a wall of sound. They moved in a chaotic huddle, arms slung around each other, bottles in hand, their energy radiating like static electricity.

You squeezed yourself between them, moving further into their huddle, trying to hide your face more so that no one would recognize you. Little did you know the girls had noticed you already and made a decision.

Gojo, in his desperation to catch up, didn’t notice them until it was too late.

“Move,” he snapped, his usual charm stripped away by the urgency in his voice. He sidestepped the first girl, but then another turned, and before he could react, the entire group swarmed him like a pack of wolves. A few of them, oddly enough, taller than Gojo.

“Hva gjør du?” One of them slurred, narrowing her eyes at him. (“What are you doing?”)

“Er han etter noen?” another asked, her tone suspicious. (“Is he after someone?”)

Gojo blinked, caught off guard by the unfamiliar language. “What?” he barked, his gaze darting over their heads, desperately trying to catch sight of you.

The tallest girl leaned closer, her face flushed from alcohol, and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Hvem jager du, hæ?” (“Who are you chasing, huh?”)

“I don’t know what you’re saying!” Gojo snapped, frustration lacing his tone. “I don’t speak—whatever that is!”

They giggled, but it wasn’t friendly. It was mocking, deliberately dragging out the moment, their chatter growing louder, each word a dagger aimed at his composure. They knew he wasn’t local when they had known English; they just wanted to piss him off.

“Han ser ut som en stalker!” (“He looks like a stalker!”)

Gojo’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. He knew what the word stalker meant, a bitter accusation that stung more than he cared to admit. He was not a stalker; he was a protector, and he would do whatever it took to find you.

He glanced over their heads again, scanning for you, but you were gone. His heart raced, a mixture of panic and anger bubbling under his skin. “Move,” he growled, his easygoing demeanor cracking under the weight of his mounting frustration.

“Hva om vi ikke vil?” One of them said, crossing her muscular arms defiantly. (“What if we don’t want to?”) The challenge in her voice only fueled his irritation.

“You think this is a game?” His voice low and dangerous. “I’m not here to play nice. I’m looking for someone, and you’re in my way.”

The girls exchanged glances, their laughter fading slightly, but the defiance remained. Gojo could feel the tension in the air, thick and charged, as he fought to keep his composure.

Meanwhile, you had ducked into an alley; you needed to catch your breath. The twins restless movements inside you a reminder of why you couldn’t afford to stop.

“Here,” a voice said, startling you.

You turned to see one of the girls from the group—her hair a mess of blonde waves, her cheeks rosy from the cold and alcohol. She held out a large overcoat and a knitted muffler, her expression soft and kind.

“You need to go,” she said, her English heavily accented but clear enough. “Take this.”

You hesitated, your lips parting to protest, but she shook her head firmly and draped the coat over your shoulders. The weight of it was grounding, the warmth immediate.

“Thank you,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes as you wrapped the muffler around your neck.

She smiled, her hand briefly brushing your arm. “Gå nå,” she urged, her voice gentle but insistent. (“Go now.”)

You nodded and slipped into the shadows, blending into the cityscape. You had never been more grateful for a stranger in your entire life.

“Let me go!” Gojo snapped, his voice cutting through the drunken laughter. His white hair messy, and his cool demeanor shattered. The girls only tightened their circle around him, their grins turning feral.

“Why are you chasing her?” One of them asked, her voice sharp and accusatory.

“I’m not—” Gojo started, surprised by their sudden English, but another cut him off, stepping forward. She was taller than him by at least a few inches even in her flip-flops, her gaze unflinching.

“She looked scared of you,” she spat, jabbing a finger in his face. “What kind of man chases a woman through the streets?”

“She’s my wife!” Gojo exclaimed, his hands raised in exasperation.

“Your wife?” another girl sneered, her eyebrows shooting up. “Sure, buddy. And I’m the queen of Norway.”

“Look, I’m serious!” He barked, trying to step around them, but one of the girls—easily as tall as him and broad-shouldered—blocked his path. “I need to find her.”

“Yeah, so you can terrify her more?” One of them yelled.

“She’s gravid, you creep!” another girl chimed in, her tone venomous. (“Pregnant”)

The tallest girl, clearly their ringleader, crossed her arms and smirked. “You know what? I think you’re a stalker. And I think someone needs to teach you a lesson.”

Before Gojo could register anything they were saying in their heavy accent, she lunged at him, throwing a sloppy but surprisingly powerful punch. He ducked, but another girl was already swinging a kick at him.

“What the hell?!” Gojo yelped, sidestepping her attack.

Nanami had been searching the area, his tie loose under his heavy overcoat and his patience wearing thin, when he heard the commotion. Turning a corner, he froze at the sight of Gojo fucking Satoru fending off a mob of angry, drunk women.

“I left him alone for five minutes.” He muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple. He moved closer, trying to make sense.

One of the girls, towering over even Nanami, had Gojo in a headlock while another was shouting, “Call the cops! He’s clearly unhinged!”

Gojo was really trying not to use his infinity and crush them, but that would draw too much attention, and they had already messed up big time with the fiasco at their wife’s company.

“Excuse me,” Nanami said, his voice calm but firm.

The ringleader turned to him, sizing him up with a skeptical look. “And who are you? Another stalker?”

“I’m his… umm… husband,” Nanami replied, adjusting his glasses. “We’re looking for someone important to us.”

“Oh, so it’s we now?” another girl sneered, stepping closer.

“She’s our wife,” Gojo groaned, his voice muffled as he struggled to free himself from the headlock.

The girls laughed, a mix of disbelief and derision.

“Both your wife?” One of them repeated, clutching her stomach. “What kind of messed-up polygamy cult is this?”

“She’s gravid!” another girl shouted, her face twisted with fury. “You’re chasing a gravid woman?” (“Pregnant”)

With Nanami’s Norwegian being rusty, neither of the men understood why you were being referred to by a man’s name.

“She ran away from us!” Gojo snapped, finally breaking free.

“Gee, I wonder why.” One of the taller girls quipped, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

From your house's window, a few blocks away, you watched the scene unfold. The muffler around your neck felt like a lifeline as you saw the two men you once loved now completely at the mercy of a group of MMA-trained sorority girls.

And for the first time in weeks, you smiled—a small, vindictive smile.

“Enough!” Gojo shouted. “She’s our wife. We’re not trying to hurt her; we’re trying to bring her back!”

The ringleader narrowed her eyes. “And you thought chasing her through the streets was the way to do it?”

“I wasn’t thinking, okay?” Gojo admitted, his voice breaking with frustration.

Nanami stepped forward, his expression weary but sincere. “She’s not safe on her own. We’re trying to protect her.”

“Yeah, sure,” One of the girls muttered, rolling her eyes.

“I’m calling the cops,” the tallest one announced, pulling out her phone.

“What? No, don’t—” Gojo started, but it was too late.

A few hours later, Gojo and Nanami sat in a cramped holding cell, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Gojo’s sunglasses were gone, his hair a mess, and his shirt torn at the collar. Nanami looked equally disheveled, his tie missing, his shirt wrinkled.

“This is your fault,” Nanami muttered, glaring at Gojo.

“My fault?” Gojo shot back. “You didn’t exactly help!”

Outside the cell, the girls were giving their statements to the police, their laughter echoing down the hallway.

“Polygamy,” one of them snorted. “Can you believe that? At least come up with a smarter lie.”

Gojo buried his face in his hands. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Nanami sighed, leaning back against the cold wall. “No, this is what we deserve.”

Around 45 mins later, the clanging of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Both men looked up as the officer unlocked the door, and in stepped Nanami’s grandmother, her sharp gaze cutting through.

She said nothing at first, her presence alone making both men sit up straighter.

“Out,” she ordered, her voice low and cold.

Gojo stood, his grin faltering under her glare. “Hi, Grandma. Long time no see—”

“Not. A. Word,” she snapped, and Gojo immediately closed his mouth, hands raised in surrender.

Nanami followed silently, the weight of impending doom heavier than any cursed spirit he’d ever faced.

The walk from the station to Nanami’s grandmother’s house was silent, save for the faint crunch of gravel beneath their feet. Gojo glanced sideways at Nanami, but his husband’s face was unreadable, a stoic mask that gave nothing away.

“Inside,” she said, opening the door. No pleasantries.

Gojo hesitated for half a second, then followed Nanami inside, his grin faltering under the weight of her gaze.

The house smelled of wood polish and faintly of coffee. The warmth of it didn’t extend to her tone as she turned sharply. “You,” she barked, pointing at Gojo. “Stay here.”

Gojo blinked, glancing at Nanami like a scolded puppy. “But—”

“Stay.” Her voice left no room for argument.

Nanami gave Gojo a small nod, his expression unreadable, before following her into the kitchen.

“Kento,” she started, her voice cutting through like a whip, “what were you thinking?”

Nanami stood straight. “Grandmother—”

“Marrying him?” She interrupted, her tone scathing. “You, used to say it yourself that man has no discipline. No restraint. He dragged you into jail, Kento. Jail. And that’s not even the worst of it.”

Nanami’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Her eyes narrowed, her voice lowering. “Do you know how humiliating this is? For you? For me? For your wife?”

Nanami stiffened, his gaze flickering.

“Yes,” she said, catching the subtle shift. “The one you abandoned for him.”

“That’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me,” she snapped, her voice harsh. “You ignored her for months, Kento. Both of you. And now she’s gone, and you’re chasing her like fools, destroying her reputation along the way. That mess in Tokyo? Her company? You think the internet hasn’t noticed?”

Nanami flinched as though her words had struck him physically.

“You didn’t tell me a thing,” she continued, her tone unrelenting. “About the chaos you and that man-child caused. Do you know what they’re calling her online? A failure. A joke. Because of you both.”

Nanami’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “That’s enough.”

She stepped closer, her eyes boring into his. “No, it’s not. That woman deserves better. Better than him. Better than this.”

Outside the kitchen, Gojo leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Her words filtered through the door, each one landing like a punch to the gut. His eyes hollow.

“I will not tolerate you defending him,” she continued, her voice sharp and unyielding. “He is reckless, selfish, and the reason you’re in this mess. Divorce him, Kento. Fix this. Settle with her. At least she might forgive you.”

Nanami’s voice was low, but firm. “You don’t know her. And you don’t know him.”

Her gaze hardened. “I know enough.”

Nanami stepped out of the kitchen, his movements stiff. He didn’t look at Gojo, didn’t say a word, just grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the door. He knew Gojo would have been hovering.

“Wait, Kento—” Gojo started, but Nanami’s grip tightened.

She followed them to the doorway, her expression a mask of cold disapproval. “You’ll regret this,” she said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of certainty.

Gojo looked at her, his usual bravado flickering back to life, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks for the pep talk, Grandma.”

Her glare was icy. “Don’t call me that.”

“Noted,” he replied, forcing a smirk as he leaned closer to Nanami.

Nanami’s hand tightened around Gojo’s wrist, his steps brisk as he led them out into the cold night.

Gojo finally broke the silence. “She hates me.”

Nanami didn’t stop walking. “She doesn’t know you.”

Gojo chuckled, but it was bitter, lacking his usual warmth. “Maybe she’s right.”

Nanami slowed, his grip loosening slightly. “About what?”

Gojo hesitated, then shrugged. “About me being the reason for... everything.”

Nanami stopped, turning to face him. “It’s not just you. I’m too.”

Gojo searched his face, but Nanami’s expression was unreadable.

“Both of us messed up,” Nanami repeated, his voice quieter this time.

Gojo walked in silence after that, the distance between them feeling heavier than ever.

You couldn’t stay here anymore; you had to leave Norway if your kids were ever going to have a chance at life. Which led you to where you were right now.

The outside airport entrance, a cacophony of announcements, rolling suitcases, and hurried footsteps. You moved through it like a ghost, your oversized coat and scarf hiding the strain on your body. Every step felt like wading through water, your legs trembling under the unfamiliar weight of your own frame.

The twins shifted inside you, their restless movements like something alive and alien, pushing against your ribs, twisting your insides. You could feel it in your bones, in the way your skin stretched too tightly, in the way your breath came shallow and ragged.

You pressed a hand to your belly, trying to steady yourself, but it only made the unease worse.

“Just a little further,” you whispered to yourself, the words barely audible over the din of the airport.

But then you saw him. One of the only few people who used to come to drop your husbands off after missions.

Ijichi stood near the security checkpoint, his nervous energy unmistakable even from a distance. He wasn’t alone. Men in crisp suits hovered around the airport, their sharp eyes scanning the crowd.

Your heart sank.

You turned sharply, pulling your hood tighter, ducked your head and walked faster, weaving through the crowd. The pressure in your abdomen tightened, the twins reacting to your rising panic.

By the time you reached the cab stop, you were gasping for air, your body rebelling against the strain. The cold Norwegian air hit your face like a slap, but it did nothing to cool the heat crawling up your spine.

They were everywhere. The Gojo Clan had blanketed the airports—and probably train stations and highways too—like a net, waiting to trap you the moment you made a wrong move.

You didn’t have a chance.

You sighed and got into a cab to head back to your apartment. You’d just stay inside and never go out, getting everything ordered.

Your legs ached, your swollen feet screaming. The twins kicked and twisted, their movements erratic and relentless, like they were fighting each other for space.

Your scarf slipped, and you tugged it back up, the fabric rough against your flushed skin. Every breath felt heavier, your chest tight, your throat dry.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were shaking. You fumbled with the keys, your fingers numb, and stumbled inside. The door closed behind you with a hollow thud.

You dropped your bag and leaned against the wall, sliding down with the support of the shoe rack, until you were sitting on the floor. Your hands pressed against your belly, trying to soothe the inside, but it was futile.

The twins kicked harder, the sharp jabs making you wince. Your stomach felt too full, too stretched, the weight of them pressing down on everything. You could barely breathe, barely think.

You tilted your head back against the wall, tears slipping down your cheeks as the hopelessness settled in. You couldn’t leave. You couldn’t stay. You were trapped, caught between them and the growing horror of your own body.

The scarf around your neck felt suffocating, and you yanked it off, tossing it aside. The cool air hit your damp skin, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped.

