#it was the best at being the worst for my heart

[microqwavve]

roomroot, ceramic jar, house fire

cant write

roomroot full 129 hour tour part I, roomroot full 129 hour tour part II, and roomroot full 129 hour tour part IV

size 53 sphere

uknowme

best: creativity and talent of my community worst: boredhouse

the idea that at any point my decisions are completely cutting off meeting the funniest and kindest people a month in the future Why? guess

i can choose my dreams

one time someone finished a tub of ice cream and we didnt know who so i just went "i did not have edible relations with that ice cream" to my dad

if that emotion is being fucking cool yeah

kisses and hugs?? Go watch a movie, bud

keep suckig his flat chest

sucking toes and eating hairy manass

nothing im not scared of anything

my house

i wish i was good at everything because i have to be

math meth roomroot (bonus! drunk driving)

no. yes. theres absoolutely intelligent life but theyre not like Green Eyed fucks that go I am making love to your fingers ᓭꖌ╎ʖ╎↸╎ ʖ𝙹リᒷᔑ∷ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ !¡⚍ᓭᓭ|| ⊣𝙹ℸ ̣ ᒲᒷ ⎓ᒷᒷꖎ╎リ⊣ ⎓⚍リ⊣ᔑ∷╎𝙹⚍ᓭ ᓭ╎⨅ᒷ ⎓╎⎓ℸ ̣ || ℸ ̣ ⍑∷ᒷᒷ ᓵ𝙹ʖʖꖎᒷᓭℸ ̣ 𝙹リᒷ ᓭ!¡⍑ᒷ∷ᒷ

the sun

also the sun

i keep a jar of spirits on my shelf and i only let them out to breed with each other so i would say technically yes

u, know, me267

u, know, me268

chrstas tree

Garlic powder 🥰

512 nm wavelength

they call me Neutronius because my dick is that small

as previously mentioned spirits

i dont get sad i either kill something else or kill myself and so far all of my problems have had a solution i can deal with

wd shae stand yott

yeah

1,461

roomroot

when sonmeones mouth is open for a while and it does an occasional glottal click i HAVE to commit an act of violenc

i got a 70% for paranoia on an online personality quiz

what

i thought of an extremely funny joke on a road trip when i was 8 but i held myself back out of the goodness of my heart and that was the peak of my life

wd shae stand yott

wd shae. cool

fingies nails

questions I think would be fun to be asked

what are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

show us a picture of your handwriting?

3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?

what’s an inside joke you have with your family or friends?

what made you start your blog?

what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

what scares you the most and why?

any reacquiring dreams?

tell a story about your childhood

would you say you’re an emotional person?

what do you consider to be romance?

what’s some good advice you want to share?

what are you doing right now?

what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?

what do you think of when you hear the word “home”?

if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

name 3 things that make you happy

do you believe in ghosts and/or aliens?

favourite thing about the day?

favourite things about the night?

are you a spiritual person?

say 3 things about someone you love

say 3 things about someone you hate

what’s one thing you’re proud of yourself for?

fave season and why?

fave colour and why?

any nicknames?

do you collect anything?

what do you do when you’re sad?

what’s one thing that never fails to make you happy/happier?

are you messy or organised?

how many tabs do you have open right now?

any hobbies?

any pet peeves?

do you trust easily?

are you an open book or do you have walls up?

share a secret

fave song at the moment?

youtuber you’ve been obsessed with and why?

any bad habits?

(this post was stolen from @teenage-mutant-ninja-freak, since it couldn't be reblogged anymore)

[rcmclachlan]

from the micro story word list: 19 (sea change) or 46 (shimmer)!

"It never stops being weird seeing fake snow on people's roofs," Buck says, eyeing the house across the street. It's the epitome of everything he hates about Christmas now: the snow blankets are stapled in weird places, the LED lights are too bright and their shimmer makes the house look like a Swedish nightclub, and the 14-foot inflatable Grinch is just begging for someone with an LAFD-issued multitool to go over and accidentally slash it ten times.

Next to him, Tommy takes a thoughtful sip of his beer—salt and lemon gose, because he's a Batman villain—and murmurs, "You were lucky to have the real thing growing up. I always wanted a real white Christmas."

Tommy's voice is still clogged with tears. It sounds like there are river rocks in his throat.

