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nanamineedstherapy · 1 month ago

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Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceres CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage. Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Betrayal, Polyamory Gone Wrong: Toxic Relationships, Emotional Abuse, Pregnancy Body Horror, Gaslighting, Infidelity, Isolation, Unhealthy Relationships. Previous Chapter 1: Home Is Just a Place You Leave (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 2: Collateral Void

The night air felt cool, brushing softly against your skin as you sat at the dining table, fingers flying across the laptop keyboard. The faint glow of the screen illuminated your focused expression, but the peace was short-lived.

“Boring! Though what kind of work is it? Can I help?” Gojo drawled dramatically, suddenly appearing behind you. Before you could react, his long fingers darted over the keyboard. “What’s this? Spreadsheets? Bleh. Delete. Delete. Delete.”

“Satoru!” You shrieked, smacking his hands away as he howled with laughter, stumbling back like a kid who’d just set off fireworks in a schoolyard. “This is quarterly projections; it’s a highly important document people worked hard on!”

“Oh, come on, you’re working too hard,” he teased, leaning down with his hands on the back of your chair. “Work-life balance, baby. You need more Gojo in your life.”

“I need less Gojo in my life,” you muttered, shoving him off.

The bedroom door slammed open with enough force to rattle the walls. Nanami stormed in like a man possessed, holding up a fractured piece of pottery that looked both ancient and priceless. You recognized it immediately—the Kintsugi Haniwa, a beautifully restored clay figure you’d given him years ago, a piece Nanami revered as a testament to tradition and resilience.

“Satoru!” Nanami said through gritted teeth, his voice low and vibrating with barely restrained rage. “Care to explain why I found this”—he held the artifact higher for emphasis—“chucked under the bedside table?”

Gojo froze mid-smirk, his expression slipping for the first time. “Oh. That—that’s weird. Who would—?”

“You broke it and hid it there!” Nanami growled, keeping the artifact aside, the accusation dripping with certainty.

“Hid is such a strong word,” Gojo replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I simply relocated it.”

“To the floor?” Nanami darted towards Gojo, voice raising with each word, veins practically bulging at his temple.

Gojo sidestepped next to you, standing you up and using you as a human shield. “Look, Nanamin, accidents happen! Why don’t we focus on forgiveness instead of anger?”

The three of you were circling the dining table like children playing a game of tag—except one of those children was trying to commit murder. Gojo kept darting behind you for cover, his grin only widening as Nanami’s rage escalated.

Nanami’s glare sharpened, his voice dropping into a dangerously calm monotone. “First, it was the trimmers. Now this.”

Gojo perked up, suddenly smug. “How do you even know it was me? Maybe she used your trimmer.” He pointed a long, accusatory finger at you.

You stared at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. “Are you serious?!”

Nanami didn’t even glance your way; his focus stayed zeroed in on Gojo. “Because you are the only one with grandma hair.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest like Nanami had physically stabbed him. “Grandma hair?!”

“It’s white, isn’t it?” Nanami said flatly, unbothered, still trying to grab him.

“Excuse you,” Gojo sputtered, sidestepping Nanami and pointing wildly at his own head. “This is platinum perfection. It’s fashion-forward. It’s—it’s a statement.”

“It’s hereditary decay,” Nanami shot back, not giving up the chase.

You snorted, unable to hold back the laughter as Gojo gaped at both of you in utter betrayal, holding you close to his chest by your waist, trying to block Nanami. “You’re both ganging up on me. This is domestic abuse!”

Nanami’s scowl deepened. “Don't change the topic, Satoru!”

Gojo shrugged innocently. “Hey, at least I cleaned it.”

Nanami’s nostrils flared. “Cleaned it?”

Gojo’s grin turned nervous as he added, “Well, you look mad, so I guess not entirely...”

Nanami lunged forward. “You left all your hair on it! What do you even use my trimmers to trim, because you sure as hell can’t grow facial hair, you manchild!”

“You know what I shave!” Gojo called back, then squealed in delight and bolted, dragging you along.

You froze mid-breath, horror washing over you as the implication hit. “Gojo, do you have a death wish?!”

Nanami’s jaw tightened, his eye practically twitching with it as his seething glare intensified. “You shaved your fucking balls with my facial trimmers?!!” He spoke low, advancing like a storm cloud as Gojo circled the table, “Then had the audacity to leave it dirty with your… your gross hair for me to find! Like you are a cat offering me dead animal!?!!”

Gojo darted as Nanami chased him with murder in his eyes. The three of you continued circling the dining table in a chaotic frenzy, Gojo skidding across the floor in his socks, cackling like a lunatic.

“We have exchanged so many bodily fluids, and this is where you draw the line?” Gojo mocked, ducking under Nanami’s arm.

“Disgusting!” Nanami barked, seething as he pointed an accusing finger at Gojo. “I swear to God, Satoru, you are the bane of my existence!”

“But you love me,” Gojo teased, skidding to a stop so suddenly that you stumbled into Nanami. Nanami caught you easily, steadying you with one hand, but nearly crashed into Gojo, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Apologize!” You shouted, stepping between them before Nanami could strangle him.

Gojo huffed dramatically, tossing his head to the side like a diva. “Fine, fine. I’m sorry, Nanamin. Truce?”

Nanami grumbled under his breath, clearly unsatisfied. But before he could say anything else, Gojo grabbed his face, leaned in and kissed him square on the mouth.

Nanami’s entire body froze, his eyes going wide.

“There,” Gojo said smugly, pulling back with a grin. “Divorce dodged! Yay!”

You stared at them, caught between amusement and disbelief. It felt perfect—so perfect you almost wanted to cry. The laughter, the banter, the way they made you feel seen and cared for. You soaked in the moment, memorizing every detail—Gojo’s messy white hair, Nanami’s steadying touch, the golden light filtering through the lamps, casting everything in a soft, warm glow.

“Go ahead, ignore me,” you said jokingly, crossing your arms. “I’m clearly the third wheel here.”

Except they did.

The lights flickered.

Your smile faltered as you blinked, realizing they weren’t paying attention to you anymore. Gojo had grabbed Nanami again, pulling him closer. Their voices dropped into hushed murmurs, unintelligible and distant. You opened your mouth to say something, but they didn’t respond. They were kissing again. Fully.

And they were across the table now, far away—too far.

“Guys?” you said, laughing nervously. But the sound was thin, swallowed by the sudden heaviness in the room.

Gojo’s face blurred at the edges, his features smeared like wet paint dragged by careless fingers. Nanami’s figure was rigid, his face unreadable as shadows pooled at his feet, darker than they should have been. The air shifted—heavy, oppressive—pressing against your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake.

“Hello?” You tried again, louder this time. Your voice cracked slightly.

Nothing.

They didn’t turn toward you, didn’t even flinch. They were consumed with each other, as though you weren’t even there. The shadows stretched further now, creeping into the corners of the room like black ink spilling across the floor.

“Stop it,” you said, your tone sharper, though a pit began to form in your stomach. Their forms were blurring further, warping. The golden light dimmed, turning sickly and cold. The dining room, once warm and filled with laughter, twisted into something unfamiliar—something wrong.

“You’ve been keeping secrets from us,” Nanami said, suddenly turning to you. His voice was hollow, devoid of the calm warmth it usually carried. The words sent a chill crawling up your spine.

“What?” Your gaze darted between them, your chest tightening. “What are you talking about?”

Gojo’s head snapped toward you with unnatural speed, his blindfold gone. His six eyes glowed horribly bright, the light of them reflecting like mirrors in the dark. His smile was gone, replaced by something jagged and cruel, something inhuman.

“You didn’t think we’d find out?” he said softly. There was no teasing in his tone, no charm—just an edge of menace. “About them?”

“Them?” you echoed, the word barely escaping your lips. Nanami stepped closer now, his movements slow, deliberate. His face was shrouded in shadow, his features obscured like they were melting into the dark.

“The twins,” Gojo said, the word cutting through the room like a blade.

Your breath hitched as Nanami advanced, the shadows around him crawling along the floor, reaching for you like grasping hands.

“You weren’t supposed to know,” you whispered, instinctively wrapping your arms around your stomach. Your pulse roared in your ears as the room tilted, the walls pressing inward, suffocating you.

“We have to take them,” Nanami said, still moving towards you, his voice distorted, as though it came from deep underwater.

Gojo smiled again, moving towards you, his grin splitting unnaturally wide, the corners of his mouth stretching just a little too far. “We can’t let them live. You know that, sweetheart.”