You closed your eyes, one hand gripping the edge of your coat, the other clutching your belly as if you could somehow hold yourself together.

But the weight of it all—the twins, the chase, the impossible love you’d tried to escape—was crushing.

And there was no way out.

You slept on the floor that night, surrounded by nothing but loneliness.

You thought you had outrun them, that you had hidden well enough. But as the days passed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were getting closer. Each moment, each shadow in the corner of your eye, sent a spike of panic through your chest. Every time you thought you were alone, you wondered if they had found you. You kept your head down, kept yourself locked inside, but there was no escaping them.

One afternoon, it started with the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside your apartment. Quick, sharp taps against the floor—too measured, too familiar. You froze, clutching the edge of the counter, trying to steady yourself. The babies shifted violently inside you, as if they could sense the danger. Your stomach tightened, and you gasped, forcing yourself to remain still as you clutched your belly beneath your nightgown, one of the few garments that still fit you these days. You held your breath, praying that they wouldn’t notice you.

The doorbell rang. Once. Twice.

You didn’t move. Not a muscle. You couldn’t.

“I know you’re in there,” came a voice, rough and low, almost like a growl. You felt your pulse quicken.

Nanami.

Your neighbor had changed the locks, you’d moved the furniture around, and kept yourself out of sight as much as possible. But there he was, on the other side of the door. You could hear the quiet crack of his knuckles, the tension in the air as he stood there, waiting. He was here.

“I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay,” he called out, the words heavy with guilt but laced with something darker. You could almost hear the frustration in his voice, the desperation. He wasn’t going to give up.

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the pain in your stomach flared. You squeezed your eyes shut, clutching your stomach as the babies twisted and churned, their movements becoming erratic, like they were responding to the stress, the pressure.

You had to leave. Now.

But before you could even think about making a move, you heard it—the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. The window.

Gojo.

You cursed under your breath. The bastard was here too.

A faint laugh echoed from outside the window—a sick, mocking sound that sent a chill racing down your spine. “You can’t hide forever, sweetheart.”

He laughed as if everything you had endured was nothing, as if you were merely pretending to fight with him and your act was over because he said so. It was as if your feelings and experiences were nothing more than a ploy for attention. The absurdity of it gave you whiplash, igniting a fury that boiled within you.

The window creaked as he slid it open. Your stomach lurched, and you felt the overwhelming urge to curl into yourself, to disappear. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Not again.

“Shh, they won’t hurt you,” you whispered to the babies, trying to soothe them, but your voice trembled with the fear you couldn’t contain. “Just stay calm. Mama will protect you.”

You gripped the edge of the open kitchen counter, the marble biting into your skin, as you forced yourself to breathe through the pain. The babies pushing at the walls of your body like they were trying to escape, trying to break free. The pressure was too much.

Gojo’s voice was too close now. He was inside the apartment. You could hear his footsteps, feel the air shift as he moved around the space, searching for you.

You scrambled back, desperately searching for a place to hide, but there was nowhere left. The apartment felt too small, too suffocating, as if the walls were closing in on you. You pressed yourself against the wall, trying to make yourself as small as possible, your heart hammering in your chest, each beat echoing the fear coursing through your veins.

With no other option, you forced yourself into the empty cabinet beneath the counter. Crouching down was a nightmare in your current state, your body heavy with the weight of the twins growing inside you. The pressure on your abdomen intensified, and you could feel the babies shifting restlessly; they sensed the danger surrounding you. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the rising panic, but it was difficult.

You shoved the scarf you were wearing into your mouth to muffle any sounds, knowing that you had to stay quiet. The fabric felt suffocating against your ragged breaths, but it was a small price to pay for their safety. You could feel the tightness in your stomach, a reminder of the distress both you and the babies were experiencing. Every movement sent a jolt of anxiety through you, and you fought to keep your breathing steady, focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest.

You whispered soft reassurances to the twins, hoping they could feel your determination. “I’m here, and I’m fighting for you,” you murmured, even as your heart raced with fear. You could feel their little bodies moving, responding to your voice, and it gave you a flicker of strength. You were scared, yes, but you were also their protector, and you would do everything in your power to keep them safe.

As you crouched in the cramped space and closed the door, the world outside felt distant. You were surrounded by sheer darkness now. The fear was suffocating, but so was the fierce love you felt for them. You would fight through this, no matter what it took.

The front door’s lock was crushed in someone’s hand, and then the door flung open.

You held your breath. They were in the apartment now. Both of them.

“We know you’re here,” Gojo’s voice echoed through your bedroom, the smugness thick in his tone. “You can’t keep running from us forever.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, praying for the strength to stay hidden, to stay quiet. The babies moved again, harder this time, a sharp pain lancing through your body as they kicked and squirmed. You could feel the weight of them inside you, their frantic movements making it impossible to ignore the danger that was closing in.

They were too close.

Your small cabinet’s door swung open, and a testing hand reached out from the darkness, brushing against your arm.

Nanami.

You gasped, muffled by the scarf in your mouth, jerking away, but his reflexes were faster. The instant your skin accidentally grazed his, his hand turned, gripping your arm with an impossible hold.

“Don’t run from me,” he said, his voice low, rough with something dark, something broken. The intensity in his words sent a shiver through you, his turmoil bleeding into the air between you.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, his voice deceptively soft. A promise.

To you, it was a threat.

Your chest tightened. You wanted to scream, to fight, but the weight inside you—of the babies, the fear, the exhaustion—pinned you in place. Your breaths came shallow, your limbs trembling as desperation took over.

Before you could process, Gojo’s voice chimed through the suffocating tension.

“Got you.”

You didn’t even have time to react before his hand snaked around your leg. The two of them dragged you out of your hiding spot, your thrashing limbs no match for their combined strength.

They had found you.

“Running away doesn’t suit you,” Gojo said, his tone quieter than usual, dangerous.

A/N: And there you have it. My beloved, you are cornered, carrying the literal weight of emotional trauma and the twins of a whole new level of special grade. I hope you enjoyed the small glimpses of humanity (and insanity) from the men chasing her. I have decided to do two endings for this fic—one will be what I had originally written, which will be dead dove, and the other will be not-dead dove (sorry, I don't wanna spoil it, but I promise you will be safe in both, well, mostly). So the next three chapters will be the first endings. ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ) Let me know your unfiltered thoughts. Bonus points if you can defend Gojo eating the entirety of the in-flight dessert inventory. 👀

Chapter 5 - Something Soft, Something Sharp (Tumblr/Ao3)

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cowboybeepboop · 2 days ago

Note

I seen Twisters almost a month ago and I have so many ideas in my head for Tyler Owens and I thought I would share one of them with you!

I’m obsessed with the thought of riding Tyler in his truck while wearing his cowboy hat🥵

Anyway, I thought I’d share that with you🥰

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem! Reader

Genre: Smut (romantic)

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: Public sex, unprotected sex, p in v.

a/n: This is a quick one, mainly just desperate fucking. I hope y’all enjoy <3 As always, my requests are open, so send any you have my way.

You’ve been dating Tyler for around a year now, only your close friends and family know about the relationship. You both decided to keep things off the internet because you tend to be a private person.

The cab of the truck was filled with the comforting hum of the engine as it sliced through the velvet darkness of the night. Above, a tapestry of stars competed with the occasional streetlight for dominance in the vast sky. Tyler sat in the driver's seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other fiddling with the dial of the radio, searching for a tune to match the rhythm of the journey.

His profile was cast in a soft glow, highlighting the contours of his weathered face and the sharp line of his jaw. The air between you was a blend of excitement from the adrenaline-fueled rodeo and the quiet anticipation of what the next day's storm chasing might bring. You bite down on your lip, gazing at him lovingly.

Tyler catches your gaze out of the corner of his eye and glances over at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. He can tell by your expression that you're studying him, admiring him in the dimly lit cab of the truck. It's a look he's grown fond of seeing.

"What're you lookin' at?" he asks jokingly, his voice gruff but warm. There's a hint of curiosity in his question too, wondering what's on your mind. You reach over, pulling his hat off of his head, placing it on yours.

“You look so handsome in the moonlight..” your tongue flicks out, wetting your bottom lip, fingers tracing small circles into his thigh.

Tyler chuckles, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a half-smile. He casts a quick glance at you wearing his hat, the sight of it lopsided on your head sending a ripple of affection through him. He can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction and possessiveness, seeing you in something that clearly belongs to him.

As you draw small shapes on his thigh with your fingers, he lets out a low hum of pleasure. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel. "Careful darlin'," he mutters, his voice low and thick.

You lean closer to him, pressing a kiss to his jaw, hand moving up his thigh. “Why do I need to be careful?” you murmur, pressing another kiss to his skin.

Tyler lets out a low rumble in his chest, the sound deep and primal. Your soft kisses on his jaw and the way your hand moves up his thigh send a wave of desire through him. He can feel his body reacting to your touch, the familiar hunger stirring inside him.

"Because," he responds, his voice gruff. "You're distracting me. I'm trying to drive. Can't exactly focus on the road with your hands wandering all over the place."

“Then maybe you need to pull over..” you kiss his neck, hand sliding over his crotch, squeezing his length through his jeans.

The feeling of your hand on his crotch, the pressure of your fingers through the fabric of his jeans, has Tyler's mind reeling. He can't help but let out a low, guttural sound, his body responding automatically to the contact.

"Jesus, darlin'," he groans, his knuckles gripping the steering wheel tightly. "You're going to cause an accident if you keep that up."

“Baby,” you whisper into his ear, hands working to undo his belt. “I want you…” you murmur, pulling his erection from his pants.

Your whisper against his ear, combined with the feeling of your hands working on his belt, has Tyler's head spinning. He can barely focus on the road, his mind consumed by the desire you're stirring up inside him.

"Right here? Right now?" he murmurs in disbelief, his voice hoarse. "I'm driving..." But his words are weak, his self-control weakening with every passing moment.

“Pull over, please Ty..” you leave wet opened mouth kisses down his neck, fingers wrapping around his length, slowly stroking him.

Tyler's control snaps. He takes the nearest exit and steers the truck off the highway, the vehicle jolting slightly as he drives onto the gravel shoulder. He slams the vehicle into park, his eyes darkened with a mix of desire and determination.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he mutters, his voice thick and rough. "You're going to be the death of me, sweetheart."

You bite down on your lip, sliding out of your panties and swiftly unbuckling. You slide onto his lap, kissing him with need and desperation. Tyler's hands find your hips immediately, gripping you tightly as you straddle him. The feeling of your bare skin against his, the desperate press of your lips on his - it's almost too much for him to bear.

He kisses you back just as hungrily, one hand sliding up your back, the other moving down to grip your thigh. "You're so goddamn beautiful," he mutters against your mouth, the tension and need between you palpable.

Your hand slides into his hair, tugging at the roots as you pull his head back softly. kissing his adams apple as your other hand continues to work his cock, thumb sliding over the tip, spreading his precum.

The sound of your name leaves his lips in a choked gasp as you tug on his hair, pulling his head back. The mix of pain and pleasure shooting through him only fuels his desire for you, intensifies every touch, every kiss.

His hips arch into your hand, the sensations sending a wave of need through him. He grips your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your skin. "Fuck," he moans, the word slipping out in a guttural growl.

He lets you keep control, his breath hitching as you line him up with your wet hole. You hover over him, the anticipation a sweet torment, before finally sliding him in slowly. Your moans fill the cabin, mingling with the distant hum of the highway and the erratic throb of his pulse beneath your palms. Tyler's eyes never leave yours, his pupils dilated with a wild mix of lust and adoration.

His hands move to your breasts, kneading them gently as you set a rhythm that rocks the truck ever so slightly. With every inch that you take, every shared gasp and whine, the world fades away. Leaving only the two of you, lost in the cocoon of passion you've created in this stolen moment on the side of the road.

Your movements become more sloppy as you kiss him hungrily, the passion between you burning hotter with every stroke. The need to feel him deep inside you overwhelms any sense of decorum or restraint, your hips moving in a frenzied dance that matches the beating of your heart. Tyler's hands move from your breasts to your hips, guiding your movements, urging you to take him deeper, faster.

His mouth finds your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he tastes the sweetness of your flesh, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. The cab of the truck is filled with the sounds of your muffled cries and the slick sounds of your bodies moving together. The world outside is forgotten, reduced to a mere backdrop for this moment of raw, unbridled intimacy.

The scent of leather and diesel mingles with the heady aroma of your desire, creating a potent cocktail that intoxicates you both. You ride the waves of pleasure that Tyler's touch brings, each peak higher and more intense than the last. His breath is hot against your skin, his kisses urgent and demanding, as if he can't get enough of you, as if he's afraid that this moment will slip away like the dark sky of the night.

As you feel the pressure building within you, your body starts to twitch with the intensity of your approaching climax. Your pussy clenches tightly around Tyler's cock, each contraction sending a bolt of electricity through his body. His own orgasm is close, his hips bucking up to meet your desperate rhythm.

The truck's seat creaks in protest, but you're beyond caring, lost in the symphony of pleasure. Tyler's grip on your hips tightens, his thumbs pressing into your flesh as he guides you, urging you closer to the edge. His breath comes in harsh pants, his eyes never leaving yours, the connection between you stronger than any storm could ever be.

The anticipation is unbearable, your muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. And then, it hits you - the orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, making you scream his name into the night, your body convulsing with the force of it. The sound of your pleasure echoes in the cabin.

Tyler watches you, his own release imminent, feeling a sense of triumph and adoration for the way you respond to him. With one final, deep thrust, he joins you in ecstasy, his cock pulsing inside you, the warmth of his cum filling you.

He breathes heavily, panting as his forehead presses to yours, the heat from your bodies mingling in the confined space of the truck cabin. Your chests rise and fall in sync. Tyler's eyes, glazed with pleasure, slowly come back into focus, and he looks at you with awe and affection, his hands still wrapped around your waist.

The intensity of the moment lingers, your bodies still joined, the aftershocks of your climaxes rippling through you both. "Damn," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "You always know how to make the most of a situation, don't you?" His thumbs stroke gentle circles on your hips, the tender touch in stark contrast to the urgency of your earlier movements.