"You wouldn't say that if you had to shovel four feet of lake effect snow out of your driveway while everyone else was opening presents," Buck grumbles, draining the rest of his ginger ale in one go, then drops his cheek to Tommy's shoulder with a sigh.

Wordlessly, Tommy wraps an arm around him and snugs him in close.

It's been almost an hour since Buck showed up on Tommy's doorstep with eight pounds of homemade fruitcake and goaded Tommy into a shouting match on his front lawn, which his neighbors must have loved, especially at 10:45 on Christmas Eve. He knows Tommy was absolutely mortified, but not enough to take the fight inside, which means that when Buck looks back on tonight, the only thing he'll remember—other than Tommy screaming "Of course I'm in love with you, Evan! That's not the issue here!"—is the way that fucking inflatable Grinch lit Tommy's tear-stained face up in the most hideous neon green color ever invented.

Buck closes his eyes and stretches out his legs. They clear all three of the little stairs leading up to Tommy's platform porch and his heels land on one of the flagstone steppers built into the pathway. Tommy had laid the walk-up the first year he moved in and was still so proud of it; he smirked at the stones sometimes, like he'd bested them, like they'd lost some fight that Buck would've given anything to have watched.

He wishes he'd remembered the flagstones before he asked Tommy to move in; it might've saved him a lot of grief and oven cleaner.

"Worth it, though," Tommy says. "Someday I'll see snow on Christmas."

Buck already knows he's going to regret opening his mouth, but he can't stop it. "M-Maybe next year? Before climate change turns Hershey into the new Tampa?"

For a horrible, endless moment, Tommy says nothing. He just drinks his beer and strokes a thumb over Buck's arm. Meanwhile, Buck's ready to rip his own skin off and run screaming into the night. They already laid it all out on the line—Tommy pacing a new pathway in the lawn, Buck standing on the biggest flagstone stepper like he was playing a one-man game of The Floor Is Lava, both of them shouting over each other to be heard—and if Tommy's going to stage a retreat now, if he's going to go back on his promise to fight through the fear and try, Buck's going to start ripping up the flagstones.

Then Tommy presses a long, hard kiss to Buck's hair. "We're not staying with your parents."

Shakily with relief, Buck lifts his head and slots their lips together, slipping his tongue in because he can. The inside of Tommy's mouth tastes like vomit. He's going to dash the rest of that bullshit beer on the flagstones as soon as he sees an opening.

"I wouldn't do that to my worst enemy." He pulls back just enough so he can watch exasperation try to chase the smitten expression off Tommy's face when he follows that up with, "never mind someone I'm planning to baby trap within the next five years."

They end up rutting against each other right there on Tommy's porch in full view of neighborhood, and he hopes the Grinch tells all the Whos down in Whoville how Buck's heart and dick grew three sizes that day.

[puckinghischier]

Can we talk about how hard Luke would try to be helpful while you’re on your period? I just feel like all of his efforts would be so endearing

oh this is so perfect bc my body decided to give me its own christmas present yesterday 🤩

he would be so attentive, god love him. he’d even have his own tracker on his phone so he can be prepared and make sure he always has your favorites stocked when the time comes.

the second he starts seeing the signs, he’s making your coffee or tea, whichever you prefer, in the mornings and having it waiting on you with your favorite breakfast pastry. on your worst day he’s bringing it to you in bed, heated blanket on his arm.

if he has a day off from practice or gets back early from a morning skate, he’s assuming all housework duties. he’s making sure the kitchen is clean, bringing you your favorite comfort meal from your favorite restaurant, doing the laundry, tidying up the living room. he wants to make sure you don’t have to lift a finger.

he secretly loves when you’re having a rough cramp day, if he’s honest. not because he enjoys seeing you in pain, it’s the opposite really. it breaks his heart that you have to go through this every month, knowing there’s nothing he can do to take the pain away. but he loves how clingy you get, whining every time he gets up to leave the bed or the couch, even if it’s to get something you asked him to get.

he’s constantly calling and texting you to see how you’re feeling and asking if you need anything when he’s not with you. the guys in the locker room all make fun of him for it, but he could care less. it’s the least he can do. you’re constantly taking all of this on every other week of the month, doing all you can to make his life easier, wanting him to come home and be able to relax and focus on resting before or after games. so he’ll gladly take the responsibility on for this one week a month, to show you how much he appreciates you and loves you.