“No! They’re mine,” you choked out, stumbling backward, your arms tightening protectively around yourself. The table between you seemed to shrink, leaving you exposed as they advanced.

“You can’t keep them from us,” they said in unison, softly, the words curling through the air like smoke.

“Stop!” you screamed, but their forms warped, dark shapes spilling into the edges of your vision. The shadows surged forward, hands reaching—

You jolted awake in the chair with a sharp gasp, your body trembling violently as you shot upright. The room was dark again, save for the faint glow of a screen. Your breathing came in ragged bursts, your pulse thundering as you clutched your stomach, feeling the reassuring movements beneath your palms.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

The laptop sat open in front of you, the spreadsheet forgotten, the cursor blinking insistently in the silence. The apartment was quiet, but the echoes of their voices lingered, a whisper in the back of your mind—a threat you couldn’t shake.

The shadows felt darker now.

“They’re mine,” you whispered shakily, curling in on yourself. “They’re mine.”

Weeks had passed.

You had buried yourself in a new country with the same job because you couldn’t abandon the business you had painstakingly built alone, with your blood, sweat, and tears. It was all you had left of yourself—the last thing tethering you to who you used to be. You ensured no one could access your personal information, locking it away like a fortress. Still, you felt like a ghost, drifting through a life where no one knew your name, where no one could see the haunting memories that followed you.

Your days were a blur of meetings, phone calls, and paperwork. You let go of every luxury, stripped yourself down to the bare essentials—as if even the smallest indulgence might give them a clue, might allow them to trace you. Not that they would. Your days were spent in a tiny apartment that didn’t even feel like a home. The walls were too close, the air too still, and the silence stretched on like a second skin. It wasn’t a home. It was a box—cold, cramped, and indifferent—where you ate alone, worked alone, and slept in fits and starts, the hours fractured by dreams you couldn’t escape.

The nights were the hardest.

Alone in a foreign city, you lay twisted with pain, your body betraying you in ways you didn’t know were possible. Your skin felt stretched too thin, muscles aching like they were being pulled apart, reshaped against your will. The babies—their babies, no! your babies—grew inside you, alien things that contorted you from the inside out. Every sharp twinge of pain felt unnatural, every shift of movement a cruel reminder of what they had left behind. You couldn’t help but wonder if your body might rip open entirely, split down the seams. The changes weren’t normal. Your bones creaked and groaned under the weight of something you couldn’t understand, your body remaking itself to accommodate children who were never supposed to be here.

You worked through it. You worked through everything. The nausea that made your hands tremble. The exhaustion that dragged your eyelids shut. The cold sweat that drenched your skin as the babies pushed against you, growing and moving with a purpose that felt wrong. It was all wrong. But still, you sat hunched over documents and contracts, your vision blurring until your eyes burned, pushing through the pain until the lines of text no longer made sense. Anything to keep the memories at bay.

But they crept in anyway.

Gojo’s laughter. That unmistakable, infectious sound that could fill a room with light. It used to be enough to pull you out of your darkest thoughts, but now it echoed like a cruel reminder of what was lost. Nanami’s quiet, steady presence haunted you too—those rare moments when his stoic mask cracked, when the tenderness beneath the weight of his quiet sorrow slipped through. The fleeting seconds when everything had felt right, when you believed you were loved, when the world seemed like it could wait just a little longer.

Those moments were gone, but they still haunted you. They slipped through the cracks when you least expected it, invading the silence, invading the cold. The life you had left behind wouldn’t let you forget.

You had traded one form of isolation for another.

But at least this one was on your terms. At least now, you were alone because you chose to be. You weren’t the woman who had thrown everything away for them, not anymore. That woman was gone.

Your old phone, now completely untraceable, stayed on out of morbid curiosity. You didn’t know why. Maybe you wanted to see how long it would take for them to notice you were gone. If they ever would. Maybe they were happy you were out of the picture. Maybe your absence was a relief. You kept a new phone for work, clean and also untraceable, and refused to check their social media. You couldn’t bear to.

Back in Japan

It started with the ring.

The bedroom door slammed open just as the first pale rays of dawn broke across the sky. Gojo stumbled inside first, his uniform coat discarded in the living room next to Nanami’s coat, tie, and their shoes. His pale blue shirt completely untucked and unbuttoned, almost sliding off his shoulders, revealing his toned chest down to his navel. Nanami stumbled after him, his arm wrapped around Gojo’s waist from behind to steady him, his teeth leaving faint, red marks against the back of Gojo’s shoulder blade. Both of them swayed like ships lost at sea, unmoored and directionless. The unmistakable scent of alcohol clung to them—whiskey, gin and tequila, sharp and sour in the still air.

Gojo turned and pressed Nanami against the wall within seconds, his long fingers tangling into Nanami’s hair, lips dragging lazily along his jawline. Nanami’s face was flushed, and he was uncharacteristically pliant, unresisting. His hands drifted to Gojo’s hips, sliding lower, grounding himself through touch.

“Satoru,” Nanami muttered, his voice breathless, strained—a fleeting attempt at lucidity. “Do you know where she is?”

Gojo didn’t pause, his grin sharp against Nanami’s skin as he murmured, biting softly, “‘She’? Who’s she?”

Nanami’s hands tensed at his sides. “Our wife.” His voice broke slightly on the word. “You haven’t seen her?”

Gojo finally pulled back, crystalline eyes hazy and lidded, his blindfold dangling from Nanami’s wrist again like some forgotten relic. “Of course not. I thought you knew where she went.” His smirk faltered only slightly before he dragged and pushed Nanami backward toward the bed. “Don’t ruin the moment. She’s probably on a trip—working hard, being the boss lady we love.”

Nanami let himself fall onto the mattress with a bounce as Gojo straddled him, hands already wandering over his waist. Gojo pressed and rubbed their bulges together, punching a groan out of Nanami, who breathlessly stuttered as he tried to speak again, but Gojo kissed him roughly, stealing his words. It was messy, desperate—a distraction from something neither of them wanted to name. Still, the nagging thought clawed at Nanami’s mind, like a splinter he couldn’t ignore.

“She didn’t tell me,” he muttered, barely audible between gasps, his hands trying to still Gojo’s ass. “Where she was going.”

Gojo paused for half a second, then scoffed, rolling his hips once more as though to smother the thought. “You think she tells me everything? Haha, funny. She always tells you, though.” His words slurred slightly, dismissive.

“That’s not true.” Nanami said while the table beside them jolted as Gojo pushed Nanami further into the mattress, the sharp clink of metal against marble cutting through the room like gunshot.

Making Nanami still instantly.

“What was that?” His voice was low, tight. The haze of lust and alcohol shattered like glass.

Gojo blinked, lifting his head lazily. “Probably your sanity leaving the room,” he muttered.

Nanami ignored him, leaning to the side and shoving the bedside table back with his foot, earning a low scraping sound as it moved. Gojo groaned, trying to tug him back down as he continued assaulting Nanami’s neck and now his shoulders, which peeked through his half-unbuttoned and completely untucked shirt with bites, but Nanami’s focus was elsewhere. He leaned down further, and the room fell silent to him.

There, half-hidden in the dust and shadows, lay a small, glinting band of gold.

Nanami’s fingers shook as he picked it up. The ring cold against his skin, familiar and damning all at once. He stared at it like it might burn him.

It was her ring.

“Satoru,” Nanami said quietly, grabbing Gojo’s jaw with one hand—who had been too busy biting his shoulder to notice—and turned him to face it. His voice was fraying at the edges as he held up the ring, its gleam sharp in the weak dawn light. “What’s this doing here?”

Gojo stared at it for too long. The color drained from his face, the drunken nonchalance slipping further with every second. “She probably took it off,” he said finally, though his voice cracked. He forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “You know she gets eczema sometimes… itchy hands, right?”

The words hung in the air, hollow and pitiful. Gojo didn’t believe them any more than Nanami did.

Nanami shook his head slowly, his grip on the ring tightening as his knuckles turned white. “She always wears it when she’s on work trips,” he said, his voice hoarse, brittle. “She says it keeps creeps away.”

Gojo didn’t respond. He just stared, his wide eyes fixed on the small, damning band of gold as though it held all the answers to everything. Nanami didn’t wait for him. He shoved Gojo off and bolted from the room, his bare feet thudding against the floor as he grabbed his phone from his coat in the living room.

“Nanami, wait—” Gojo stumbled after him, still dazed, but Nanami was already swiping through his phone, his thumb moving in quick, frantic motions.

His heart sank.