You lean into him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you catch your breath. "You're not complaining?" you ask, a hint of playfulness in your voice.

Tyler chuckles, shaking his head slightly. "Not a chance in hell," he murmurs, kissing the tip of your nose. "Let's just hope no one drove by and got more of a show than they bargained for."

You giggle, the sound a delightful contrast to the passionate cries that had filled the air moments before. With a final, lingering kiss, you both slowly regain your composure.

Tyler sits back against the seat of his truck, his breathing still ragged and the remnants of his climax still sending aftershocks through his body. He watches you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Jesus, darlin', you're going to be the death of me," he mutters, his voice rough with pleasure.

“Want to go for another round?” you tease, kissing his lips sweetly.

Tyler's eyes darken as you tease him, his lips curving into a lopsided grin. He lets out a soft moan as you press a kiss to his lips, the sweetness of the gesture a stark contrast to the heat of your previous encounter. "You really are a minx, aren't you?" he chuckles, his hands sliding up to cup your face.

"Another round, huh? I'm gonna need a few minutes to recover first," he smirks, his fingers gently tracing along your jawline. You slide off his lap and back into your seat, biting your lip as you pull your panties back under your skirt.

“Let’s go back to the hotel, I want you to be in control this time.” you bring his hand to your thigh, adjusting him back inside his jeans. You press a kiss to his neck, noticing the lipstick marks you left behind.

Tyler's body responds automatically to the feeling of your lips on his neck, a shiver running down his spine. He can't help but chuckle at the sight of the lipstick marks you've left behind - a visible reminder of the passion you've just shared.

His hand slides up your thigh, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin. "You want me to be in control, huh?" he murmurs, a low rumble in his voice. "I like the sound of that, darlin'."

Your eyes light up with desire, “I love it when you take control, you know that..” you smile at him as he pulls back onto the road.

Tyler steals a glance at you, the look in your eye making his heart stutter. He smirks, the corners of his mouth lifting in a cocky half-smile.

"Oh, I know," he chuckles, his hand clenching on the steering wheel. "You like it when I take charge, don't you? When I take what I want from you, when I make you feel good, when I make you mine."

You practically moan at his words, sliding his hand between your thighs. “God, you’re driving me wild Ty..”

Tyler's fingers splay across your thigh, his calloused skin contrasting with the silky smoothness of your skin. He can feel the heat radiating from you, and the sound of your soft moan sends a jolt of desire through him.

"You're not the only one who's feeling wild, darlin'," he mutters, his voice low and sultry. "You've got me all worked up again already."

“Baby…” you whine, your hand wandering back to his lap. Hips grinding against his hand, desperate to feel his fingers against you.

Tyler's breath hitches in his throat as your hand moves back to his lap, your hips grinding against his hand in a desperate plea for more. He can feel the heat and need radiating off you, and it only fuels his own desire.

"Sweetheart," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "You're going to have to wait a bit longer. I'm trying to focus on the road here."

“Can't you touch me?” you bite down on your lips, legs spreading for him. Tyler's eyes dart between you and the road, the sight of your legs spreading for him only fueling the fire inside him. He lets out a low hiss, his fingers clenching around the steering wheel.

"You're pushing your luck, darlin'," he mutters, his voice rough and strained. "But I can't say no when you look like that." his hand slips into your panties, his pointer finger pressing into your clit as he rubs gentle circles into it.

“Fuck,” you gasp, head falling back against the seat. Chest rising and falling as his hand works between your legs, he pulls into the parking lot and removes his hand from between your legs, hastily unbuckling.

Tyler unbuckles his seatbelt and shifts the truck into park with a jerk. His movements are quick and hurried, the urgency of his need for you palpable.

He turns towards you, his eyes dark with desire. "Inside," he grunts, his voice thick and rough. "Now."

His hand grips yours, his fingers lacing with yours as he practically pulls you out of the truck and towards the hotel entrance. You follow close behind, mind clouded with desire as he leads you into your shared room.

Tyler closes the door behind you with a firm thud, the sound of the lock engaging a sign that you are now isolated from the rest of the world, enveloped in your own private world of passion and desire.

He turns to you, his eyes roaming over your body in silent appreciation. The hunger in his gaze is almost tangible, his need for you on the edge of desperation.

"You're so damn beautiful," he mutters, his voice thick with want. "I need you, sweetheart. Right now." you nod in agreement, hands moving to his jeans, pulling them away.

With a fervent need, you both frantically strip away the barriers of clothing that separate you. Buttons pop and fabric whispers as shirts and jeans hit the floor. Tyler's eyes are a fiery green, locked onto yours as you stand before him in nothing but your bra and panties.

He reaches out, his rough hands skimming over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your breath hitches as he hooks his thumbs into the delicate fabric, unhooking it and letting your bra fall to the floor. His gaze follows the descent, eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of your bare flesh.

"You're so fucking perfect," he murmurs, his voice a low growl that sends a thrill through you. He lifts you with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the bed.

You feel his arousal pressing against you, hot and demanding. As he lays you down, the softness of the mattress envelops you both, the room charged with an electric anticipation.

His hands roam over your body, tracing the curves and valleys with a gentle possessiveness that ignites your skin. Your own hands are equally eager, tugging at his boxers, revealing his hardened length.

The air in the room is thick with lust, a silent symphony of desire that resonates between you. His mouth finds your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh as his fingers dance over your stomach, teasing the waistband of your panties.

With one swift motion, Tyler hooks his fingers and pulls them down, exposing you to his hungry gaze. He takes a moment to appreciate the view, his eyes lingering on the wetness glistening between your thighs.

"So ready for me," he murmurs, his voice a dark promise. You whimper, arching your back, begging for his touch.

He obliges, his thumb brushing over your clit in slow, torturous circles as his other hand slides up to cup your breast. His touch is firm, his thumb flicking over the peak until it's a hardened pebble.

You moan, your body trembling with each pass. The sensations build, a crescendo of pleasure that threatens to overwhelm you.

And then, without warning, Tyler slides into you, filling you completely. The suddenness of it makes you gasp, your eyes flying open to meet his intense stare. His hips move in a steady rhythm, his eyes never leaving yours as he claims you once again.

Each thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through your body, a silent declaration of his dominance, his need for you. You cling to him, your nails digging into his back, urging him deeper, faster, as the storm outside seems to mirror the tempest within you.

The room was a whirlwind of passion and urgency as Tyler's hips began to move with purposeful strokes, each one designed to hit your g-spot with unerring precision. You moaned with every deep, deliberate thrust, your body arching off the bed in a silent plea for more.

His teeth found your neck, the sensation of his lips sucking and leaving marks on your skin sending a shiver down your spine. The slight pain melded with the exquisite pleasure, creating a symphony of sensation that had you clutching the sheets, desperately trying to hold on to reality.

Each suck of his mouth was matched by the plunge of his cock, the rhythm driving you closer and closer to the edge. His hands held you down, not allowing you to escape the delicious torment as he whispered your name against your skin, his breath hot and ragged in your ear.

You moan Tyler's name, your voice a desperate plea as he continues his relentless rhythm. The sound of your need fills the room, mingling with the muffled thunder of the storm outside. Your nails dig into his back, leaving marks that stand out against his tanned skin, as if to claim him as yours.

Tyler's eyes never leave your face, the intensity in his gaze reflecting the fierce passion that consumes him. His strokes become more urgent, his breaths more ragged, as the storm outside seems to fuel the one raging between your bodies. Each time he hits that spot, you can't help but arch off the bed, a silent cry escaping your lips.

The sound of skin slapping against skin joins the symphony of passion, a rhythmic beat that echoes in time with the rain pounding against the hotel room window. The mattress creaks beneath you, a testament to the strength of your love and the power of your desire.

The room echoes with the crescendo of your moans and the slap of your bodies colliding. Tyler's movements become faster, more ragged. His eyes never leave yours, a silent promise of pleasure that has you on the edge, desperately clinging to the precipice.

Each thrust hits your pleasure spot with a precision that has your toes curling and your back arching off the bed. The anticipation is palpable, your muscles tightening around him as your orgasms build, threatening to shatter you into a million pieces. You can feel him getting closer too, his strokes becoming more erratic, his breath hot and panting against your neck.

The air is charged with tension, the scent of your desire heavy and intoxicating. The storm outside is a mere backdrop to the tumultuous passion that unfolds between you, a crescendo of pleasure that threatens to overwhelm.

And then, with a final, powerful thrust, you both tumble over the edge, your cries mingling with the thunder as your bodies convulse in the throes of climax. The world outside is forgotten as you ride the waves of pleasure, together in this moment of pure, unbridled ecstasy.

With a final, deep groan, Tyler pulls out, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his climax. He rolls onto the mattress beside you, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his embrace.

Your bodies are slick with sweat, your heartbeats syncing as you both come down from the high of your passionate encounter. He presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his breathing still ragged against your skin.

You turn to face him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you trace the lines of his face with your fingertips. The intensity of the moment has given way to a warm, sated calm, the kind that can only come after sharing something so deeply intimate.

You snuggle closer, feeling the comfort of his strong chest against your back, his steady heartbeat a soothing lullaby in the quiet aftermath of your passion, he pulls the comforter over your bodies. Your eyes drift closed, the gentle stroking of his hand over your stomach lulling you into a peaceful doze.

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causenessus · 1 day ago

Text

present

part 0.1. I HOPE TO BE AROUND

"i hope to be around / the day we grasp in truth / the nature of mind i wonder at this light / enclosed in our soul, in truth / and bid our clay remain"

“man, this is bad…” the boy next to her matched her pace, but she could only spare a glance at him before they turned a sharp corner, hoping to lose the officers who were only a few seconds behind.

“it’ll be okay,” she offered, not sharing his sense of worry. she still had a few tricks up her sleeve and he no doubt did as well.

the plan had been to completely eradicate a rival corporation due to a deal gone bad. that part had gone well. she'd had a heel on a man's chest, pulling her blade back out of him when she heard her partner yell. it seemed that the police had had nothing better to do today and arrived quicker than expected. (or, maybe, just maybe, they felt that the alert of a psycho running rampant and creating new craters in the earth took priority over most issues. just maybe.)

the situation she now found herself in was bound to happen, she knew that. the only thing she was upset about was the fact that their fun had been ruined prematurely. but the rest of the job was done so she couldn't complain; they'd retaliated against a group who betrayed them and set the precedent that the port mafia could not be easily taken down. she'd stolen what little valuables they had left while chuuya was free to take out his seemingly endless anger on whatever poor soul his eyes landed on next.

she clicked her tongue as she looked back to see two men still chasing them. if they felt like being try-hards at their jobs today, that was their fault. she felt the dark tendrils curl down her right arm, becoming an extension of her reach as she stretched her arm back, raising the shadows behind the two law enforcers up from the ground.

their shadows became wisps, curling around their hosts’ legs and arms. it restricted their movement, causing one officer to yell in surprise while the other cursed.

a third officer came up behind them but froze at the sight. he attempted to pry at the shadows to no avail. ‘cute,’ she smiled in amusement. but it was impossible rid yourself of your shadow. it’s a part of you that never leaves.

tone of the paralyzed officers barked at the third officer to use his gun and she looked forward again at the sounds of the gunshots. ‘there they go. smart boys.’

they’d figured out a solution quickly but the distance she’d put between them and her gave her companion and her more than enough time to find an escape. they turned another corner, cutting through an alley.

“that was easy,” she sighed as they slowed down to walk.

“they’re like parasites,” chuuya cursed.

they’d learn later as they went on more jobs together never to say assume their job had been simple and finished until after they’d written a report about it and all was said and done. (once, chuuya had spoken the cursed words as they’d walked to an address to fetch a payment after an assassination, assuming things were finished and safe only for their supposed "payment" nearly blow them up.) but for now, they were still young kids in the mafia running off the thrill of adrenaline that came with defying the law and escaping authority figures.

or at least they thought they'd escaped. as soon as they exited the dark alley they cut through, they were blinded by the numerous guns and shields that reflected the sun above right into their eyes. safeties were clicked-off weapons aimed directly at the space between their brows.

one officer spoke for the rest, looking above his shield while pointing his gun at them, “hands up where we can see them. now.”

“chuuya…” she whispered as they both raised their arms. now it was his time to reveal a trick.

“grab onto me,” he murmured back.

another officer stepped forward from the mass, handcuffs in hand, triggering the duo to make their escape. she grabbed his shoulder while he placed a hand on her side, pulling her close all within the flash of a second. she felt the pressure around her disappear and in an instant, they were in the air.

the arc of officers who had cornered them looked up in shock but weren't given the chance to reposition their guns before the pair disappeared. they landed back on the ground, running across a street miles away from where they'd just been. she grabbed his hand, quickly pulling him down an alleyway familiar to her while he exclaimed. it had been nearly three years since he’d joined and every time chuuya thought he’d memorized all of the mafia’s escape routes, another one popped up.

she lifted up the lid of a manhole, ushering him in first before slipping in herself, slowly closing the lid right as she heard footsteps approaching.

she’d been right initially; this had been an easy job.

“you did finish the job, I suppose…that’s all I can say,” kouyou covered part of her face with the sleeve of her kimono, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

“ane-san…”

“quiet, boy.” her red eyes shot open, giving him a dirty look. “next time, put a little more effort into not riling up the entirety of yokohama’s law enforcement. you’re not making anything easier for anyone involved, yourself included. do you understand? now get out. go home, or do whatever you children do,” she dismissed them with a wave and deep sigh.

the door closed behind them along with any last worries they had. the book had been closed. even if kouyou was mad at them at the moment, she’d probably forget tomorrow and they could do the same. they’d never have to think about it again–

“you two got in trouble didn’t you~” chuuya grimaced at the voice.

“get lost, piece of shit,” he sneered, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“i heard it all,” dazai teased, following behind chuuya and her as they started to walk. “actually, I watched you guys the whole time, too. that was a real piece of work. what did you call one of the soldiers, chuuya? ‘fucking pussy more useless than dogshit in an unwatered field?’ i never knew your vocabulary was so expansive.”