you become such a homebody when you’re on your period and luke eats it up. he loves nothing more than being lazy with you, and he gets at least an entire week of it each month. you refuse any offer of plans, not wanting to have to put on ‘real’ clothes, content with living in one of luke’s oversized shirts, period panties, and a loose pair of his boxers. and luke loves coming home to the sight more than he could ever express.

you love the effort he takes each month to make sure you’re comfortable and cared for. you don’t know how you did it, but you truly hit the jackpot with him. you hear him constantly on the phone with ellen, double checking which painkillers work best for cramps and what the best remedy for period induced headaches. you crawl into a freshly made bed every night, despite rotting on the couch all day. you get baths drawn for you with soothing smells and low light, like either joining you or sitting in the floor with you and telling you all about his day. you have a never ending supply of sweets and baked goods, thanks to his bakery runs every morning.

you always ask him how you can repay him, but he always tells you the same thing. “what you do for me every day is enough. being able to do this for you is repayment in itself. this is what i’m supposed to do. it’s my job to make sure you’re comfortable, taken care of, and loved.”

of course, the words always make your hormonal self emotional, tears falling every time at how much you love him and how lucky you are he loves you. but then he ruins the moment, adding in “plus, the post-period sex is always great, so that’s a good incentive, too.” you swat at him, telling him to shut up.

“i’m just kidding, sweetheart. i love doing this for you, seriously,” he’d back track, nuzzling his face into your neck to place small kisses there.

rolling your eyes, you respond with “you might like doing this for me, but you weren’t kidding, don’t lie.”

he gives you a “welll….” look, making you laugh, forgetting all about the ache in your lower abdomen.

[nanamineedstherapy]

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, Found Family, Dark Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy Drama, Unreliable Narrators.

Warnings: Body Horror, Mentions of Emotional Neglect, Pregnancy Complications, Nightmare Imagery.

A/N: The mystery Hunk is finally here! We’re diving headfirst into the start of an alternate ending I had previously intended for this fic mid first scene, so buckle up. I promised this chapter wouldn’t have funny bits, but apparently, Mystery Hunk had other plans. Also, the husbands will be getting an earful of their own shit. If you’re here for cursed energy-infused pregnancy drama and Mystery Hunk stealing hearts with his black cat husband energy while side-eyeing Karens, you’re in the right place, and yes, he’s stealing the spotlight unapologetically. Let me know in the comments: Is he the best worst fake husband ever?

Previous Chapter 4 - The Gravity of Running (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 5 - Something Soft, Something Sharp

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 mocking, dangerous.

You glared at him, removing the scarf from your mouth, your movements jerky, your hands trembling as you shoved both their hands off you. “Don’t touch me.” You tried to stand.

The effort was futile—your legs buckled, and you sank back down. Pain radiated from your swollen belly, grotesque.

Their gazes dropped to your stomach, the sheer size of it impossible to ignore, finally noticing what you’d been trying to hide.

Even at just five and a half months, your uterus had already distended to a grotesque parody of its former shape. The two tornadoes brewing inside you made you look eight months pregnant, their relentless growth stretching your abdominal wall to its limits. Your stomach bulged outward, a taut and swollen orb that seemed to strain against the confines of your skin, as if the very fabric of your body was being slowly, inexorably torn apart from the inside out.

Nanami’s eyes widened. “You’re…”

Gojo’s expression cracked, his six eyes glowing faintly as they locked onto your swollen stomach. “You’re pregnant.”

The twins squirmed beneath their stares, sending sharp jolts of pain through your abdomen. You bit your lip, refusing to show weakness, to clutch your belly, even as your body betrayed you.

You didn’t dignify their obvious revelation with a response, focusing instead on pulling yourself upright. Every attempt to rise felt monumental, the strain making your head swim, but you managed to straighten up, your breathing ragged. Their awkward, hesitant hands reached toward you, only for you to glare them down.

They stood there, helpless, as you hobbled past them toward the living room. Each step felt like dragging yourself uphill in a storm, the strain making your vision blur. By the time you reached the couch, you were shaking so badly that you had to clutch the back of a chair for balance. Lowering yourself onto the cushions was its own Herculean task, the pain so intense you had to bite back a scream. Your hand moved instinctively to your belly, rubbing slow, trembling circles over the taut, aching skin.

You spoke low but firm, “Leave.”