Her last message to him—the last sign of her—was over six weeks ago.

Six weeks.

Six weeks, and he hadn’t noticed?

Gojo could have been an idiot, but he wasn’t, or so he had always thought.

The color drained from Gojo’s face as he stared at the screen while the realization spread through Nanami’s heart like poison. Without a word, Nanami reached over, his hand dipping into Gojo’s pants' front pocket to pull out his phone. Gojo let him, watching as Nanami unlocked it and scrolled through the messages.

The screen glowed with the same message. The same day. The last day they had heard from her. The day in the drawing room she had begged them to tell her if they loved her.

A chill settled into the room, sinking deep into their bones, heavy and unshakable. Nanami’s hand dropped to his side; the ring, along with the phones, slipped from his fingers and landed with a dull thud on the floor. The silence that followed was choking. Nanami turned to Gojo, his face blank, but his eyes were wide, wild with a horror he couldn’t contain.

Gojo stood frozen, his earlier bravado gone. He looked smaller somehow, his face pale and slack as the weight of what they’d done—what they’d lost—sank in.

“She’s gone,” Nanami whispered, the words barely audible, like a confession he couldn’t bear to say any louder.

“She’s not gone!” Gojo shot back immediately. He laughed—a hollow, desperate sound—as if the act of saying it would make it true. “As I said earlier, she’s probably just... just out. On a work trip. She’ll be back. She always comes back...”

But his voice trembled at the edges, and they both knew the truth now. The ring on the floor gleamed coldly, like evidence of everything they had destroyed—everything they couldn’t take back. Like a final goodbye neither of them had ever thought of.

The same night, after too many sleeping pills in your new home on the other side of the world, your vision blurred and your body felt like it was splitting apart; you opened your old phone to look at old pictures. After a few hours it buzzed, and against your better judgment, you looked.

Toru (DNR): “Where are you?”

The message sat there, glaring. Your heart dropped. Another followed seconds later.

Ken (DNR): “We messed up. We apologize. Please. Just tell us you’re okay.”

You threw the phone, your vision swimming in tears, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps. After more than six weeks of you leaving, more than six weeks of silence, after everything they had done, now they noticed? Now they cared?

It was too late. You had built walls around yourself now, high and impenetrable. The same walls you’d erected when you had realized, too late, that you weren’t loved—not the way you had been promised. They weren’t even the people you thought they were.

The city’s lights blinked outside your window, distant and indifferent, like the glow of a world that had moved on without you. Somewhere out there, they were searching for you, but you didn’t care anymore. You had traded the ghost of their love for the numbness of being alone in this foreign place.

Back in Japan

More days passed.

Their apartment remained frozen, a mausoleum of the life you had left behind. Your old laptop still sat neatly on your desk, untouched and gathering dust. The faint imprint of your body lingered on the couch cushions, as if you might walk in at any moment and collapse there, laughing about how long the work trip had been. But you never would. Not anymore.

Gojo filled the silence with noise. The television blared cartoons he wasn’t watching. Music thumped from his phone, but the songs ended too quickly, leaving the hollow quiet to seep back in like poison. He laughed too loud, talked too fast, his words tumbling out like he could outrun the ache blooming in his chest.

“She’s fine,” he’d say to no one. To Nanami. To himself. “She’s just being dramatic. She’ll come back when she’s ready, when her work is over. She always comes back...”

But at night, when Nanami wasn’t around, when the weight of it all pressed against him like an iron hand, Gojo sat in the dark, the only light spilling in through the half-open blinds. He would pull your favorite blanket off the back of the couch, holding it tightly to his chest. It used to smell like you—that soft, warm scent that made him feel like everything would be okay. It never actually did. He’d bury his face in the fabric anyway, clutching it so tightly his fingers ached, as if he could squeeze the memory of you out of it.

“Stupid blanket,” he whispered into the darkness, his voice cracking. “You were supposed to keep her here.”

The quiet answered him. It always did.

Nanami, on the other hand, threw himself into work. The apartment had become unbearable, the sight of your clothes hanging in the closet like a ghost driving him out into the cold. He buried himself in files, meetings and missions, anything to drown out the sound of your absence echoing through his skull. But no matter how hard he tried, you found him anyway.

It was in the middle of a crowded street crossing that he saw you. For a fleeting second, he froze, his breath catching painfully in his throat. A woman parked a convertible just ahead, her hair falling in the same way yours used to, her jacket a perfect match to the one you bought last winter. He pushed forward, shoving past commuters, his heart pounding like it might tear itself free from his chest.

“Honey,” he breathed when he reached her, only to stop dead when she turned. A stranger’s face stared back at him, startled and confused.

Nanami’s apology was soft, choked. He turned away quickly, gripping the strap of his grocery bag so tightly his knuckles blanched. His eyes burned, but he refused to let the tears fall.

Later, he found himself in your office, the door locked behind him, the room suffocatingly still. The desk was untouched, a fountain pen left on your favorite notebook where you had last placed it, its tip dried out. An old grocery list lay discarded by the mechanical keyboard. Nanami picked it up carefully, his thumb tracing over your handwriting, the curve of each letter searing into his mind.

Vitamins. Sticky Notes. Under-eye serum.

The list was mundane, ordinary, but his hands trembled as he held it. He could almost hear you muttering to yourself as you wrote it, pursing your lip in concentration. His vision blurred, and he sank into your desk chair, his free hand moving to his tie, removing it, then wrapping it around his knuckles, gripping it tightly. The silk bit into his fingers as he pulled, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The silence, the unbearable ache in his ribs—he tried to choke it all down, twisting the tie as though it could hold him together.

But it couldn’t.

He’d often do this now, lock himself in your home office, gripping his tie until his knuckles turned white, as if that could choke the guilt down.

Gojo found him there hours later, the list still crumpled in his hand, his head bowed as though in prayer. Neither of them spoke. Gojo didn’t laugh this time, didn’t tease. He just stood in the doorway, silent and pale, his eyes fixed on the man who had always been stronger than this—who now looked just as broken as Gojo felt.

One night, Nanami arrived home to find Gojo sitting on the floor, facing the wall, staring blankly ahead as though he could see through it. The light from the dim lamp cast faint shadows across his face, carving hollows beneath his eyes, which looked emptier than Nanami had ever seen them.

The silence in the room wrapping itself around Nanami’s throat as he shrugged off his coat. Gojo didn’t move, didn’t even blink, his hands limp in his lap, fingers twitching faintly as though they were searching for something to hold on to. Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse, hollow—a broken whisper that felt like it had been ripped from somewhere deep inside him.

“I… I shouldn’t have isolated her that day.” He didn’t look at Nanami, his gaze still fixed on some distant point beyond the wall. “When… I didn’t think about what it would do to her.”

Nanami froze mid-step, eyes sharp as they fell on Gojo. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the city outside. Nanami’s expression hardened, though his voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet, cold, cutting.

“You think I don’t know that?” His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. “I know, Gojo. I know exactly what we did to her. How we fucked up. How we forgot about her.”

The words hit Gojo, but he didn’t react. He just let them hang there, sinking into his chest like stones. His lips twitched, a ghost of a self-loathing smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Forgot about her…” he repeated softly.

Nanami didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His jaw tightened, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface, too raw to voice. He watched Gojo slump further, his knees drawing up slightly as though he were folding in on himself.

A few nights later, Gojo was sprawled on the couch with a drink in hand, the liquor doing little to numb the ache in his chest. He stared at the ceiling, thoughts racing, spiraling downward into a dark abyss.

“She’s not coming back, is she?” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips, but they landed heavily in the room, a painful truth.

Nanami didn’t answer, but the guilt in his eyes spoke volumes, a silent acknowledgment of their shared failure.

The memory of you haunted every inch of their apartment. Gojo saw you in the pillow he clutched to his chest at night, pretending it still carried your scent. Nanami heard you in the faint creak of the floorboards as he walked past your office, his hands brushing the edge of the desk you used to sit at. They never said your name. It hurt too much.

“We thought we were protecting her,” Nanami said, voice a quiet rasp as he stared at the empty wall Gojo had been fixated on.

Gojo’s lips twitched faintly, a bitter mockery of a smile. “We thought wrong.”

Neither of them slept at nights. Gojo lay on his side, staring at the window with red-rimmed eyes, while Nanami lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, wearing your ring on one finger—he kept rolling it with his thumb absentmindedly. The silence between them was absolute, filled with everything they had left unsaid.

It was the silence you had lived in for far too long.