“the fuck? you don’t have anything better to do as youngest port mafia executive in history than watch me do my job? watch me expand my fist up your–”

she had to stifle a laugh, trying her best not to irk the boy next to her even more. she realized now perhaps chuuya’s destruction today had been the first opportunity he’d really had to get all of his anger out over losing to dazai (again) in their latest competition to become an executive first. they both hated each other yet couldn’t stay away from each other or from making bets. maybe it was because chuuya hated to lose, maybe it was dazai's persistence and unforgettable presence, or maybe it was a mix of both.

“ah, and [y/n]-chan, the way you slit that man’s throat from behind before he even realized you were there…can you do that to me?” the brunette exclaimed, poking his face over the shoulders of both of them.

“i think your bandages would get in the way, dazai-san,” she turned her head to him. before he could respond, a gloved hand quickly shoved his face away from her, the brunette whining in annoyance.

“you suicidal freak! go take a fucking shower, or just leave us alone in general. all you do is curdle the air around me,” chuuya spat, and it was obvious all of the destruction and yelling he’d done earlier today had done nothing to help calm the rage inside of him.

“do I really stink? you’re the second person to tell me that this week!” the executive lifted up his coat to try and sniff it seemingly to no avail. “but chuuya, really– me, curdle the air? just saying one of your insults left a sour taste in my mouth.” he stuck out a tongue at chuuya who was turning towards him, fist closed tightly. she was sure she’d see the white of his knuckles if he didn’t have gloves on. “[y/n]-chan, do i really smell?” he turned towards her but he was cut short when she put a finger up to his mouth.

they passed by a fellow mafia member in silence, trying to be respectful, but it was clear he’d most certainly heard at least part of their conversation. it wasn’t like anyone would have the guts to stand up or question the executive that walked behind her (besides his arch nemesis who conveniently was walking in pace with her), but she’d rather not make more trouble for those around them.

which was a noble effort, but thrown in the garbage as soon as they passed the man and could no longer keep it together after a few beats in silence and dazai was the first to burst out in laughter. she leaned against a nearby pillar with the brunette, the both of them both trying to calm themselves down while chuuya tried horribly to cover up the smile instinctively stretching across his face as a look of anger.

what was it koyou had said? “go home or do whatever you children do?” rarely did any of them ever go home after a job. they were the port mafia, after all. they truly came alive as the sun set and the moon rose. here in the midst of twilight, evident by the blue moonlight coming through a nearby stained glassed window, was an oddly dressed bandaged boy wielding a knife as he carved something she couldn’t read into the side of the pillar they were leaning against. and with him were his two companions, just as equally as odd. most days ended in mischievous deeds, fits of laughter, competitions, and fights. that’s how it had always been.

how it should’ve always been if one of them hadn’t disappeared soon after.

m.list | next

extras <3

without revealing too much at the moment, [y/n]'s ability is called ikiryō. the word revolves around japanese folklore having to do with ghosts, however in tadano makuzu's book far north tales, makuzu talks about ikiryō as it was known during the edo period, as a sort of "shadow sickness" where people believed in doppelgangers and one's soul being able to separate from their body and taking form as its host's body (more to be explained about [y/n]'s ability but I would highly recommend looking into the folklore behind ikiryō it's super interesting :3)

as described in the fic a little bit, chuuya and [y/n] have an ongoing "taboo"/"curse word" in which every time they say "that was easy" before they've finalized the completion of the job with their contractor (or in most cases, reported to mori), something is bound to go wrong

this chapter takes place after the events of the fifteen and storm bringer arcs, in a small middle between dazai becoming an executive and the dark era :)

i am basically rewriting these chapters as i go from when they were first written back in january when I was a very different me but i'm not completely reworking everything so i'm not entirely sure what you guys are going to think of the quality of this writing 😭😭😭 but i'm so sorry if this is boring or cringe and pls lmk so I can improve!!

taglist: @miiyas @kameyyy @saoirseyun @phoenix-eclipses (form to be added to taglist! <3)

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sparks-and-smoke · 17 hours ago

Note

Would it be possible to get a fic about Bucky and his GF getting caught on a date by the media. The GF is Pluse size and maybe someone makes a mean comment about her size? Cue protective Bucky who LOVES his girl so much

This is precious. And while I am almost certain you mean normal Bucky I had an idea for a popstar reader soooo. You’re getting Bodyguard Bucky. Ooops~ hope you like it anyway. 🩵

Characters/Pairings: Bodyguard!Bucky x Plus size popstar! Reader

Content/Warnings: fatphobia, body image issues, and illusions to smut at the end. Bucky is gonna be super sweet, but if this kind of thing triggers you steer clear. Stay safe, babes!

Author Note: this is written on my phone, and not beta read. So… extend me some grace :)

It was almost preternatural in a way, the way Bucky could sense when you weren’t ok. The way he seemed to know the moment he walked in your door that he was gonna have to chase away storm clouds, but it never failed. Your bodyguard always knew. And he made it his life mission to keep his sunshine girl from flickering out.

“What have you been reading.” He asked, his face stern and jaw clenched but his eyes softer then they had any right to be.

You sigh, turning off your phone screen and setting it face down, “Nothing, just an article.”

“An article about you?” He asked, tilting his head to try and see your eyes. He already knew the answer, because he followed what the media was saying. From the moment you stepped onto the scene the topic of discussion hovered around your weight more then it had any right to be. It didn’t matter that you had a voice that gave people goose bumps or that your presence on stage could light up a stadium all on your own. Because you weren’t a tiny little Barbie doll none of that seemed to matter.

You had been a beacon of positivity through it all though. Using your platform and following to promote self love and healthy habits at all sizes. Focusing on moving your body and prioritizing health over weight or measurements. Bucky adored you for it. Thought you were an angel, deserving of the world. Ans he wished everyone else thought that as well.

“Stars did an article on me.” You admitted, getting up and heading to the kitchen for some water. Not meeting Buckys eyes. “They are covering my casting in hairspray.”

“Yeah?” Bucky followed closely behind. He was proud of you for landing that role. You deserved it, you were gonna be a perfect Tracey. “What about it.”

You still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s nothing James. There just saying I’m perfect for the role.”

Jame. James?! You never called him James. He was always Bucky, sometimes Bucky baby if you were really in a mood. That’s how he knew whatever they had written had hit a chord. “Angel… what did it say.”

You just shake your head and down your water. It really didn’t matter. It wasn’t anything that hadn’t been said before. To be honest, you don’t know why it was bumming you out so badly.

Except you did know why. Because you had dreamed of being on broadway your entire life. Since you were a little girl. And now… that dream was coming true. But all anyone wanted to talk about was how the plus sized popstar landed the fat girl role because what else could she be…

“Angel. You’re thinking awfully loud over there. You gonna tell me or am I gonna have to pull it out of you?” He stepped in closer. His smoky sweet aftershave wafting around you, pulling your eyes up to look at him. His glacial blue eyes were begging, pleading you to talk.

“They-“ you sigh, shoulders drooping. “They got a picture of me coming out of rehearsal. I’m in sweats, it’s unflattering and the whole article is about how I’ve put on weight for the role. Which I haven’t, if anything I’ve lost some from constant practices. But that’s not the point..” your voice cracks.

“I’m tired James. I am tired of having to be put together all the time or the paparazzi makes it all about how I let myself go. I finally reached what I concider to be a highlight of my career-” You voice cracks. The damn that had been slowly cracking inside your chest finally breaking. “And all anyone wanted to to talk about is how my thighs look in my sweats!”

Bucky was already moving. Pulling you into his arms. Tucking your eyes up under his chin as you shake with anger and frustration. Smoothing your hair from your face and kissing your temple with a lingering touch. “There we go, let it out.”

He lets you rant. Pushing down his own anger and frustration. You were the most beautiful person he knew. Inside and out. He had worked for a couple different celebrities over the years and none had the same golden heart as you. None. “I’m so sorry Angel. It’s a load of shit and we both know it but I know thy doesn’t make it easier.”

He closed his eyes. Kissing your hair. “You are beautiful. Every inch of you. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes. I hope you know that.” He pulls back to look into your red rimmed eyes. Cupping your cheek. “You are talented and charming and you draw people to you like flies to honey. And everyone with a brain can see it. I promise. Whoever wrote that article was poking at low hanging fruit that anyone of substance doesn’t care about. You are perfect.”

His voice drips with sincerity as his eyes roam your face. Pads of his thumb wiping away angry tears. “I think you need to put down your phone for the day. Why don’t you give it to me or to Alice and we’ll focus on things that actually matte today ok?”

You blink away tears, considering it. You could hand off your phone. Let your assistant answer your phone for the day, she will let her know if it’s something she needs to answer directly. But, unplugging was hard-

“Come on angel, we will go punch some stuff at the gym. And then I’ll take you for froyo at that boba place you like.” He tucks your hair behind your ear. “And then you can shower and I’ll help you unwind before you have your go practice tonight. How about that.” His voice was laced with promise. With sweet dark temptation as he leans forward and whispers the thing he could do to help you feel better. And you bite your lip as you know he will follow through on every one.

“How about we shower first?”

Bucky smiles, guiding you back toward your room as his hands slip under the hem of your shirt. “Whatever you want princess, let me show you how perfect I really think you are~”

#bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #plus size reader #bodyguard!bucky #maybe I’ll make this an AU. I am actually kind of in love with these two.#sparks picks up

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dearlot · 2 days ago

Text

chasing that feeling | rhiannon lewis

— pairing: rhiannon lewis x transmasc!reader

— summary: rhiannon wears your packer to work.

— warnings: mentions of murder because it's rhiannon.

— wordcount: 1,200

Have a good day at work, baby. I love you ♡ I made oatmeal last night and left some in the fridge for breakfast if you want. Make sure to wear something nice for me, I'll come pick you up after work ♡

Rhiannon's lips quirk up into a smile at your note, and she looks at your sleeping form in bed, feeling her heart do that thumpity thing she's still getting used to. She leans over the bed and kisses your warm cheek before walking over to her dresses to pick out her clothes for the day. Something nice, huh? Her eyes scan around all her clothes scattered inside the drawer and she bites her lip, wondering what you'd like. Honestly, she doesn't even have to put in any effort to look good for you; she knows you'll go crazy over her either way.

She decides to pull out the dark red button-up that you drooled over the first time she wore along with a tight skirt. As she opens her underwear drawer, her eyes widen at the first thing that greets her: your packer. She had stolen one from your drawer (you have plenty of others to choose from, courtesy of Rhiannon buying you all sorts of packers due to her not-so-hidden obsession) and forgot to put it back when she was done using it. She's been into wearing it lately, both for pleasure and because it makes her feel nice. She hasn't told you about it yet, finding the secrecy even more of a turn-on.

The thought of wearing it for you makes her body shiver, and she runs her fingers across the silicone, tracing along the painted veins. She quickly grabs it along with her clothes and rushes to the bathroom, hastily taking off her pajamas and fumbling with the shower knob as she turns the water on. She squeezes the packer in her hand and feels her pussy tingle. Her mind goes numb as she slowly places the back of the packer against her cunt, holding the bottom with one hand while her other lazily strokes the shaft. It's almost comedic how far it stretches as she jerks it off, but she doesn't think about that; all she can focus on is how her clit feels against the silicone and what you would do if you caught her doing this.

Once done with jerking off and taking a shower, she heads to work, head and shoulders raised high with a sort of confidence as she walks in with a packer between her legs. She only just clocked in but she can't wait until you pick her up tonight.

This is going to be the longest 8 hours of her life.

Ugh.

Also, she stole one of your jockstraps to wear with the packer. She could've just tucked it inside her panties like she usually does, but she wanted to know how it felt. And she's not even wearing any underwear 'neath it either, just freeballing. It makes it 10x hotter in her opinion, especially because of the way she can feel the cold tip of the packer hit her thigh whenever she walks or how she can easily fondle it under her desk without anyone knowing. She's been preoccupying herself by squeezing the balls of the packer while calling people for information about that new murder in town. Which she did. And yes, she was wearing your packer that night. And maybe she did get so turned on by killing him that she ended up humping the guy while thinking of you as he was bleeding out.

Only a few more hours until you pick her up….she can get through this.

As you walk to the Gazette with a steaming cup of hot chocolate that's burning your hand, you feel your whole body buzz at the thought of seeing Rhiannon. There's a stupid smile playing on your lips as you open the door to the entrance and see her through the glass windows. Her back is slouched as always, and you remind yourself to bring it up during the drive home but for now, you just need to dote on her. She's been working extra hard this month for Christmas cash and you think she deserves something nice. Like this hot chocolate. And of course, the dinner date you're going to take her out on later.

You sneak up behind her and lean close to her ear, blowing air into it. "Busy?"

Rhiannon makes a cute little squeak and jumps back in surprise, grabbing her envelope knife in defense. Her hard eyes soften when she sees that it's you, and a smile comes creeping on her face. "Not at all."

She rolls the office chair back and gets up, almost forgetting her plan amid the excitement of seeing you as she rounds the desk corner. You smile warmly at her and she flushes, gently taking the cup of hot chocolate you hand her and taking a quick sip. "Mmm… did you make it?."

"No, just got it at the cafe. 'S why my hand is burnt." You show her your slightly red hand and pout for sympathy, which she gives by kissing your hand and pulling you in for a hug.

"I've been thinking about you all day." she murmurs, moving her hands to your ass and tugging you flat against her. She nuzzles her nose in your neck and inhales your scent.

Your eyes widen when you feel something hard against your center, and you feel yourself get light-headed when you realize what it is. "Is that…are you wearing my packer?"

Your hands move her hips back and as you look down, you let out a tiny gasp at the slight bulge in her skirt. You thank God that she's the only one left in the office, and stare at her as your hand comes down to grope her over the skirt. A guttural moan escapes your lips when you feel that she's not even wearing any panties. Jesus fuck. You think this might be the hottest thing she's done for you. Even hotter if she wore it just because.