“We’re not leaving,” Nanami replied, his voice firm but strained, his face a storm of conflict. “You’re pregnant, my love. You didn’t even tell us.”

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and humorless. “What’s there to tell? It’s just a medical condition, right?”

“At least lie better,” Gojo said, his tone mocking as his eyes lingered on your stomach, then continued, “Although I thought you had had a hysterectomy?”

Nanami’s hand twitched; his jaw tightened at Gojo’s casual demeanor. “Don’t.”

Your anger flared, the months of humiliation and abandonment clawing their way to the surface. “Don’t what? Diminish it? You mean like you two diminished me?”

You had deduced earlier that Gojo’s RCT might have detected your lack of a uterus and classified it as an error, then corrected the said error. Or perhaps it was Nanami’s RCT’s doing, considering he could now heal himself and was immune to attacks like fire since becoming a special grade. Although as far as you knew they couldn’t heal people but it might have changed when they would have been inside you. You didn’t care to find out any more, and you certainly wouldn’t let them in on it.

The words hit like a slap, the air between you crackling with tension.

“It’s none of your business,” you spat, your voice shaking with rage.

“None of our business?” Nanami’s voice was low, his usual calm cracking. “We’re your—”

“You’re nothing to me anymore,” you interrupted, your tone icy. “You made sure of that.”

“That’s not true,” Gojo flinched as if struck, his voice breaking in a way like it was about him, making you hate him more. “We—”

“You abandoned me!” The words tore from your chest before you could stop them. “You left me alone for months! You laughed, you fucked each other, then posted all your OMG-I’m-so-in-love photos online for my employees to stare at and give me looks of sympathy. While... while I sat there and died inside!”

“You left without telling us!” Gojo’s voice rose, desperation creeping into his tone.

“And you didn’t notice for six weeks!” You yelled, your voice breaking. “You were too busy fucking each other to even see me! I could have been tortured, raped, killed and buried long ago with evidence wiped, but you both were too busy fucking each other to see me!”

Gojo’s expression twisted, the pain in his eyes cutting deeper than any accusation. “We didn’t know how to reach you. We thought you needed space.”

“Space?” You laughed again, the sound hollow. “You gave me space to suffocate. 

Nanami visibly recoiled, guilt carving deep lines into his face. “We made a mistake—”

“Mistake?” You cut him off, your voice cracking under the weight of your fury. “Mistakes don’t last for months. Mistakes don’t make someone feel so invisible they disappear. Mistakes don’t force someone to flee halfway across the world just to fucking breathe! You think I’ll forgive you just because you decided to find me now?” You huffed and continued, “Well, guess what? I learned to live without you two a long time before I left, so why don’t you both go fuck each other some more and leave me alone!”

Gojo spoke softly, inching to touch you. “We’re here. We care about you.”

“Care?” You laughed bitterly, tears spilling down your cheeks. “You humiliated me. Your stunt at my office nearly destroyed everything I’ve built. Do you think anyone respects a CEO whose husbands storm her building and beat up her employees?”

Nanami’s gaze dropped to the floor, his fists clenching at his sides. Gojo opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak.

“And let’s not forget the internet is a circus, and you’re the clowns.,” you hissed, your voice shaking, ears burning with humiliation. “I’m being dragged into the spotlight for something I never wanted public. All because of you. They’re calling me a sexual deviant and undermining everything I have ever done while simultaneously thirsting over you two, because, of course, men don’t get the same treatment. #TwoHolesForAReason is still trending. What the actual fuck, Nanami? You too?”

Your voice trembled with a mix of anger and despair, and your breathing grew heavier, each word feeling like a weight pressing down on your chest. The injustice of it all clawed at you, the betrayal stinging sharper than any physical wound. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly powerless as the world turned your life into a spectacle, and the very people you loved were at the center of it.

Nanami’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with a mix of anger and sorrow. “We were wrong. We should have been there for you. We should have…” He trailed off, unable to find the words.”

You could see the guilt etched on their faces, the way they shifted uncomfortably, as if your words were a physical weight pressing down on them.

“Tell me,” you said, your voice low and trembling, “did you even think about me when you were together? Did I ever cross your minds?”

Gojo opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he looked at Nanami, a silent plea for understanding passing between them, but Nanami kept staring at your stomach. The moment stretched, and you could feel the desperation radiating from them, but it only fueled your anger.