They called. They texted. They waited. The apartment stayed quiet. Your things stayed untouched. And the void you left behind grew deeper with every passing day.

Five months into your pregnancy, you lay sprawled on the bathroom floor, your body slick with sweat, fingers clawing at the cold tiles for stability. You’d slipped and fallen, your phone nowhere in sight, the apartment eerily quiet except for the harshness of your breath.You didn’t know how long you’d been there—minutes, hours, days—time had lost all meaning. Your stomach roiled violently, muscles clenched in spasms so sharp they stole the air from your lungs. It felt as though your insides were being shredded, your bones splintering and grinding, like they were trying to rearrange themselves to accommodate the impossible.

A guttural gasp tore from your throat as another wave of pain ripped through you. You pressed a trembling palm to your abdomen, feeling the unnatural shift beneath your skin. The twins moved—twisted and writhed in a way no baby should, their forceful movements pressing outward like they were fighting to escape or fighting for space, too strong, too demanding. Your skin stretched tight, painfully taut, burning with the strain of holding them in. It felt like something alive and wrong, something too strong for your fragile human body.

The veins beneath your skin bulged out, an intricate web of blue and purple crisscrossing your stomach like angry rivers about to burst. Your abdomen swelled grotesquely, the skin shiny and thin, and for one terrifying moment, you thought it might tear open entirely. The bones in your hips creaked audibly under the weight, the sound a grotesque whisper that echoed through the silent bathroom. Your spine screamed with every slight shift, vertebrae grinding against each other as though your body was folding into itself, trying to protect you from the inevitable.

Tears slid down your cheeks, hot and bitter, though you barely registered them. It wasn’t just the pain—God, the pain—but the isolation that cut the deepest. You had never felt so utterly alone, so abandoned. Not just by the city you didn’t belong to, but by them. By the men who were supposed to love you. Who should have been here. Your breaths came in short, harsh bursts, the sound bouncing off the tiles, sharp and hollow.

“We don’t need them,” you whispered, your voice shaking as you pressed harder against your stomach, trying to soothe the frantic movements. Your words cracked, brittle and weak. “We don’t.”

But your heart betrayed you, aching in your chest like a wound torn open anew. You could still see them if you closed your eyes—Gojo’s infectious grin, his arms around you as though he could hold the whole world together. Nanami’s steady, grounding presence, his quiet strength that had once made you feel safe. Loved. You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to swallow the sob clawing its way up your throat.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that they weren’t here, that they had left you alone to bear this. To bear them. Yet, in the silence of that bathroom, the darkness swallowing you whole, you realized you were lying to yourself. You missed them. You missed them so much it hurt.

You blamed it on your hormones, soothing your stomach. It was a miracle you hadn’t fallen in a way that could have hurt the babies. Just then, the twins moved again, a violent lurch that left you gasping, your body arching involuntarily as another jolt of pain seared through you. The sharp pressure pushed against your ribs, a sensation like tiny hands and feet pressing outward, testing the limits of your body. Your skin rippled faintly, the bulge of their movements visible beneath the surface.

You shuddered, your tears mixing with sweat as they dripped down onto the tile. What are you? You wanted to scream, but the words wouldn’t come. The horror of it—the body horror of carrying something so unnatural, so wrong—settled like a stone in your chest. You weren’t sure you could take it anymore.

“Mama will take care of you both,” you whispered shakily, trying to soothe yourself as much as them. Your hand rubbed slow, shaky circles over your stomach. It was the only comfort you had left—this fragile, strange connection. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

And like always, the sensation of their movements softened at the sound of your voice. The pressure beneath your skin eased slightly, the frantic shifting slowing into restless, jerking flutters. It wasn’t much, but it gave you enough space to breathe, to push down the rising panic, to push forward. Your muscles trembled as you moved, dragging yourself toward the bathtub, one hand bracing against the toilet seat for balance. Your body protested, hips throbbing, spine sparking with pain, but you kept going.

“Just a little bit more movement,” you murmured to the twins, coaxing them as though they could hear you. “And Mama will be vertical again. Then we can have some dark chocolate… you know, the one you’ve been craving? The only one both Dadas used to love. We’ll watch…”

The words cut off abruptly as your foot slipped on the damp tile. You gasped, arms flailing, but your body betrayed you. The porcelain edge slamming into your head with a horrible thud.

For a moment, everything was soundless.

A hollow ringing filled your ears, the bathroom blurring around you as your vision dimmed at the edges. The pain in your skull throbbed in time with your heartbeat, sharp and unrelenting. You pressed your palms to your forehead, curling around yourself, trying to shield the twins from the impact.

“No, no, no,” you whimpered, your voice a cracked whisper.

The darkness pulled at you, threatening to drag you under, but you fought it, laying back down to press your forehead to the cold tile. Your breathing was ragged, uneven, your pulse hammering in your ears as you held onto the only thought that mattered.

They are okay.

Your hand pressed against your belly again, searching for the faint, familiar movements beneath your skin. For a horrifying moment, there was nothing. Then, faintly, you felt it—a small, restless flutter. Tears streamed down your cheeks, hot and silent, as you curled against the floor, the relief making your limbs weak.

“It’s okay,” you whispered brokenly, as much to yourself as to them. “It’s okay. Mama’s here. Mama’s okay. You will be okay.”

But even as you said it, the weight of everything—the pain, the isolation, the unnatural horror of what was happening to your body—threatened to swallow you whole.

“Hey! Are you okay?” A voice came from nowhere. Deep, rough, like it belonged to someone who had been waiting for this moment.

You froze, immediately clutching your stomach as the babies shifted again, their movements sharp and jarring. Had they found you already? How could they have known? How could anyone have known? You looked around, panic seizing your chest. The pain from your fall still burned, but the thought of someone being so close made your stomach churn. You clutched your belly tighter, trying to protect them, protect yourself.

“Hey, I know you can hear me. Do you need me to call an ambulance?” The voice was insistent, but there was something else there, a knowing edge to it that sent a chill crawling down your spine.

You noticed that the voice was coming from the wall next to the tub.

“Who’s it?” You managed to ask, gathering what little courage you had left, trying to steady your shaking voice.

“Your neighbor,” the man’s voice said, his tone low, almost a growl. “I’ve seen you around. I think you’re pregnant, right? With twins?”

You blinked, trying to process what he had just said. How could he possibly know that? Your heart skipped a beat. How much did he know?

“How’d you know it’s twins?” you asked, your voice tight, filled with suspicion. This man seemed too aware, too knowledgeable.

“I’m a sorcerer too, like the men’s children you carry,” the man continued, his voice a low rumble that seemed to reverberate in your bones. “Just the one who deserted the hopeless crusade. And well, my technique allows me to sense things like this, but you don’t have to worry about me. I don’t partake in that world anymore. Haven’t in a really long time.”

His words sank in slowly, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe him. His explanation was coherent, his tone calm, almost reassuring. You were too exhausted, too delirious with pain to think clearly. It made sense in your sleep-deprived and pain-addled state.

“I... I can’t go to the hospital,” you whispered, your throat raw. “Could you just help me up?”

There was a pause, a shift in the air. “I’ll help you,” the man said, his voice now excited, or maybe happy, like he was suddenly hyperactive. “But I’ll have to break the door down to get in. I’ll fix it after, with a stronger lock.”

“Sure, no issues.” Beggars couldn’t be choosers. You didn’t have the strength to protest. You were already lost in the fog of exhaustion, pain, and confusion. He was here. He would help you.

Soon the sound of splintering wood echoed through your apartment, followed by the dull thud of heavy footsteps. Each step reverberated like a low drumbeat, slow and deliberate, growing closer until they stopped just outside the bathroom door. The handle turned once, then creaked open with an eerie calm. You felt a chill run through you, something more than the cold air from the cracked window. It wasn’t just the wind that made your skin crawl. There was something wrong about this man, something dangerous. But in your haze, you couldn’t put your finger on it.

You couldn’t even see him at first—your vision swam from the pain, your body sprawled awkwardly on the cold tile floor. The sharp edge of the sink bit into your side as you tried to sit upright, your other trembling hand pressed protectively against your stomach. The air shifted, heavier somehow, like something massive had entered the room. You forced yourself to look up, squinting through the haze.

He stood in the doorway, tall enough that he seemed to block out the light spilling in from the hall. He had to duck slightly to clear the frame, stepping inside with a confidence that bordered on insolence, like he owned the place. He was broad-shouldered, his form looming and imposing, dressed in a loose hoodie that made him look even larger. His face was partially obscured by shadows, but you caught glimpses of sharp, angular features—a jawline carved from stone and eyes, predatory and unreadable.