"Is this the something nice you wanted?" she purrs, moving her hips into your hands as you continue feeling her up. Her body flashes with burning pleasure as you chuckle and pull her back into you, her hands flying to your shoulders to catch herself. She starts rutting the packer against your thigh and carefully watches your every microexpression, noting the way your brows furrow when she digs her nails in deeper. "I've been wearing this one for a while. Sometimes I put it back in your drawer after I use it on myself. Think I might keep it for myself though, what do you think of that?"

"Yes," you reply instantly, looking at her like she's the only thing in the world right now. "Please, fuck, yes. Keep it." You can't even care for how pathetic you sound as you beg. You're thinking of getting on your knees to beg even further.

Rhiannon shows off her fangs as she grins, leaning in close to your mouth to whisper, "It's the pack-and-play one too."

#dearlot fics #rhiannon lewis fics #rhiannon lewis x you #rhiannon lewis x reader #sweetpea x reader #mdni

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halfmoonshines · 18 hours ago

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Almost Home for the Holidays

Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: you're eternally grateful for both your fiancee and his new proclivity for saving the world; but that doesn't mean you can't hold him to a promise to be home for presents.

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The New York winter bit harshly at your cheeks as your gloved hands struggled to grip the reigns of your horse.

Your horse being your german shepherd, and the reigns being her leash of course. Athena did not care if it was Christmas, she was going to pull you face first into the nearest snow drift in chase of the squirrel she just got the sent of.

"Athena, heel. We're going home." Home was a brownstone in Brooklyn, and a glance at your watch had you risking a slip on the ice in your power walk to get home. Bucky should be home any minute, and you knew you were cutting it close with the walk this late but you had long learned that you were the slave to her bathroom needs.

Athena fell into step easily beside you, seeming to sense your unease. Maybe she could even tell that Bucky would be home soon; she spent hours waiting for him by the front door when he left for a mission.

You only had a pinch of disappointment when you pushed in the front door and weren't immediately greeted by your fiancees firm grasp. One more nervous glance at your watch confirmed that he wasn't even technically late yet.

It was just past 6:00pm on Christmas night, the sun long having abandoned the streets of the city in favor of the long winter nights. You had tried to fight for an earlier arrival time, but his reasoning was that he would rather debrief immediately instead of having to go in to talk to Sam tomorrow.

Begrudgingly, you of course understood. Bucky wasn't like any man you had met before him; in a myriad of ways, and had been kind enough to sit down with you when things were seeming to be surpassing 'serious' and let you know exactly what his life style entailed. You had long since decided a little worry for his safety and nights alone at home were worth the honor of being loved by him.

You were only human, though. And sometimes on those late nights, you couldn't help but miss his presence next to you.

You had the dinner simmering on the stove before you risked another look at your watch, followed quickly by pulling your phone out of your pocket to see if you had missed any communication.

He was officially a half hour late, but that wasn't necessarily uncommon. You turn the oven down low to keep the pasta warm, and shoot off a text before you find a seat on the couch.

dinner is ready :) <3

You clicked the tv on, opting for something mind numbing and a little funny to help distract you. Athena was completely unbothered from her nap spot in front of the new bed that you and Bucky had picked out for her a few weeks ago. She was as spoiled as they come, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

An episode ended and you picked up your phone, officially starting to itch with a bit of irritation. You had no notifications, other than Goodreads reminding you about your reading goal. Your brows pulled together tight when you opened up your text thread and noticed your message wasn't delivered and the truth settled over you like a thick blanket of snow.

James wasn't coming home tonight.

You hefted a sigh and gathered up your blanket, motioning for Athena to follow you into bed after you turn the food on the stove off, not finding it in you to care to put it away for later.

You fell asleep fitfully, torn between worry and loneliness.

The sound of a pan hitting the stove jolted you from bed, instant panic jittering your veins while you groped the bedside table for the handgun you know damn well Bucky kept there just in case.

Your vision cleared when your hand swiped over the gun, and you noticed a few things at once. Athena wasn't in the bedroom, but she also wasn't ripping the arm off of whoever was in the kitchen. That's when you noticed Bucky's travel pack tossed haphazardly against the closet door and realized what must be going on.

Confused eyes glanced at your bedside table and saw the digital numbers glaring back.

11:54pm

Still Christmas, then.

"You need to be quiet or you're going to wake your mother up, missy." The scene was something out of your dreams, and despite your anger with him, there was something about the gruff of Bucky's voice that always made you smile.

He was half playing with Athena in the kitchen, feeding her a small piece of meat in exchange for her supposed silence.

"You made it." You wondered if you sounded as irritated as you felt and struggled not to feel bad.

Bucky looked disheveled as he always did when he got back from an extended mission. Beard in need of a shave, dark circles under his eyes and an apologetic smile pulling at his lips.

"I would make excuses, but I know there are none." He closed the distance between you in two strides, hands coming to rest on your hips and pull you to his chest. "I told you I would be home, and I wasn't. I'm sorry."

Your anger was a slippery thing, and all grasp you had on it left. You melted into his arms, forehead resting on his collar bone, the scent of pine and musk relaxing your tense muscles. "It's okay, Jamie. I know what you do is important. It's just..."

"Christmas." He said quietly, hand rubbing over your back in small circles. "I understand, sweetheart. You have every right to be disappointment."

You pulled back a bit to look into his eyes, nose scrunched. "You make it so hard to be upset when you're reasonable."

Bucky's answering chuckle vibrated against you, and you swore that he had some kind of magic in his smile. One you had noticed was reserved for you. "I can cause a scene, if you'd like." His smirk was sinful.

Your answering giggle was all the answer he needed and you were swept into his arms, lips coming down on yours. You loved these moments. Ones that existed only to the two of you.

"How about I heat up this food and we watch The Polar Express?" Your smile widened at his suggestion.

"Only if-"

He gave you another small kiss. "Only if I make my special hot chocolate for the hot chocolate scene, you got it captain."

You did your little happy wiggle, telling him you loved him while you went to grab your blanket from the bedroom, Athena hot on your heels with the hope of more treats.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

hey guys!!! fic requests are open. i also humbly request any likes/reblogs/comments that you may have! it keeps me motivated <3 thank you for reading

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #mcu #marvel #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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pxuvalentinx · 1 day ago

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Punishment | Luka x Fem!Reader

After some issues, your 'secret relationship' with Luka got revealed by the Aliens. The both of you had expected a harsh punishment, and that you got - just a little different than initially expected. warnings » fem!reader, worshipping, voyeurism, sort of public sex?, toy usage, bondage, overstimulation, orgasm denial, a ruined pair of pants, came untouched? also sort of again, very little mentions of death, torture and so on, body parts going numb

Luka wasn’t a weak man…but, oh, the man he became when it came to you? How could he not worship the ground that you walk on? What kind of man would he be, if he didn’t do anything for his pretty little girlfriend. Your entire relationship was a secret thing, no one could know, no one would ever know. Or so you thought.

But god, if you would’ve known what they’d do to the both of you as soon as they found out? Maybe your little relationship would’ve been a tad more public.

Aliens loved one thing — they loved to torture their humans or so called pets. Make them do stuff solely for the alien’s pleasure, treat them as their slaves, punish and push them till death was near. The both of you had overstepped a line, disobeyed a rule, an important one as it is. So punishing you was only fair, right?

This was only fair, you thought, or at least you tried, as the little bud on your clit made you squirm and thrusts your hips in the air without even knowing. Legs were tied to both the armrests of the chair you sat on.

Well sort of.

Actually you sat on the comfy lap of your pretty blonde boyfriend. His arms tied together behind the chair, while his legs were tied to the chair itself. His rock hard boner was long forgotten, at least by you, but Luka could feel his boner so well, it was like he forgot how to feel anything else. All of your senses were overwhelmed as you chased your high, for what felt like the 5th time tonight. While the blonde hadn’t cum once, understandably frustrated by now.

The also long forgotten audience of aliens in front of you, would make fascinated sounds whenever you let out a particularly high pitched moan, or again, squirted all over your boyfriends pants. All eyes on the two of you.

Luka has never been this whiny before. Who would’ve thought this charming man could turn into such a pathetic boy, once he’s being denied of what he loves the most. All he could do was bite into your neck, lightly thrust his hips up for any kind of friction. But it wasn’t enough. No, he just couldn’t cum like this. It was driving him crazy. All he wanted was to feel your honeysweet warmth engulf him, take him in and finally let him fuck all that pent up energy out. The blonde's head was spinning, he felt like he was gonna die if he didn't get any relief soon.

You cursed out his name over and over again. A hint of guilt washing over you considering how you took all the pleasure for yourself, even though there wasn’t really another option. “Ughh…gonna…fffuckk..cumming again!” Your words were like a soothing song to his ears. No matter how bad he wanted to finish, hearing you cum like this, was just getting him one step closer to his own release.

The buzz of the vibrator ran through your whole body by now. Your once intelligent brain turning into mush. “Have such a beautiful lady…on top of me..haaah..” He cooed at you. Luka sounded so out of breath. You bet on everything, he looked so good right now. Covered in beads of sweat, his eyes almost teary, while his usually neatly kept hair was a mess.

After your orgasm had successfully washed over you, your hips went limb. The pool between your legs, including the vibrator strapped against it, was now engulfing the blonde’s bulge. Luka’s hips immediately jerked up, he was chasing that pleasure, chasing the friction that little vibrator provided him. Oh, and just in that moment, Hell let loose inside of him. Built up saliva slowly ran down his chin, his mouth wide agape. At the sudden change in his behavior, you slowly turned your head back.

His clothed dick repeatedly bumped against your entrance and clit covered by the vibrator. If you hadn’t been so terribly overstimulated, this might’ve been heaven. “Oh…Oh! My pretty Darling….Shit..Oh gonna cum…gonna finally…!” And that’s when he went still. His bulge firmly pressed against your cunt, as he ruined his pants. God, and he was coming loads. All that built up tension releasing all at once. In between your hazy thoughts, you could hear the crowd of aliens cheering, almost over-sounding Luka’s ragged breaths in your ear. You felt his legs tremble, the overwhelming pleasure slowly fading.

In all this shock, overstimulation and pleasure, you didn’t even notice that the buzzing had stopped. It allowed you and Luka to catch your breath. It was finally over? You hoped. Maybe you could finally take a warm bath and soot-

bzzzz Oh.

©pxuvalentinx - do not steal, modify, translate or repost my work.

#x reader #smut #drabble #luka alnst #alnst luka #luka x reader #luka alien stage #luka alnst x reader #luka alien stage x reader #alien stage x reader #alnst x reader #what am i doing

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slaymitchabernathy · 1 day ago

Text

Silent Night - Alternate Version

| this is an alternate version of 'Silent Night - Part 2.' with a less...kinky ending. hope y'all enjoy ;) |

Coriolanus strides through the halls with triumph. December came and went, taking all of those frivolous decorations with it. Good, he had thought when watching the Avoxes disassemble the Christmas tree, less clutter to fill the house with.

His wife hadn't exactly shared his enthusiasm for the dismissal of the holidays but her feelings weren't really that important to him.

She was here to make him happy and give him children, not give out her opinions on how he ran his household.

"We could start here," Quintus suggests, pointing at the library, "and then move into the ballroom for the photographs."

With a new year comes new photos that need to be taken, a rather annoying task to land on his desk but Coriolanus approaches it with the same diligence he does with anything else. Finding spots to take said photographs in the cold winter has proven to be more difficult though.

"Maybe," is all he says, his attention already drawn to a white ball of fluff running towards him. His lips curl upwards into what could possibly be a smile as his wife's kitten runs up to him.

Petunia, as Soarynn named her, is a little ball of energy, constantly meowing and running around. Coriolanus is glad that he's remained firm in keeping her out of their bedroom because he can't imagine trying to sleep with her constant noise. It's bad enough that she cries from outside their bedroom door.

It had clearly broken Soarynn's heart to hear her kitten crying. She had given Coriolanus her best pouting face the first night they had her before sweetly asking if Petunia could be let in. Coriolanus had grabbed her chin and sweetly told her that she could either sleep with him in their bed, or sleep on the floor with Petunia out in the hall.

Needless to say, Soarynn hasn't asked for Petunia to be let in since.

Soarynn is right behind her kitten, wearing the pink dress he picked out for her today. She's smiling as she chases after her kitten who comes to a stop in front of Coriolanus, batting at his shoe. He steps to the side, not wanting to become a victim of those small claws, "Petunia," Soarynn calls, "Petunia come back."

Petunia has a pink ribbon wrapped around her neck today, standing out from her white fur and she looks up at Coriolanus, letting out a meow. Coriolanus stares down at her, not entirely impressed by this behavior. To her credit, Soarynn has been training her but kittens seem to have a mind of their own, unfortunately.

"I taught her new tricks," Soarynn says breathlessly once she reaches them. Quintus raises an eyebrow, "Tricks? My dear, a cat cannot be taught tricks like a dog."

Coriolanus nods in agreement, dogs are hard enough to train but cats are stubborn with ideas of their own.

But Soarynn shakes her head with a determined look on her face, "No, no she does know tricks! Let me show you. Petunia, sit."

Petunia remains standing, very interested in the laces of his leather shoes.

Soarynn huffs, "Petunia, sit."

Petunia looks up at her owner, not at all willing to listen, and leans down on her front paws, stretching.

Quintus chuckles and Coriolanus shakes his head, "I swear she just did it," Soarynn mumbles, slouching in defeat, "she knows how to sit."

Petunia runs over to Soarynn and rolls onto her back, asking to be pet. Soarynn sighs and bends down, scooping up the small kitten, "Perhaps you should focus your time on teaching her how to use the litter box instead," Coriolanus reminds her, "and maybe get her to shut up when we're trying to sleep."

Soarynn frowns but she doesn't dare say anything against his suggestions, "We should go," Quintus says, "the war department still needs us to go over the new plans."

Coriolanus hums and reaches out to grab Soarynn's chin, something he loves to do to remind her of who's in charge, "Be good while I'm gone darling," he tells her, his words laced with threats if she doesn't behave.