“Hey, the fall looks nasty.” He said as he crouched slowly, knees bending with a shift of worn jeans fabric as he brought himself down to your level. The movement was unsettlingly fluid for someone so massive. Especially since he was still looming over you like a giant.

Up close, you could see him better—his face was unnervingly smooth for a man who carried himself like he’d lived through hell. His hair was short and faintly disheveled, like he hadn’t cared enough to fix it. You couldn’t tell if he was young or old.

“Your sorcerer's brats…I can feel it. They’re… restless, aren’t they?” He said matter-of-factly, his gaze drifting pointedly to your swollen abdomen.

The words sent a shiver crawling down your spine, and you became hyperaware that you were only in a flimsy nightgown as you protectively clutched your stomach. “How do you know that?” you managed to croak out, your voice trembling.

He shrugged one massive shoulder. “It’s my hobby to know these things.” His tone was mocking, almost bored, but there was an undercurrent of something darker there, something that made your chest tighten. “And you’re in pain far too often, aren’t you?”

You glared at him, eyes narrowing. “You walk around noticing pregnant women?!!”

“No, the service is exclusive to you, princess.” He said, laughing, the sound so loud it was rumbling in your bones.

You flinched as he reached for you, his hand massive, calloused, and littered with faint scars.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed instinctively, curling tighter around your stomach, but the effort sent a fresh wave of pain ripping through your abdomen. You gasped sharply, vision blurring at the edges again.

The man didn’t pull back, didn’t flinch at your outburst. Instead, he studied you with a quiet, unsettling patience, as though deciding something important. Finally, he exhaled, a sound like a low growl, and said, "Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be."

Before you could protest, he scooped you up effortlessly, his arm sliding carefully beneath your knees and back like you weighed negative but also fragile. However, you stiffened, every muscle in your body tensing as he lifted you, the pressure in your abdomen worsening with the shift in gravity.

“Put me down,” you gritted out, struggling weakly against his hold, but he didn’t budge. The grip he had on you was far stronger than anything you could have fought.

“You’re stubborn,” he muttered, sounding vaguely amused again. “You can fight me later. For now, shut up and let me help you.”

Your head lolled against his chest, the fight draining from you as the pain surged again. Your breath came in short, shallow gasps, and your vision blurred further. You caught the faint scent of him—smoke, faintly metallic, and something almost feral, something wrong that made the hair on your arms stand on end. He didn’t smell like anyone you’d ever met before.

“Why are you helping me?” you murmured weakly, your voice barely above a whisper

His features softened at the question, and when he answered, his tone was quieter, but no less unsettling.

“Because someone should.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning you couldn’t unravel. You blinked up at him through half-lidded eyes, the edges of your consciousness starting to fray as exhaustion tugged at you. He didn’t look down, his gaze fixed ahead, his expression unreadable, but there was something about the way he held you—something deliberate, something protective—that made you believe him, if only for a moment.

The last thing you heard before you drifted into unconsciousness was the sound of his low, rumbling voice, almost to himself.

“You’re tougher than you look, princess.”

And then the darkness swallowed you whole as he lay you on your bed.

The next day you had woken up feeling human again, or as human as you could feel in your human vending machine state. You were cocooned in far warmer blankets that you didn’t own, surrounded by vitamins, pregnancy pain medications, and food in the fridge that you hadn’t ordered. The front door of your apartment was now reinforced, and by the kitchen counter, new keys were attached to a sticky note bearing a name. His name.

A/N: Feel like throwing your phone yet? Good. 🫠 That means I’ve done my job. Now, let’s talk about him. The towering enigma with predator energy who broke into your apartment like it’s a casual Tuesday and called you “princess.” (✿ ͡👁️ ᴗ ͡👁️) WHO IS HE?! Shadowy savior? Bored stalker? Gym bro with too much free time? Is this Toji’s long-lost cousin? Sukuna in a hoodie? Kashimo on his day off? Choso after therapy? Or someone even worse? 😱 Bonus points if you drop “Gakuganji” in the comments for chaos. (╯ ͡❛ ᴗ ͡❛)╯┻━┻ Team Nanami? Team Gojo? Team Mystery Hunk? Or Team ‘Let Reader Nap in Peace’? 🤔 Drop your loyalty, wildest theories, unhinged guesses, and thirst-fueled fan-castings below because this love story is messier than Gojo’s hair on a Monday. Next chapter: Yaga playing babysitter for two emotionally constipated men who need therapy, not bail money, and maybe why Reader deleted her socials. Until then, stop shaving your hoo-ha with someone else’s trimmers—Gojo would 100% snitch to HR. 💅 And if you’re not on the taglist yet, comment below to join the chaos. 😈

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

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth

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bloodstainedsapphic · 2 months ago

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Mwah hi my love! Ellie hc + 🧼 & Ellie hc + 🌇 ilyyyy

hehe thank you for an ask from this game! ily!!

ellie’s hygiene + morning rituals | sfw

ellie isn’t overly concerned with personal care aside from the basics. the girl reaches for a simple bar of soap which does the job!

queen of putting up her unwashed hair— though if her partner has more luxurious products such as hair masks, she’ll probably get caught red-handed trying them more than once. for curiosity’s sake.

her nails are always trimmed though. 😏 she would have a little trimmer if she wore a carabiner.

i doubt ellie invests much in perfume, but if someone gifted her one she would definitely use it. probably leaning toward classic vanilla or woodsy smells.

however, i bet if ellie got complimented even one (1) time by a pretty girl on how she smells while wearing it, it would become her signature scent until the end of time.

as for morning rituals, the more time ellie has to sleep in, the better. her routine is super inconsistent, which would probably only marginally improve if she got a girlfriend.

she goes through cycles of sleeping in and bouts of insomnia. tends to align with when she experiences more anxiety.

it’s only after lots and lots of repetition that ellie maintains a simple routine: a tooth cleaning, hair brushing, granola-bar grabbing (at her girlfriend’s insistence) system on the daily.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams fluff #ellie x reader #lesbian #ask game

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assexpansion · 5 months ago

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"Take a look at that! Wow! Those supplements really did a number on you." Jay's workout buddy said with a whistle as he felt up his friend's feminized ass.

He finished his assessment on whether Jay was indeed slowly changing into a plushy-assed twink with a hearty spank. Jay hated that his new body, especially his jiggly, slappable ass loved the attention. Before his buddy had offered him the workout supplements, he was a conventionally-minded, normal man, and now...

Now, the aspiring gym bro looked like a full-blown femboy, still carrying some of the masculine features from before but undeniably changed. Jay's shoulders were trimmer, and his waist had somewhat thinned along with a dozen other small, individually imperceptible alterations that together left him looking much girlier.

"What am I going to do?" Jay asked, pulling on his curly brown hair, hoping someone else could take control of the situation he'd gotten himself into.

His buddy inhaled deeply, still staring at Jay's bottom. He pried his attention away and scanned the gym.

"See that group over there?" He asked, using his chin to gesture to three women using the ellipticals. "They used to show up once or twice a month. But, since you started... blossoming. They've become regulars."

Jay's gaze drifted to the group. They were already looking in his direction and spontaneously began giggling amongst themselves at his attention. In turn, Jay began blushing. His friend clapped him on the back and whispered into his ear.

"If you keep it up, you might make a friend or two, or three. Also..." He grabbed Jay's slutty little waist and spun him around, placing his other hand on his stomach. "You could use some core training."

Jay gulped, looking down at the man's hand on his small potbelly. It was true. Despite other areas slimming down, his butt and this pesky pooch were more apparent than ever. In that moment, Jay thought it looked kind of cute, especially when his buddy's big hand was rubbing it ever so gently.

"O-okay, I'll keep it up and see wh-what happens." Jay resolved, eyes fluttering.

He continued taking the supplements, mixing them into his pre-workout shakes, and focused on doing exercises and using equipment that would shrink his stomach and his plump ass. Unfortunately, the complete opposite happened.

The next month showed a steep escalation in the young man’s transformation. Jay's bubblebutt and belly only grew from one day to the next. He had a wide, milfy ass and his once-lean stomach rounded into a softer, pudgier belly that jiggled like a bowl full of jelly with every movement. One part of his friend's plan did work, though, getting closer to the trio of women who had become his new workout partners.

They had taken Jay under their wing, half in jest and half in genuine admiration, always encouraging him with flirty comments and playful teasing.