Soarynn swallows, eyes blown wide in fear of any reprimands, "I will be," she whispers. Coriolanus chuckles and leans down to kiss her, enjoying how she stiffens from his touch. She hasn't acted out since he locked her in the greenhouse but he's been looking for the smallest mistake ever since. There's a sick part of him that enjoys punishing Soarynn, watching those crystal tears fall from her glassy eyes.

They go their separate ways but Coriolanus keeps thinking back to the ribbon tied around Petunia's neck, how simple yet enticing it looked, and how it would look wrapped around Soarynn's neck instead.

He'll have to work on that.

꧁ ꧂

When Coriolanus returns hours later, he's slightly dismayed to find Petunia in their bedroom.

The doors are wide open and he lingers in the doorway, watching his wife play with her kitten, sitting on the floor and giggling while Petunia tries to pounce on her fingers.

He knows he's forbidden Petunia from ever sleeping in their room but it appears that he needs to be more strict, more firm in keeping her out of this sacred space. He can't fuck Soarynn if Petunia is vying for her attention every two seconds, crying and whimpering as if she's being starved to death.

Perhaps he made a mistake in bringing a cat into their home.

He clears his throat and Soarynn immediately looks up at him, those dazzling eyes wide with fear and surprise. "You're home," is all she says, no longer smiling or giggling. He nods, crossing his arms at the unwelcome sight of a feline in his bedroom, "I am," he confirms, "and I believe I made it very clear that she was not to be allowed in our bedroom."

Soarynn worries her bottom lip between her teeth, a habit she does whenever she's scared of saying the wrong thing. After that little incident in the greenhouse, her lip was raw with bite marks.

Good, she should think before she speaks, she'd save herself a lot of trouble that way.

"I...I thought you said she couldn't sleep in our bedroom," Soarynn tries, causing him to bite the inside of his cheek. It seems that they both have habits that aren't doing their mouths any favors but it's better than slapping her right across the face.

"And I thought I made it very clear that I don't like you undermining my authority," he says coldly, watching her shrink into herself, "take her out now. It's time for bed."

It's only eight o'clock but Coriolanus doesn't quite care right now. He's had a busy day and the best way to relax is to spend a few hours between Soarynn's spread legs.

Soarynn quickly grabs Petunia and stands up from her spot on the floor. He can see the dismay written all over her face, how bad she feels about leaving Petunia by herself, and how nervous she is to say the wrong thing.

She brushes by him and gently places Petunia back on the ground, "I'm sorry," she whispers to the feline and Coriolanus rolls his eyes, she acts like Petunia is a person, not a cat. "She's fine," he says, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her into their bedroom. Soarynn doesn't resist but he can tell that she wants nothing more than to sleep out in the hallway with Petunia.

Coriolanus closes the doors and he can hear a faint meowing coming from outside the doors. "Much better," he decides, looking down at Soarynn while she stares at the doors, listening to Petunia cry, "don't you think this is better darling, just the two of us?"

When Soarynn finally looks up at him there's a hint of tears in her eyes, "Yes," she says softly, "much better."

He uses his hand to cup the side of her face and leans down, pressing his lips to hers. Soarynn has never been one for affection, often shying away from it instead of embracing it but Coriolanus hasn't ever let that stop him from taking what's his.

Soarynn eventually responds to the kiss, out of duty rather than desire but he doesn't care, he married her for the same reason.

He remembers their wedding day, how pretty she looked walking down the aisle. His bride. The wedding had been formal and stiff, as was to be expected from the President of Panem and his new First Lady.

After the wedding was where the real fun took place. He still remembers the face she made when he finally slid into her, taking what was rightfully his. Soarynn might get on his nerves but her cunt makes up for it every time, so tight and just for him.

She's wearing one of her frilly little nightgowns right now, the ones she's so fond of even though he could care less about her wardrobe for bed. He really just cares about what she has under the nightgown and his other hand slides under the silk, feeling her bare, warm skin.

Soarynn gasps into the kiss when his hand comes in contact with her panties, lace of course. While Coriolanus could care less about her nightgowns, he certainly has expectations for the other things she wears. Most days he chooses her outfits for her, making sure that nothing is too provocative. He likes dresses that stop right above the knee with thin straps and low necklines that show off her collar bones and chest.

He likes it when she wears high heels, but not too high, he enjoys towering over her far too much to allow her to wear more than four inches.

For her hair he prefers for it to be worn down, showing how soft and shiny it is. He always has a say in how she gets it cut and likes layers, neat, not choppy.

When it came to her lingerie, well, he had lots of opinions. He wanted her in lace at all times, he wanted tasteful yet sensual. He enjoys little bows on her underwear and frills. He likes it when she wears matching sets, and loves messing with the straps of her bralettes, pulling them off her shoulders just to fluster her.

Soarynn is really just a doll for him to play with if he's being honest.

A doll that has yet to give him a child, something he's painfully reminded of when Petunia lets out another cry. He had hoped that by gifting her Petunia, that it would draw out some maternal instincts from Soarynn and easily welcome a child into her womb.

Looks like he's been played for a fool.

"Go sit on the bed and strip," he orders, pulling away from the kiss. Soarynn is breathless and swaying on her feet, barely nodding before she stumbles towards their bed. He's going to have to be consistent in trying for a child, for a boy more specifically. Quintus has been nagging him about producing a child more and more and the last thing he needs is for any of his advisors to sink their claws into Soarynn.

He knows her well enough to know that the idea of getting pregnant is a stressful, scary idea. He'll have to be smart in how he approaches this topic, sweet yet stern. She's bound to be much more willing to partake in sex every night if he lays on the charm.

He tugs on his tie, loosening it while thinking of how to approach her with this idea, he could outright demand it from her, as it would be his right as her husband.

But that will only end in tears and nerves.

After the greenhouse, she's been much more obedient, more willing to please and he can't let that momentum die out.

He looks at her sitting in the middle of their large bed. She looks so small, so young and vulnerable. She really does bring out the worst in him. He throws his tie on the ground and begins unbuttoning his dress shirt, he'll fuck her from behind tonight, his favorite position.

He loves fucking Soarynn hard and deep, listening to her cries and her moans while he makes her take it over and over again.

"I've been thinking," he finally says, undoing the last button, "we ought to start trying for a baby don't you think?"

Soarynn blinks up at him, confused and hesitant to answer his question, she fiddles with her fingers and he walks over to their bed, stopping at the foot of it. "Well, darling, what do you think?" He asks again, tapping his foot, "I...I think you know what's best for us," Soarynn answers, her tone soft and trained to tell him exactly what he wants to hear.

He grins, beckoning her to the edge of the bed with his finger and she crawls over to him, so innocent yet seductive and she doesn't even know it. She rests on her knees, looking up at him so eager to please him, to say and do the right things.

"It would make me so happy," he tells her, using his hands to hold her small face, "so proud if you were to carry my heir." He can see how his words affect her, how his promises of pride and happiness will lead to her doing everything she can to get pregnant for him. Soarynn is easy to manipulate now that he's learned what makes her tick.

She's pitifully desperate for acknowledgment, for praise, and attention even if she often shies away from it. If he gives her the smallest taste, then she'll bend over backward for him.

"Okay," she whispers, her lips curl up into a small smile, "I can do that."

Coriolanus leans down and kisses her forehead, so sweet and caring, such a doting husband. If he plays his cards right and keeps up this act, she'll be pregnant in no time.

"Let's start trying tonight then," he suggests, making it sound like a fun game, "who knows how long this process will take." Because he's so selfless, so willing to serve his country, Coriolanus is willing to take more time out of his busy day to fuck his pretty little wife. Maybe he'll start fucking her in the morning too and during lunch.

He wants to see her cunt constantly dripping with his cum, clear, willing property of Coriolanus Snow.

It's all a game to him and Soarynn is the prettiest token he's ever used.

꧁ ꧂

After several orgasms and a bath, Coriolanus listens to the soft sounds of Soarynn breathing.

Right before they fall asleep after having sex might be the most honest and vulnerable he is with her, petting her hair, applying lotion to any sore spots, cleaning her up head to toe.

He might not be a good, loving husband but he's not negligent. He can't have people seeing his wife walking around with bruises and matted hair.

She's pressed against his chest right now, curled up under the covers, already fast asleep. He fucked her so hard tonight, so determined to get a baby out of this encounter. It'll take a few days before she can take a test but he can wait, be patient.

He reaches over to his bedside table and turns off the lamp, encasing them in darkness. Aside from Soarynn's breathing, he doesn't hear a sound, not even from a noisy cat.

He smiles to himself.

Finally, a silent night.

| Part 2. | Final Part |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @strawberriicakes @wonderlandbound111 @kickmybark @villiansarehottest @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @melodyoflovee @erensrealgf |

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lvnchh · 1 day ago

Text

Burnt Edges

Abby Anderson x f!reader (with PTSD) 👉🏻original version 👈🏻 Wanted to make another version for my Abby girls so y'all can feel represented too 🫶🏻

I'm a minor and if you want to complain or insult me about it, just don't interact🙏🏻. It's my life, and I'm free to write whatever I want as long as I'm not bothering anyone. Also, please don't judge any grammar mistakes, as English is not my native language. I'm sorry if the whole story isn't that good.

TW: I have PTSD (DIAGNOSED), and what you're about to read is based on my personal experiences. Writing about it is a form of therapy for me. If you are sensitive to topics like violence and domestic violence, please do not continue reading. Thank you🙏🏻

Btw I need more Abby x PTSD reader stories because I want to feel less alone and represented

story below the cut

The WLF base was bustling as usual, soldiers moving in every direction with purpose. It was organized chaos, but the rhythm of it kept your mind just busy enough to not wander too far. You had been here for weeks now, a stray who Abby had somehow decided was worth keeping around. She didn’t talk much about why—just said you seemed “useful” and left it at that.

But tonight, after the day’s drills and patrols, you needed air. The weight in your chest had been building all day, the familiar tightness creeping in. The base was too loud, too crowded, too much like the chaos you used to live in. You found yourself climbing to the roof, the one place no one ever seemed to go.

When the door creaked open behind you, you sighed. So much for solitude.

“Figured I’d find you up here,” Abby said, her voice steady but not unkind.

You turned, finding her leaning casually against the doorway. Her braid hung over her shoulder, and her broad frame filled the space effortlessly. Abby was intimidating at first glance—hell, even second and third glance—but there was something about her that made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t in a long time.

“What gave me away?” you asked, forcing a weak smile as you lit your cigarette.

Abby stepped onto the roof and shrugged. “You disappear when you’re overwhelmed. You’re not as sneaky as you think.”

Her bluntness was typical, but it wasn’t cruel. If anything, it was grounding. She moved to sit beside you, her heavy boots thudding against the concrete as she stretched her legs out.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the distant hum of the base fading into the background. Abby wasn’t much for small talk, and you appreciated that.

“You smoke a lot for someone who can barely keep up on a run,” she teased eventually, smirking as she glanced at you.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Yeah, well… cardio’s overrated.”

“Not when you’re being chased by infected.”

“Fair point.”

Another silence settled, and you found yourself exhaling a plume of smoke, watching it dissipate into the night. You could feel Abby’s eyes on you, her curiosity barely masked. She wasn’t the kind to pry, but she wasn’t one to let something slide if she thought it mattered.

“You’ve been… off today,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter than usual.

You stiffened, gripping the cigarette between your fingers. “What do you mean?”

Abby shrugged, leaning back on her hands. “You didn’t even flinch when Manny cracked a joke at you earlier. Usually, you’d at least roll your eyes. Something’s eating at you.”

You hesitated, the weight in your chest growing heavier. Abby wasn’t wrong, but the idea of saying it out loud felt suffocating. Still, the look she gave you—patient, steady—made you feel like maybe you could.

“It’s… nothing,” you muttered at first, then winced at her unimpressed scoff. “Okay, fine. It’s not nothing. It’s just—this place. The noise, the shouting, the slamming doors. It reminds me of… home.”

Abby tilted her head, her brows knitting slightly. “Home?”

You took another drag of your cigarette, the smoke burning your throat. “My dad. let’s just say he wasn’t exactly Father of the Year material. Yelling was the least of it.”

You didn’t elaborate, but Abby’s sharp eyes softened, her expression shifting from curiosity to something that looked like understanding.

“Shit,” she muttered, leaning forward. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, flicking the ash off your cigarette, “it’s not exactly something I put on my résumé.”

Abby huffed a laugh at that, but it was soft, almost careful. She leaned back again, her gaze fixed on the skyline. “That why you’re always so jumpy?”

You nodded, not bothering to deny it. “PTSD’s a hell of a ride.”

She was quiet for a moment, the tension between you settling into something heavier but not unwelcome. “I can’t even imagine what that’s like,” she said finally, her voice low. “But… I get the needing space part. I didn’t grow up with that kind of shit, but since… since everything with my dad and the Fireflies, sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe when things get too loud.”

Her admission caught you off guard, and you turned to look at her. For all her strength, Abby carried a weight too. It was different from yours, but it was still there, etched into the set of her jaw and the faint lines around her eyes.

“Well,” you said, smirking despite the heaviness in your chest, “guess we’re both a little screwed up.”

“Guess so,” Abby agreed, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

You took one last drag of your cigarette before stubbing it out against the concrete. Then, without thinking, you added, “What can I say? My PTSD made me hotter.”

Abby blinked, staring at you for a moment before bursting into a laugh—a real, genuine laugh that echoed into the night. It was rare to hear her laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but grin, feeling a little lighter just from the sound.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head as she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

“Yeah, but you love it,” you shot back, leaning back on your hands with a smug smile.

Abby rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her expression betrayed her. “Don’t push your luck, rookie.”

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ryolina · 2 days ago

Text

Wanna Be Yours

Pairing with Daemon Targaryen

Chapter 1. Arrived to Kings Landing

Sumarry: That day was a delightful day in Oldtown where Argent lived with her entire family, the Hightowers. She had packed all the necessary items when a raven was sent by The Hand that she would move to King's Landing with her older brother, who would participate in the tournament held by the king to celebrate the birth of his son. There, Argent finally met her sister and father after a long separation when Otto served as the hand of the king. There also stood Princess Rhaenyra, accompanying Alicent to welcome her older sister.

WC: 3k+

From the gap of the open window, the familiar morning sun penetrated inside. A private chamber belonging to the eldest daughter of the mighty Otto Hightower, a sweet little sister to Gwayne and a kind older sister to Alicent, her name is Argent Hightower. They grew up together in Oldtown and were friends with everyone who worked for their family. When morning came when they were still young, Alicent, who often woke up early, would run around the palace just to say good morning to her sister, then she would go learn about the etiquette of a lady and how to conduct herself as a Hightower.

The sweet girl, comfortably asleep, slowly stirred under the blanket that warded off the cold wind gradually enveloping the Old Town. She didn't know that something she had always been waiting for had finally arrived. Until finally, a knock was heard at the door of the chamber, Argent sighed softly, then informed that she was awake.

The servants who work for the Hightower family entered Argent's private chamber. At first, the girl thought it was just the morning routine like usual, but it turned out the number of servants entering was more than five. It seems like something special is going to happen today.

While rubbing her face to chase away the lingering drowsiness, Argent asked them, "Good morrow, what is happening with the number of servants here? Isn't Melisa and Anara enough to prepare my bath?"

"Sorry to disturb you, My Lady. This morning, a raven just arrived from King's Landing, and Lord Hobert has summoned you and Lord Gwayne to meet him," a servant replied.

Hearing that, the young lady who had just woken up immediately understood what might have happened. Pulling aside the blanket that was still on top of her, Argent finally got out of bed. Getting ready to welcome a pleasant morning while listening to the news coming from King's Landing. Maybe she will get some good news from her little sister who has been living there for a long time.

"Good morrrow, My Lady," Melisa opened the conversation as Argent rose from her bath. Inviting a sweet smile from the girl. "Yes, Melisa, it feels like just yesterday a raven from King's Landing brought my father and sister ther. It doesn't feel like 10 years have passed, does it? “

"Yes, My Lady."

Argent sat in front of her vanity. A large mirror adorned with gold showed her face on its surface. Her face looked slightly swollen, perhaps because she had eaten too many cakes with Lady Redwyne yesterday afternoon. "Melisa, what do you think of my little sister's now?"

"Lady Alicent must be growing into a beautiful young lady, just like your mother when she was young," Melisa replied to Argent's question. "She must be as beautiful as you, My Lady."

Argent rolled her smile wide enough for her white teeth to show. It always feels delightful to talk about the little girl who often runs around until their father gets exasperated. He said that was not something a lady would do. And Alicent would run again to Argent who was reading in the library or at the Citadel during her free time.

After getting ready, Argent finished it off by applying perfume. The delicate and sweet scent of roses, which was her mother's favorite. Argent greatly admires her gentle and loving mother. And her father is also gentle in his own way. She wonder what is he like now since it has been a long time since they last met.

Honestly, Argent almost always cries when she smells the very distinctive scent of roses that reminds her of her mother. She misses her so much, and everything got worse when Argent also had to part with her father and sister. But clearly, there was nothing she could do. As a knight sworn to serve the king, her father could not refuse when he received the order from King Viserys to become his Hand when he finally ascended the throne.

Since then, Argent began to visit the Citadel more frequently to read or simply walk to relieve fatigue after finishing her work helping her uncle manage Oldtown, hoping she would learn the lessons as the maesters did. However, gender prevented her from all those abilities.

After Otto's departure to King's Landing, the new Lord of House Hightower and the Lord of Oldtown were handed over to his brother, and he had time to advise him to let the two remaining children become familiar with all kinds of management. However, the one who should be the heir is Gwayne, who is Otto's eldest son. So, Argent helps in other areas she can manage, such as receiving letters or managing the household's income and expenses.

Argent met Gwayne at the entrance of the room mentioned by their uncle. They greeted each other and talked about a few things. "Good morrow, dear brother. You should clean yourself up before you head up here, don’t you think? That's not a neat appearance, is it?"

Gwayne followed the direction of his sister's gaze to the clothes he was wearing. There are some traces of dust on his clothes and a few scratches on his exposed arm. "I didn't have time, I was really into my sword when I was called. So just leave it be”

Argent shook her head upon hearing her brother's unpleasant response. "I wonder what Father would say if he saw you like this."

"Father isn't here."

"Yes, but maybe we will meet him soon."

"Hm, whatever."

Both of them ended the conversation, together pushing the heavy door. Inside, their uncle sat in a chair with a pile of unfinished work. Or more precisely, to be handed over to the sweet niece who is now standing in front of him.

"A pleasant day, my dear nephew and niece"

"A pleasant day, uncle," they both replied in unison.

"I just received a raven from my older brother. The message is very long about things that are not really related to you. Your father is asking you to prepare for King's Landing. Pack the necessary items because Argent will be staying there from now on and there is an invitation for Gwayne to participate in the tournament as a representative of Hightower." It was a long explanation that surprised both siblings. Not once had the idea crossed Argent mind or been imagined by her to stay longer in Kings Landing. It wasn't the first time she had been there, but living in King's Landing was a different story.

"Living in King’s Landing, Uncle? Are you serious, didn't you reread the letter from my father?"

Hobert sighed in annoyance. He then took a small letter from his brother to show to his niece. With quick steps, Argent walked forward to take the small scroll. She made sure to read it slowly, looking for any mistakes. However, she had read it five times, and it was a truth she did not want to admit. With a heavy heart, Argent gave up on that hope and returned to her place beside her brother.

"Are you okay, sister?" Gwayne asked a little. Maybe he is a bit worried about his sister.

Argent only nodded, but her face remained downcast. It wasn't because she had to go to King's Landing that made her truly sad, but because she would be parting with her brother for an unknown period. And she might never see her friends again after living in King's Landing. Clearly, her arrival was not just an invitation to live together, but as with the lady from large families, when the time comes and they are of marrying age, the real life will begin to be felt. Not under the protection of her family anymore, but her new family complete with a new name and title. Argent is very sure that she will be sold to the most honorable and wealthiest family in Westeros according to her father blessing. Considering that a tournament will be held, surely one of them will become her husband.

This is the true role that has indeed been assigned to her. Not as someone who will help her brother manage finances and everything else at Hightower, but rather as the family of her future husband. They say this is a sacred duty given to women, also a heavy burden that is a punishment from God. Giving birth to an heir is something Argent absolutely does not want to imagine, she tries hard to ignore it when they start talking about family unification through marriage when she was only ten and four.

They finally left there. They walked side by side without having any conversation, or more precisely, Argent ignored anything Gwayne said to her.

"Sister, are you really okay?"

Argent remained silent and continued walking. Her steps became faster as they finally exited the High Tower. Until Gwayne had to pull his sister's hand to make the girl really stop. "Sister."

There, he saw something he hadn't seen in a long time. Tears flowing slowly, a sad face after hearing news that should have sounded pleasant. Gwayne couldn't bear to see her, he wasn't pleased to see those tears streaming down. Gently, he pulled the girl into his embrace. The symbolism that he will always protect Argent wherever his sister is. A lie that will always be spoken to lighten the burden carried by her little sister.

Her cries did not harden, but her trembling body still made her older brother's heart slowly crack. "Calm down Argent, you might just be overthinking." He said softly, Gwayne stroked his sister's long hair and gently patted her back. Hoping that it could provide her with a little comfort like when they were still children.

However, Argent certainly knew that they were no longer children. She wouldn't fall for that obvious lie again this time. She was so used to hearing it that she could no longer feel the sincerity. Sad and a little angry, but what dominates the most is the annoyance of feeling all of it. She should be happy because she can meet her sister again after such a long time. Argent should be happy to come to King's Landing, which is full of historical stories about the conquest of Westeros by Aegon Targaryen and his two sisters. With that thought, Argent tried hard to stop her tears. She let sadness overshadow the happy news to gain knowledge, to meet her lovely sister.

A single sob finally ended it, Argent released herself from her brother's embrace. She tried to smile amidst her messy sad face. A funny expression full of forced effort, Gwayne couldn't help but chuckle softly. "You are so funny, sister."

Argent hit her older brother lightly, she was not happy to become the joke again. "Shut up, I don't want to talk to you anymore." Then she ran away from there towards the palace.

Gwayne, seeing that, laughed even harder. They are indeed only two years apart, but he couldn't help but feel fond of his now grown-up little sister. For him, Argent is still that cute little baby with big cheeks who always captivates her eyes when she laughs. "Argent, wait for me."

"No no no!!! Don't follow me, idiot."

+++

The preparations for the move were completed two days after the call message arrived. Argent was no longer sad or angry, her heart was enveloped in happiness at the opportunity that had come. After this long journey, she will finally be reunited with her beloved family, and perhaps if God is kind enough, she might meet good people. Maybe a good husband.

The last box has been loaded into the carriage they will use to go to King's Landing. There are quite a few people, carriages, and horses that will be coming there. Some of those who are very familiar to Argent are her uncle and aunt, as well as their children who also have their own carriage. While Argent was alone in her carriage because Gwayne would follow behind on horseback. As a knight, he would not tarnish his oath by indulging himself and going by carriage.

Argent gave a farewell to her servants, who clearly could not join her because they worked for the Hightower family, not for her personally. That was one of several sad farewells. Even though they remained on the same island, their roles as servant and mistress were not conditions that allowed them to meet often. Not because Argent looked down on them due to their status, but the limitations of various things made the meetings impossible. The servants clearly have their own duties and they are accountable to the master and mistress of the house who pay them, not Argent.

Argent hugged Melisa and Anara for the last time. "Goodbye, may God be kind enough to give me the chance to meet you both again in the future."

Melisa sobbed, she certainly did not want to part with the kind and understanding lady. "I hope you find comfort in King's Landing, My Lady. I hope you find all the goodness you deserve."

"Thank you, Melisa."

"Are you really unable to take me, My Lady?" The younger Anara was quite deeply bound to Argent, whom she knew. They met when Anara was two and ten and Argent was five and ten. For her age group, Anara felt that Argent would be a mother full of tenderness as she treated everyone equally to herself.

Argent stroked Anara's face once more, giving her a light kiss on the top of her head. "I really want to take you, Anara, but you will be much more grateful for the comfort in Oldtown compared to the horrors in King's Landing."

The crying grew louder as Argent turned to leave them. She left everything there, her affection and love for the people who had cared for her all this time. To the maesters, to the septas, and to her wet nurse. Maybe he really couldn't hug them one by one, but the outcome would definitely be worse. The result will surely be that Argent will look for any way to get back there. For sure, it has the potential to cause chaos for his father.

Gwayne waited for Argent at the front gate. He hugged her sister, who had been trying hard not to cry in front of everyone. "Good job, dear sister."

Only a nod could be expressed because if she spoke, it would surely be interrupted by the tears that preceded it. Argent finally got into the carriage, waiting until the door closed to then cry sobbingly until she was gasping inside. Without anyone knowing. Without shame because no one will see it. Maybe what she has to face is just the swelling in her eyes, which will become the question of everyone when they set up camp.

The carriage began to shake as the conductor urged the horse pulling it forward. Slowly, the path stretched wider, leaving her home towards the dragon's lair, hoping not to be scorched when accidentally entering its territory.

The journey to King's Landing took much longer than expected. Argent did not know that the journey would be so exhausting, even for her who enjoyed the comfort inside the carriage. Apparently, it wasn't much better than the knights who accompanied them on horseback. She didn't even want to imagine how tired her brother must be sitting on a horse and helping with all the preparations when they finally had to camp at night.

So far, there hasn't been much Argent could do inside her carriage during the journey. She slightly regretted not borrowing enough books to entertain her during the journey. If only hes had stolen a few books, maybe she wouldn't be so bored just staring at the road and the forest they passed on the long journey to King's Landing far to the northwest. Perhaps the tale of Aegon's conquest would provide some comfort. Maybe the story of the Dooms of Valyria will provide her with some valuable lessons. Or maybe another fictional story could provide a light read among the heavy books that Argent brought.

Night came again for the umpteenth time, and they set up camp once more for the last time. From what Argent heard during their brief rest, they would arrive at King's Landing by noon at morrow. So she assumed that this would be her last night sleeping under the sky without the super grand roof that she had always known. Argent is creating a memory that she will remember if this is indeed the last time she will be with her brother before they finally arrive in King's Landing.

"Do you want to join me, Argent?" her brother greeted as Argent stepped out of the carriage.

Argent nodded, feeling a bit awkward because she had never joined the others. They are knights who are not very familiar to her. The awkwardness was so strong that it made her sibling chuckle softly. "Don't worry, little lady, your brother will keep watch here."

Argent's smile adorned her face upon hearing those words. "Oh, you paint a picture of a valiant knight, brother."

"I am indeed a valiant knight."

Instantly, the smile that had been there turned into a frown upon hearing those words. Replaced by a look of disgust from his sister. "Not very mighty, in my opinion," she said.

"Is that so? Who do you think is powerful then?" they walked towards the campfire not far from where the carriage had stopped. Around it, the knights sat enjoying their dinner.

"Among them?" Argent asked Gwayne while pointing at the knights accompanying the journey. And a nod was the only response Argent received from her brother. Shee took a light breath, "none at all."

"Wow, you're really bold."

"My standards are high, brother."

"But you are not that high, Sister."

"This is not about how tall I am."

"Yayayayaa."

+++

The long journey truly ended when the great Gate of the Gods stood before them. The procession then entered Kings Landing, which was crowded with the houses of the townspeople. From there, Argent opened the curtain and his brother rode beside her.

"Do you see that? They call it Aegon High Hill and above it is The Red Keep."

Argent nodded in understanding. "Not very red, for me."

"The name doesn't always reflect its form."

"OOoh"

Their pace slowed a bit because Argent wanted to take in everything around them, at least she hoped not to get lost when she wanted to go for a walk. "You don't plan to run around without a guard, do you?" That suspicious question only received a smile from his sister. "No, right?"

"What? You expect me to lock myself in my room? More than anyone, you know that I often travel in Oldtown too.”

"Yes, but we are not in Oldtown. Here, the game of thrones is played without you knowing how cruelly they play their roles. You can't really trust anyone else, sister. You must not trust them if you want to survive here. Did you hear me?"