“Look at those cute cheeks, Jay! You’re basically the hottest guy in the gym!” One would say, winking at him after each set.

“Honestly, I wish my butt looked that good,” another chimed in, eyeing his rear with a smirk.

Despite feeling a little embarrassed, Jay found himself blushing and laughing along with them. Jay began to embrace his identity, flaunting his newfound curves in snug workout attire that highlighted his figure. He loved the way his stretchy shorts clung to him, especially his belly. Every slight brush from one of the women sent tingling pulses up the young man's pregnant-looking form.

Eventually, the teasing culminated into something more thrilling. During a cooldown one afternoon, the most daring workout bunny of the three nudged him and said: “You know, we’ve been talking, and we think it’s time you joined us in the girls’ locker room. You’re practically one of us now!"

Jay’s heart raced at the prospect, both excited and nervous. He glanced at the other women, their expressions were bemused, yet there was an undeniable spark in the air. “Okay,” Jay said, feeling bold. “Let’s do it!”

The atmosphere in the locker room was entirely different from the gym floor. As the three women began to change, Jay stood awkwardly at the edge, feeling an accute shyness. With a little poking and prodding, they coaxed him into the showers' warm water.

“See? You belong here,” One said as she stepped closer, her fingers grazing his chub lightly. Jay felt a thrill run through him. “You’re really cute in that top, but you should take it off.” she added, causing Jay to blush profusely.

For @ghostypancakez!

He stripped down and joined them in the mist just before she pulled him closer, her lips crashing against his in a surprising but exhilarating kiss. Jay melted into it, feeling a rush of warmth spreading through his body. She began feeling up and squeezing his fattened ass as they made out in front of the others. As one pulled away, another would join in, kissing him softly and exploring the curves of his waist, rubbing his distended belly.

"You have such a pretty, little cock." One breathed into his ear, reaching around to squeeze his soapy member.

"And the most perfect tum!" Another agreed, bending down so she could caress and wobble his belly.

"There's just not enough of you to go around!" The third say, grinding herself into his Kardashian ass.

The feeling of their bodies pressed together in the warm shower was intoxicating. Jay felt a rush of emotions, a heady mix of thrill and vulnerability. He was coming close to a whimpering orgasm as the girls whispered sweet nothings, fingers entwined in hair and caressing soft skin. With a newfound assuredness, Jay melted into the moment, secretly thanking his old workout buddy for pushing him further.

#femboy #expansion #assexpansion #expansion caption #caption #ass expansion #weightgain #belly expansion #cute belly #sexy belly #fat belly #feedee belly #belly gainer #sissi femboi #feminzation #femboii

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onyourowndaisymae · 1 year ago

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don't mind me... just thinking about the dateables slowly dropping the rest of their roster for you as they fall head over heels...

diavolo // barbatos (you are here) // simeon // solomon -- x gn!reader, NSFW below the cut

barbatos, who will always be there for lord diavolo. when the idea of an exchange program first popped in the prince's head, barbatos was the backboard in which diavolo bounced his ideas off of. humans and angels in the devildom? how would we keep them safe? what would their curriculum look like? the program slowly molds into shape with each of these conversations. he watches as the idea grows to a proposal, then a plan, and finally, a real project to work towards. the prince is always chipper when discussing the program. a few nobles doubt that the plan will come to fruition, but barbatos has long since learned that doubting the prince will only motivate him more. when the day of the exchange program begins, barbatos watches with a small, almost entirely smile as the future king of the devildom welcomes the new students to his academy.

barbatos, who lives to please. it's his purpose, his sole duty in the devildom day in and day out. when lord diavolo orders him to make sure you feel welcome, he does the job with flourish. your favorite desserts are always at tea when you visit. he's sure to answer any questions or concerns you have promptly as you tour the castle. he even loosens the leash on the young master just a little as the two of you grow closer, giving him some grace to spend time with you over staying cooped up in his office-- so long as you continue to enjoy yourself. maybe somewhere along the way affection blurs into duty, obligation fading into genuine interest. he's there to lend a listening ear, to be a shoulder to cry on or a hand to hold should you so desire. barbatos never oversteps his bounds, for that would be wholly unprofessional. but he never speaks up when you linger in the kitchen, shuffling in your spot as you babble on about whatever comes to mind. he never rushes you out after a long day at the castle visiting the young master, even when the skies are dark and lucifer is impatient to know your estimated arrival time back at the house of lamentation. it's the little things that let you know he cares... maybe even a little more than he believes he should.

barbatos, who doesn't mind your company-- even if you're a little distracting. your laughter echoes through the garden, giddy chirps quickly becoming loud, joyous barks of noise as little d's bound around your feet. their voices overlap, all too excited to be avoiding their gardening duty, as they bombard you with jokes and stories. barbatos should send them on their way. but you look so happy. you once said that they reminded you of dogs from the human realm with the way they darted around and got into trouble. the metaphor wasn't perfect, considering they were still conniving little demons, but they'd suffice. anything to ease your homesickness, after all. he doesn't even realize the tree trimmers in his own hands have stalled until you cry out-- how long had he been watching you? in a moment of darting demons and misplaced footsteps, you tumble to the ground, tripped by one of the little d's. he knows it's an accident, but his tone is venomous as he tells the demons to get away from you. they scatter like roaches. he's quick to make his way to your side, and you laugh, brushing off his concerns as he helps you up. but look. your palm is red and irritated from the impact. it's not enough of a scrape to draw blood, but you still got hurt. barbatos bows deeply to apologize for allowing them to take things too far-- he should have been watching better. he'll find a fitting punishment for them, although he doesn't share that with you. your hands wave in panic as you assure him no, it's okay, don't apologize! he inspects the injury again, gloved fingers gliding against the wound, watching your face from the corner of his eye to see if he's causing you any discomfort. you appear to be fine. barbatos does the courteous thing-- surely, that's the only motivator for his actions, nothing else-- and presses a soft kiss to the wound as a final, silent apology. your eyes are wide when he meets them again, lips curling nervously into an uncertain smile. if he didn't know any better, he'd say you look like you're already plotting your next injury. maybe that's just his imagination.

barbatos, who has grown. who has lived a long, long life, and will continue to live far into the future, where the human mind can no longer perceive time. he was around long before you were a fruit on your family tree-- hell, he was probably born before it was even planted. he's seen civilizations rise and fall. greed has swallowed whole kingdoms under his silent watch, castles crumbling under the weight of their own hubris while he didn't say a word. humans are so flawed, so sinful. he's never cared much for their weight in his life. he used to think the realms were better off separate-- until he met the young master, of course-- but now he knows where he was wrong. your clumsy fingers fumble with the ingredients, their foreign colors and textures tripping you up as you follow the recipe he wrote out for you. he has to stop himself from micromanaging you. barbatos watches you from the corner of his eyes as he kneads out the pastry dough in his hands. the cultural exchange must be hard for you, even after all these months you've been immersed in demon culture. he doesn't think about it, didn't think about it, until one of the brothers brought it up in passing. how strange. you've adapted quite well to everything. his mind wanders as he watches you look between measuring cups. how long as it been? how long have these sorts of feelings been dormant in him, this level of passion for another living creature? you captivate him like no other. when he was a younger demon, he spent years wandering, indulging every hedonistic desire he had. there were countless lovers left in his dust, tangled bedsheets and broken hearts trailing back to the dawn of time. it'd been a long time since he bothered to look at anyone romantically, even longer since someone stirred these feelings up on their own. yet here you were. special, truly. a grin split your face, and barbatos watched as you did a little dance to celebrate your successful attempt at completing this portion the recipe. praise flowed like warm honey from his lips. his words made your grin wider, if at all possible. you crossed the counter to press a giddy little kiss against his cheek, and he stilled for a long moment. how did a little kiss affect him so? this, he might never realize. he broke the spell with a small chuckle and returned the favor-- properly, this time, pressing his lips against yours for a moment before refocusing your attention on the desserts you had yet to finish. he'd met a lot of humans in his lifetime, and yet there was something about you none of the rest of them had. but what? he'd gladly spend as long as he needed to in pursuit of that answer.