"Hmm"

"Do you hear me?!"

"Yes, I understand."

Gwayne stopped talking for a moment before starting a new conversation. "Good, I hope you really take care of yourself because I won't always be there to protect you. And I truly believe that father is also busy with all his problems.”

"Hmm, do you think Alicent will cry when she sees us?"

"Impossible."

"But she cried when we parted, right?"

Gwayne smiled as he recalled that memory. "She is a fine noble lady, sister. She wouldn't cry even if one of us died in front of her.

"Wow, that's really pathetic, isn't it?"

"Hahaha, yeah, that's right."

In front of them, the grand castle, whose construction was started by Aegon and completed by Maegor, stood so tall. Very luxurious but not as large compared to Harranhal Castle in Riverrun. Inside, it is not very special but still captivating for anyone who is visiting for the first time. Until the train they were on stopped, Argent then got out from there, looking far ahead where her sister stood with sparkling, teary eyes. "She is about to cry," she said to Gwayne, who may or may not have heard her.

[tbc.....]

#daemon targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic #daemon targaryen smut #house of the dragon fanfic #daemon targaryen #asoiaf #fanfic #the rouge prince #love #alternate universe

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twiishaa · 3 days ago

Text

twisha’s merry christmas event! christmas morning with yuji itadori

yuji x fem!reader! it's yours and yuji's first christmas together. bless him, he's so excited to open up all the gifts and listen to christmas music!!

you knew yuji was an excitable person, much like a puppy. it was one of his many loveable qualities. it had been amplified by the quickly approaching christmas season lately. every day, yuji would find a different christmas activity for you two to try out. ice-skating, the christmas markets, winter wonderland, you name it! for yuji, christmas was a huge deal and being able to share it with you was what made him the happiest man in the world. what you didn’t expect, though, was him waking you up on christmas morning before the sun had even risen.

“babe, get up!” yuji said, in between a whine and a whisper, while violently shaking your shoulders. groggily, you opened your eyes and rolled over to check the time.

“yuji, it’s barely past 7 am…” you replied, wincing from the bright light of your phone.

“but! I wrapped all your presents, and I can’t wait any longer for you to open them,” you giggled at his cuteness. it was difficult to say no to him.

“alright, alright, we’ll get to them soon,” you said, smiling, “but maybe just half an hour more? then I promise we’ll open the gifts.” engulfing your boyfriend in a hug, you pulled him down net to you on the bed.

yuji melted into your touch, shifting into a more comfortable position.

“on second thought? maybe we should stay like this for a bit longer. the gifts can wait,” yuji sighed, contently.

—

it was yours and yuji’s first christmas as a couple. because of that, yuji had gone all out. when you two finally went downstairs, you were greeted by a plethora of presents, all slightly messily wrapped, causing yuji to smile sheepishly. “I was too tired to wrap them neatly,” he said; but still your heart felt full of how much love yuji had put into everything.

dating yuji made you feel like a child again. you were sure, without him, you wouldn’t be rushing to sit on the floor near the christmas tree and rip open badly wrapped gifts. in the background, yuji had put on christmas music, but you were sure you had heard the bridge of all I want for christmas is you more than a sane amount of times.

“yuji, can’t we put on something else now? im sure you’ve heard this enough!” you said, the last part turning into laughter.

instead of changing it, he flashed a bright smile at you and picked up another gift.

“oh, I see what’s going on,” you taunted, going to grab your phone, from which the music was playing.

“oh- no you don’t!” yuji quickly snatched the phone and started running.

chasing after him, you yelled, “come on! anything else! even like, last christmas or something!”

after the turn to enter the bedroom, you gained speed on yuji, and tackled him onto the bed, finally getting your phone from his grasp.

“got you!” you screamed.

you in fact, had not gotten him, just the santa hat he had been wearing all day, causing him to burst into laughter in your face. soon after, you joined in too, descending into a fit of giggles.

lacking the energy to get up, you collapsed onto him. yuji tenderly put his arms around your waist, encapsulating you in a hug.

“merry christmas baby,” he whispered. you rested your head on his chest.

“merry christmas.”

the year after that, all I want for christmas is you was your top song on spotify wrapped. it was banned in the house.

taglist @kcch-ns @hearts4hansol @d0milol

⋆⁺₊❅ and lastly, here's a link to the taglists! merry christmas~‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡

#twisha’s merry christmas event!#yuji x reader #yuji itadori x reader #itadori x reader #jjk itadori #jujutsu yuji #jjk yuji

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literally-in-too-many-fandoms · 3 days ago

Text

scattered dreams like a far-off legacy

Underneath the cable-cars and the dreary fog sky, the city of Scala ad Caelum ruminates on their enigmatic Founder, Ephemer, and gets some things right and some things wrong. Regardless of their veracity, the Founder's legacy is undeniable to the whole world.

A collection of snippets about the statue of Ephemer in Scala ad Caelum, somewhere during Missing Link-era. . written for Ephemer Week 2024 Day 6 - Prophecy / Legacy

....

The Central Fountain Square of Scala ad Caelum was rather inappropriately named.

For one, it wasn’t even in the center of the mountain. The great castle and windmill from which the interconnected cable cars descended was the true center of the mountain. The Central Square was slightly downhill to the west of the Stairway to the Sky, and didn’t see quite the same foot traffic as the Breezy Quarter which lay just to the south.

Second, it wasn’t even square. Maybe it had been planned that way—the loose diamond shape of the fountain in the middle meant to be echoed by four sides of buildings around it—but the city’s expansion had made it more of an amorphous rectangle with a rounded side where the open-air café seating extended the cobblestone into a wider path.

And while, yes, there was a fountain in the Central Fountain Square, that was not the landmark people really referenced. There were many nice fountains in Scala, many bigger and cleaner than this one.

What the Central Fountain Square did have was the statue of the Founder.

This fact alone was enough of a draw that the Central Fountain Square was desirable real estate. A hustle and bustle predominated during the day, a common meeting place for workers and families and students of the Master would find themselves. While much of the city was overcast, a certain amount of sunlight was usually brave enough to join the crowds in the Central Fountain Square, casting the otherwise dull gray statue in a striking, almost cheerful light.

The statue itself was fairly detailed, even the wrinkles in his clothing visible to passersby at the statue’s feet. Most striking was the blocky Keyblade he raised above his head, face uplifted to gaze beyond it.

Artists would describe his expression in any number of ways, and none of them were entirely wrong. One could point to his smile and claim he was a happy figure, and it was true that his slight grin was sweet and gentle from every angle. Another argued he was confident, with his lofty gaze and striking pose, off hand beside his hip, and it was true that he looked at some unseen distance with such conviction you wanted to look up and see if you could find it yourself. A third said the statue looked melancholy, a lone figure standing against the fog, and it was true that the light of the city built by his own hands was the only ally he seemed to have in whatever fight he waged.

Whatever it was you wanted to see in the Founder’s expression, you could find it. Comfort on a hard day. Inspiration when the going got rough. Reminder of past success when future plans came tumbling down.

He was an enigma, a fond landmark, a beloved historical figure. He was a figurehead, often overlooked by those chasing the next cable car, brushed off by the more suspicious and rebellious, overhyped by the current founders.

***

As with any landmark, any historical figure commemorated, the Founder was subject to being the topic of conversation more often than not.

From the learned historians ruminating on the impact of the Founder on their world to passersby reciting dimly remembered facts from stories and myth or their own school days, everyone seemed to have something to say.

Certain historians continued the argument of whether his name was “Ephemera” or the more widely accepted “Ephemer”.

Writings from the founding of Scala were carefully preserved, and the Founder clearly had taken pains to keep record keeping as a priority, but records on his own past were slim.

“The early days were too busy to bother with a comprehensive history,” one scholar would say.

“He was so careful to record census data and prophecy alike, why would he neglect his own story?!” another argued.

“It is as though he appeared from nowhere, already equipped to lead Scala to its Founding,” yet another mused.

“From whence would he have come?” was a question they would never know, records of the time before and the worlds apart were scarcer even than their own history.

***

The children had their own arguments, less formal but no less heated. The Founder’s fountain was the “safe” area for their games of tag, and many youths dared each other to wade into the pool and see if they could climb the statue; quickly retrieved or told off by nearby parents, but the Founder’s gentle smile was only an encouragement to their interest in him.

“Was the Founder really that tall?” the youngest asked.

“Of course not! He was normal sized” rebuked their sister.

“But look at his keyblade,” the middle sibling protested, “it's almost as tall as him! He musta been short!”

“Maybe he was just a kid like the apprentices,” suggested another youth, flopped in the shade of the statue to recover from a fierce bout of tag.

“Founder was a growed up!” said the sister. “He was a Master, wasn't he? All the Masters at the castle are super old.”

“I saw a picture of him in the library,” the middle sibling reported. “His hair’s all white. Gotta be an old guy.”

“Silver is different from white!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yeah-huh!”

The Founder’s expression did not change from its gentle smile as the statue watched them devolve into a wrestling match.

***

To passersby, the Founder watched over their path, a notable landmark for those likely to get lost in the winding streets. Those who sat and rested in its domain would silently thank the statue and fountain for providing a respite on busy days, the hustle and hustle of the city and even the dinging of the cable cars overhead seeming faded and faraway in the Founder’s restful presence.

The nearby cafe had hosted many of its own varied discussions of the statue. Whether a conversation starter on first dates, an idle comment by bored students, or a thoughtful reflection of the landmark by grateful denizens.

“Ok, everyone vote,” said one group of friends one day. “Smash or pass?”

“On the Founder?!?” her friend sputtered, blushing.

“He's so handsome,” she replied. The bright sunlight emphasized the curves of his face, and she gazed dreamily up at the unmoving stone effigy.

“Nah, pass,” said the third. “That smile’s too enigmatic. Is he actually happy? Or just putting on a facade?”

“He looks nice enough,” said the blushing one, timidly. “I bet he was kind.”

***

“Doesn't he look lonely?” asked one friend of another. “Founding the city couldn't have been easy. I hope he had some friends.”

“Leading isn't that hard,” the other replied, having been passed up for a promotion the previous week. “I bet I could've done his job.”

“Still, we could all use friends sometimes,” protested the other. “And if you're in charge, you've gotta balance friendship with responsibility.”

***

A romantic couple nearby overheard their conversation and turned to their own musing. “Responsible, huh? Think he did the dishes on time?”

“Oh, come on, I said I was sorry!”

“We should follow his example,” the first said, smarmy. “And care for our partners by listening when they ask us to do chores.”

“It was one time–”

***

“I heard he's the one who thought of the cable cars to connect the mountains,” one café visitor muttered, as though a conspiracy. They were on their third cup of coffee and wired energy turned them in turns manic and earnest.

“Scala didn't have cable cars for a while after the city’s founding though,” the other replied.

“It was his vision,” the first insisted. “He knew exactly how amazing the city would be from the start.”

“What, like some prophecy? He could see the future?”

“Maybe not himself, but I bet he knew what was going to happen.”

“You're making all this up.”

“No, really! They say that's why he's looking up, past his Keyblade. He's got his sights set on the dream of what Scala ad Caelum would be.”

“A dream, huh?” the friend replied, bemused expression turning to something a bit wistful. “...I bet it was some heavy responsibility to carry that dream."

"Maybe it was. …But look at how he's standing. Looks like he thought it was bright enough to be worth the weight.”

***

The Central Fountain Square was the most sought-after shift location on the roster of public services. While most trash-cleanup was not undertaken with any amount of cheer, the pairs of workers who swept the square and attended to the lamps each evening unanimously agreed this was the nicest part of the mountain to clean.

“All the other statues get bird crap all over them,” one complained. “Not the Founder. The seagulls don't respect anything except him.”

“I think they're just scared off easier by all the foot traffic,” his compatriot said.

“Come on, you don't think the Founder had magic to scare off birds from his statue? He was the smartest of them all!”

“I heard he didn't even want he statue in the first place,” the other argued. “My ma always used to say they built the statue when he was too old and tired to stop them.”

“Nobody's that humble,” the first said. “Who wouldn't want a giant statue commemorating them in the middle of the city?”

“The Founder didn't do the whole thing himself, dumbass. Sure, he was the leader but there were others who helped him out. Maybe he didn't want to take all the credit.”

***

The lanterns which formed the ring around the Central Fountain Square always lit easiest, the fog almost hesitant to blanket the Founder’s direct domain as heavily as it bracketed the rest of the city.

When the rest of the roads grew dark and foreboding, the stars far away, the Central Fountain Square was a safe haven.

Students out too late at the nearby library always detoured by the Founder, where the lights were brighter, and threw some Munny at his feet in hopes for help studying for the next tests. Workers with overnight shifts would tilt their hats to him, in greeting, in farewell, in commiseration of a dark and cold night. Those with more nefarious plans avoided the Central square, convinced the Founder’s eyes sought them out with an accusing glare, his grin turned sharp and warning.

And every morning, the dawn would rise over the city, and hit the face of the Founder’s statue first. The statue looked most at peace with the pale light of daybreak illuminating him, cold stone lit to look more like silver, his smile tinged melancholic, something nonetheless hopeful.

Whatever he seemed to see in the sunrise must have been nice. He smiled to see it each time, no matter how dark the night before had been.

~fin~

......

shout-out to @ thetwilightroadtonightfall for organizing this event! check out the tag ephemerweek2024 for more delightful ephemer content

this is technically late but at this rate my submission for tomorrow will also be late, i am blaming the holiday and not my poor time management skills

just to clarify. this fic is meant to be snippets of conversations and beliefs about Ephemer by the modern denizens of Scala, who do not know the whole story and definitely got it wrong in many places.

missing link is not out yet and if any of this is later contradicted/is already contradicted by the beta from earlier this year, don't @ me, i am not trying to be super canon with this. just havin fun :)

i miss the dandelions :(

thanks for reading! happy holidays! and happy birthday ephemer!!

also see this on Ao3, will reblog tomorrow with the ao3 link

#ephemerweek2024 #the blogger writes #fic #my fic #KH #KHML #KHUX #kingdom hearts unchained #kingdom hearts missing link #kh ephemer

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