barbatos, who will never get tired of a quiet morning. they're rare in his profession-- usually he's up early, silently pattering about as he begins preparing to wake the rest of the castle. but today that is not the case. today he's curled around you like vines on ruins, body intertwined with yours until he hardly knows where he ends and you begin. the crypt he calls a room is dark at all hours of the day, only illuminated by candles and other such lights when someone walks in. but you've got a special lamp from the human world that brightens your room in tune with the time of day, like the sun in the human realm does naturally. the warm light caresses the curve of your cheeks, the curl of your lips, the fluttering of your eyelids as you begin to stir. there's a part of him that wants you to stay asleep. he wants to observe your drowsy form a little longer, to burn the shape of you into his brain so he'll never know another moment without your face. but your eyes open, and you smile-- maybe having you wake up isn't such a bad thing. you rasp a good morning. he returns the favor. and when you kiss him good morning, he again follows suit. it's lazily, all warm lips and breathy chuckles as your hands come to his cheeks. his arm was already wrapped around your side, and barbatos takes the opportunity to rub circles into your back. neither of you pull away, and lazy kisses grow more heated when left to progress. his lips trail across your skin, breath tickling your collarbone, your sternum, your stomach, until he reaches the waistband of your sleep shorts. he spares you a quick glance to see you nod, easing yourself out of your lower garments with his assistance. his tongue laps softly at your sex, eliciting a content sigh from you. your thighs wrap carefully around his head, and his arms link around them to hold you close. sleep clings to your skin like his touch. it's all light, all careful, his lips wrapping around your sex and sucking just enough to make you whine. it's a gentle build up of pleasure inside you. his fingers replace his lips somewhere along the way, stroking you as his tongue moves instead to your hole. his tongue pushes shallowly inside you, alternating between lapping and thrusting in a way that leaves you squirming around his head. trembling fingers grip his hair when you eventually climax. there's love in his eyes and in his smile as he licks his mess clean, his spit mixing with yours juices around his mouth and between your thighs. he only moves when you murmur something about wanting him inside you-- that catches his attention, and he's quick to finish cleanup before slipping out of his own clothes. he needs nothing more than a simple kiss to be prepped for you after such a wonderful show. your pleasure is his pleasure. his lips meet yours, and he lines himself up carefully before pushing into your hole with a few languid, easy thrusts. a sigh catches between your joined lips-- is it his, or yours?-- and he waits a moment before moving inside of you. you exist in many timelines, many worlds, all living different lives with different people. but he is eternally grateful he lives in this one. he couldn't imagine every being content after having you like this, ever craving someone else like he does you. a lifetime without you is simply not worth living in-- that, barbatos is sure of.

taglist for this series: @the-demonus-aunt // @scienceisfornerds // @hostilemakeover // @snow-fall1 // @kachan890 // @rphantom1 // @respitable // @deepseafragments // @niinian

#my apologies for dropping this a day late i wanted to do him justice #this is not as smutty as some of the others either but i genuinely don't picture him to have a real roster like the others #also i'm just now looking and this is Long As Hell #obey me #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me nightbringer #obey me nb #obey me barbatos #obey me x reader #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me smut

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stihl-india · 1 month ago

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#stihl india #cordless handheld hedge trimmer #grass cutting machine #brush cutter machine

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tojigasm · 7 months ago

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I just wanted to do more on the trimming butcher's beard cause it's so cute and fluffy and amazing. So like. Here's a lil story for youuuuu

It was easy to forget how quickly his beard grew in. At least it was until he stopped trimming it back. Growing uneven and scraggly. Leaving an ungodly amount of beard burn on your chin, neck, and even your thighs.

You had had enough. Buying cream to soothe the aching burn he left after each heated make out session was getting to be expensive enough you considered cutting him off.

So here you were, sat neatly in his lap, thighs bracketing his hips as he sat on the closed toilet lid. A straight razor to clean up the edges that had crawled up his cheeks. Anytime you pulled away to wipe off the hairs from the blade he playfully nipped at your fingers holding the skin taught.

"So good to me doll, cleaning me up" he said, chapped lips pressing a kiss to the small bite he had made. Holding perfectly still as you moved to the other side.

"It's more for my own health than your cleaner look," you muttered, always careful as you set aside the blade. The loud buzzing fills your ears and the vibrations from the trimmer, making your fingers numb after a second. After making sure for the third time you were using the right guard, you started on the coarse stragglers.

"It's not that bad," he said through gritted teeth, trying not to move too much. Still as a statue aside from the lazy rubbing and massaging of his hands along your ass and thighs. Almost kneading like a cat as he let you clean him up.

Maybe ten minutes later of careful cleaning up did you get off his lap, letting him look in the mirror. Grunting in approval as he brushing his fingers through it a few times.

"Looks wonderful, angel." he said, giving you a chaste kiss before leaving you to clean up the bathroom. Bastard.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

#billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #the boys #the boys tv

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winstonindia01 · 4 months ago

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Whether it’s the wisdom tooth or a quick stop at the right premolar, our super sonic electric toothbrush has got every corner covered.

[Electric Toothbrush, Mouth Care, Hygiene, Personal Care]

#blow drying brush #blow dry brush #face trimmer for women #electric toothbrush

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kdogreads · 11 months ago

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Richie Jerimovich NSFW Alphabet

Co-written with the incredible @foreveraimingtowardsthesky

Thank you so much for collabing on this, my friend! It’s been a longtime coming but here we are 🤪😍

Enjoy this look into our wildest delulu fantasies with our bb Richie. This was a 50/50 project and still took us forever so please APPRECIATE IT 😂❤️

A — Aftercare

There is nothing Richie loves more than smoking a cigarette with you in his arms after he blows your mind. He’s trained to read people and you are no exception. He’ll help you clean up then he’ll cuddle you, or kiss you silly, or light you a joint, or brush your hair for you. Whatever you need this time, he’s on it.

B �� Body part (favourite of yours and theirs)

Richie likes - no loves - your mouth. The way your lips close around a cigarette plucked from his hand, the wet heat of it when his fingers press against your tongue, how you open up so readily for him when you’re on your knees, the sharp indent of your teeth in your lower lip when you’re trying to be quiet.. Yeah, he could lose hours dreaming of your mouth, thinking of new ways he can make it his. Spit in it. Gag it. Have you clean him up with your tongue..

C — Cum

Richie can be nasty. He wants to cum on your face, your chest, your ass, literally anywhere he can. It’s his way to mark you as his without leaving hickies or anything, ever the practical thinker. His favorite by far, though, if you’ll let him, is to cum inside you. Chef’s kiss.

D – Dirty secret

Richie has fucked, or tried to fuck, too many short-lived staff at The Beef to mention. But that’s no secret. In fact, there’s really only one thing he hopes never gets out. Luckily for him, she feels the same way. Chalk it up to the effects of grief and alcohol, explain it away however you like, but if word got round? I don’t think her little brother would ever get over it.

E — Experience

Honestly, Richie doesn’t have a ton of experience with different partners, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t treat you R I G H T. He’s only had a couple relationships besides you and Tiff and maybe he brought home a girl from the bar once or twice before you. This man is a very, very fast learner, though. It doesn’t take him long to learn every little thing that drives you wild and he’s more than willing to experiment with what you like (always with permission first).

F – Favourite position

Richie wants to see. He wants to see his cock sinking into you. He wants to see your face when you come. He wants to see the rise and fall of your chest and he wants to see his hands on your body. Richie also wants to bend you over and fuck you from behind. He likes how it makes you whine when he pulls your hips back as he fucks into you.

So he fucks you on your knees in front of the mirror on his bedroom wall, drags his fingers through your gathered slick and rubs the mess across your tight little asshole, his thumb circling and circling and circling before pushing inside. Like this he can watch as he fills you up, and see your fucked-out face as you fall apart.

G — Goofy

Our Richie is a big goofball in every aspect of his life and sex is no exception. He loves being able to laugh with you and tease you while he’s inside you or eating you out. One day he gets it in is mind that you have to call him Mr. Jerimovich as like a demeaning/authoritative thing, but when you actually call him that, he cracks up laughing. Cannot keep a straight face for the life of him. “It sounds like you’re talkin’ to my fuckin’ granddad. Too fuckin’ weird for me, baby, m’sorry.”

If he’s had a rough day, though, and needs to take it out on you, it’s all serious. No jokes, no laughing, no teasing. He just takes when he needs from you — and of course makes sure you have a good time, too.

H – Hair

How well groomed is Richie? Richie is a low-maintenance, one-bottle-in-the-shower guy. He keeps his hair and his beard short, that’s his look. Once upon a time, he got clippers and a beard trimmer for Christmas, so he does this himself, and every so often the rest of him will get the trimmer treatment. He’s not super hairy but he likes how his dick looks bigger after. He’s only human, after all.

He’s clean, but not meticulous. He doesn’t mind things getting a bit.. dirty. And if you’re honest with yourself, you sometimes like him best at the end of a long day. A little sweaty, a little rough around the edges, his skin tasting like salt and cigarette smoke.

I — Intimacy

Richie the cuddle master, am I right? He loves physical affection and just being close to you. If you’re having a slow, sweet love session, he’ll hold your face and tell you the stickiest sweet things you’ve ever heard in your life. “You were made for me, baby. I was made f’you” and “You’re so beautiful, sometimes I can’t believe you’re mine” and “I love you so much my heart fuckin’ hurts.” Loves eye contact, loves holding your hands, loves loving you basically.

Talks you through it. Big time. He’s in his daddy era and he’s desperate for his baby to cum. 🥵

J – Jerk off

In a word. Yes. In the shower most mornings. It’s a Pavlovian response now. Routine. The hot shower spray. The steam. His hand wrapped round his cock.

But he’s seen the way your breath catches. When he’s knelt between your spread legs. When he drags it out just a little longer, his fist working over his cock as though he prefers it to your pretty pussy. How your eyes follow the movement of his hand as he makes you wait, how your tongue darts out against the softness of your lips..

Until finally - - You like watchin, huh? Your face had heated under his scrutiny, but you couldn’t deny it. And since then? Pictures. Videos. Whenever you’re apart for while and sometimes even when you’re not. His hand sliding over his hard dick, slow at first, then faster. You can hear his breathing, all the bitten off sounds he makes - - fuck. Sometimes it’s a piece of your underwear that he’s ruined, the sheets, his shirt. Sometimes come splashes hot against his tense belly. It’s insanely hot. It makes you ache for him. And he knows it.

K — Kinks

This man will shock you with just how freaky he can get. Choking, gun play, knife play, slapping, daddy/sir, tying you up/getting tied up, he’s into it all. Something you’ve always wanted to try? He’s down. It doesn’t always have to be super kinky stuff, though. Sometimes he’s in the mood to make love to you and, when he is, he’s the stickiest sweet lover you’ve ever had.

Once he discovers the the free use concept, it’s his favorite. “Don’t let me stop ya, baby. You keep workin’ on that,” while he proceeds to fuck you into a different universe. 🥵

L – Location

Anywhere. At the restaurant when everyone else has gone home (that reservations desk is his in more ways than anyone else knows). In his car, where there’s just enough room for you to straddle his lap in the driver’s seat. Up against the wall in some dark corner when he just can’t wait. On the couch, forgotten movie in the background. The kitchen counter in the middle of a lazy weekend breakfast. In the shower, the pretty noises you make bouncing off the tiles. In your bed. In his bed.

That’s probably his favourite. His bed. When you’re waiting for him at the end of a long day in his bed. Wearing his shirt. Your perfume on his pillows.

M — Motivation

YOU. Richie is such a romantic at heart and, if you’re his, he wants nothing more than to make you happy any way he can. He loves to hear you whine and moan for him or squirm under his touch. Part of him selfishly loves knowing he can make you feel better than anyone else ever has. He loves making you forget all your worries with his fingers or his mouth or his cock. He gets off just by knowing how satisfied he can make you.

N – No

It’s a short list, but anything you’re not into is at the top of it. You can also add to that anything too elaborate. Role play’s fine just nothing too fuckin weird alright.And he doesn’t need a red room of sex shit, doesn’t need whips and chains when his tie looks so pretty around your wrists, when his belt drags so nicely against your skin.

O — Oral

You mean Richie “could eat pussy for three meals a day” Jerimovich?? He LOVES oral. As much as he loves feeling your lips wrapped around him, he loves feeling you squirm under his tongue even more. He’ll have you pinned down with his arms begging him for a break at any chance he gets. Giving is his favorite, but he loves receiving, too.

He loves when you give him road head. Loves it. Only when it's late at night and you're alone on the back roads, though. He knows just what you're thinking when you reach a hand over coyly and scratch your nails along his thigh. A silly grin spreads across his face and he gives you a subtle nod to encourage you. By the end he's usually pulled over somewhere with both hands in your hair and a plan in place for when you get home...

P – Pace

He can go slow. If that’s what you need. He likes how he can feel everything when he takes his time, but it wears away at his self control and he didn’t have much to begin with. You like to ride him, achingly slowly, stretching his restraint as far as it’ll go before it snaps, before he grips your hips and fucks up into you, or until he flips you over and fucks you through the bed.

Q — Quickie

Are you kidding me? Richie loves quickies. Possibly his favorite thing in the world. Just finished dinner service? He’ll fuck you in the alleyway. Popped in to say hi while you’re running errands? He’ll bend you over Carmy’s desk. Even just going about your day at home he’ll come up behind you in the kitchen and pull you up onto the counter. Any chance he has to get you off he’ll take.

R – Risk

Is Richie a risk taker? Yeah. He gets a kick out of the possibility that the two of you might get caught. Actually no, he gets a kick out of you getting so fucking greedy and needy for him that you’ll let him touch you, let him fuck you, where anyone might see. His hand between your legs under the restaurant table, his mouth on your breasts in the cool evening air, your back against the wall and legs round his waist, your body pressed to the high rise window of the nicest hotel room he could afford. It fuels his possessiveness. You’re his and he wants everyone to know it.

S — Stamina

Richie isn’t as young as he used to be, but he uses what energy he has wisely. In his younger days he could go at it for hours, but nowadays his poor achey back can’t take more than one, maybe two rounds. He gets you off more times than you can count before he even thinks about fucking you, so don’t let his old age scare you.

Just because his body gets tired faster doesn't mean his sex drive has gone down, though, so don't you worry about that.

T – Toys

The first time Richie caught you with your favourite toy, he’d watched from the doorway with a dangerous mix of jealousy and want. You’d pulled the toy from your body when you saw him, but he’d shook his head and something in the look in his eyes made your mouth go dry and your stuttered explanation die in your throat. – - Don’t stop. He’d climbed onto the bed, sat back against the headboard and pulled you to his chest between his spread legs. - - keep going.. s’it feel good? .. feel better than me, huh? - - you’d said no, but he’d slapped your hand from the toy anyway, taking it from you and mimicking the movements he’d watched earlier, but harder, faster, more him. And he’d liked the way you’d surrendered control so easily, the way your head fell back against his shoulder, how your fingers twisted into the fabric of his sweats. And it occurred to him that he could keep this up for hours..

U — Unfair

Richie is a little shit… of course he loves teasing you. He’ll send you dirty texts all day while you’re at work and get you all hot and bothered. Then he’ll edge you for what feels like hours if he feels like it. He always leaves you satisfied after his fun, though, he is a gentleman after all.

When he first discovered what his "harmless" teasing does to you... Oh man. It's like he can't stop now. He'll pull you into the office at work just to whisper dirty things in your ear.

"You look real pretty tonight baby," He leans in to kiss your neck, hands wandering all over your body, "Fuuuck, you want daddy to take care of you, hm? Touch you? Make you scream so everybody knows who you belong to, yeah?" Swoon.

V – Volume

Richie has the dirtiest mouth in all of Chicago. He remembers the first time he’d called you his good fuckin girl. He remembers because you came hard and tight and wet before the words had barely left his mouth. Now he won’t fucking shut up. And you love it like that. But the best thing? There’s this noise he makes when he’s close to losing it. A filthy low groan as everything begins to unravel. It might be the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

W — Wildcard

Richie definitely has a thing for public sex. The thrill of potentially getting caught, having to show off his pretty baby to whoever catches you… He can’t help it if he wants to show you off and make it clear just who belong to.

X – x-ray

What’s going on in those tighty whiteys? He’s not gotten any complaints. Well, no, that’s not quite right. He’s gotten loads of complaints. Just not about his dick. If he was the type of guy to be heading down the gym (although lets face it, he isn’t ) he wouldn’t need to be shy in the locker room, if you catch my meaning. Alright, alright.. it’s big. You happy now?

Y — Yearning

He may be in his 40s but his sex drive is stronger than ever. He always wants you. Richie is just insatiable sometimes. It’s like he can’t believe you are his to take care of and please whenever he wants to and he does.

Z – zzzz

He’s not even stayed awake long enough for you to read the end of this. Sorry. But let’s be fair, he’s a hard working guy and he’s had his fair share of sleepless nights. So you can’t begrudge the fact that he sleeps like an angel (an angel splayed across 75% of the bed, but still..) once you’ve both had your fill. Now roll him over before he starts snoring.

#richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #kdogreads #richie jerimovich smut #richie x reader #the bear fic #the bear smut #the bear fx #richie jerimovich fic #reader insert

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