“Don’t look at him,” you snapped, your voice sharp. “You both made this choice together. You both decided I was expendable.” The image of Gojo grabbing Nanami’s pecks mid-fight at your company came to your mind, and you resisted the urge to bash his head in.

Nanami’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining from him. “We were selfish,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. 

Gojocut him off, his hands trembling like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “We love you.”

“You love each other,” you said, your voice barely a whisper, breaking. “And I was just... there. An afterthought. An inconvenience.”

Silence.

Nanami stepped closer, his hand reaching out instinctively, but you shrank further. “Please,” he said softly. “Let us help.”

Gojo stepped forward, his hands outstretched, but you recoiled, the instinct to protect yourself overwhelming. “Don’t,” you warned, your voice trembling. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

The hurt in his eyes was almost unbearable, but you couldn’t allow yourself to feel sympathy. Not now. Not when the wounds were still fresh, still bleeding.

“Just go,” you said, your voice breaking. “Just leave me alone.”

Nanami’s face fell, the weight of your words crashing down on him. “We can’t just walk away,” he said, desperation creeping into his tone. “We love you. We want to be here for you. And the babies.”

You wrapped your arms protectively around your belly, your body trembling from the effort of holding yourself upright, the weight of their presence suffocating. “I don’t need you. We don’t need you.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, betraying the pain you’d tried so hard to hide.

The finality of your words made them both freeze, their faces pale and stricken.

You turned your face away, unwilling to look at them any longer. The silence stretched, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing.

(alt ending 1.1)

“You heard her.”

The voice from the doorway made you freeze.

Sukuna leaned against the frame, arms crossed, his tattoos stark against his pale skin. His grin was sharp, dangerous, and entirely out of place in your tiny apartment.

“And who the hell are you?” Gojo snapped, his six eyes narrowing as he turned to face the intruder.

Sukuna’s smirk widened. “None of your concern. But unlike you two, I don’t barge into her life uninvited.”

Nanami stepped forward, his gaze calculating. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“It does when you’re upsetting her,” Sukuna said, his tone light but edged with menace. His crimson eyes flicked to you, softening slightly. “You good, princess?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m fine. Just… please get them out of here, Ryo.”

The way you said his name weakly made Sukuna straighten, his grin turning feral as he rolled his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight. “You heard her. Time to go.”

Gojo stepped toward Sukuna, his grin tight, his energy shifting. “You think you can just waltz in here and—”

Sukuna cut him off by closing the gap in a single step, towering over him. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Try me, pretty boy.”

Nanami's shoulders squared, his gaze calculating. “Leave. This doesn’t concern you.”

Sukuna’s eyes flicked between them, his lips quirking into a smirk. “I’m here because she wants you out. Seems like it’s very much my concern.”

Gojo rolled his shoulders, the first hints of tension seeping into his movements. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, pal. She’s our wife. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Both your wife. Eww, Sukuna grimaced.

Before Sukuna could continue berating them, Nanami moved. His fist lashed out, aimed for Sukuna’s jaw.

Sukuna caught it with an open palm, the force reverberating through the room.

“Oh, we’re doing this,” Sukuna said, voice maniacal, before pushing Nanami’s fist just enough to force him to step back.

Gojo lunged, his speed almost imperceptible, but Sukuna sidestepped him lazily, his movements fluid. “Do you two always resort to fists first?”

“Do you always waltz into someone else’s business uninvited?” Nanami countered, already throwing another strike.

You tried to rise, your voice strained. “Stop—”

Your attempt was cut off by a sharp, tearing pain in your abdomen. A cry escaped your lips as your hands instinctively cradled your belly.

Nanami faltered mid-punch, his head snapping toward you. “She’s in pain. Gojo, stop!”

Gojo hesitated, his fists lowering as he glanced back at you. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

You couldn’t answer, your breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Sukuna moved before either of them could, crossing the room in a few steps. He knelt in front of you, his large hand resting gently on your knee.

“May I?” He asked, his voice calm.

You nodded weakly, unable to muster the energy to speak.

Sukuna’s hand moved to your belly, his palm warm against the strained skin. A faint glow surrounded his fingers as his RCT began to work. The relief was almost immediate, the tightness easing as the twins’ restless movements stilled.

Nanami stepped towards you, his fists clenched. “Get your hands off her.”

Sukuna didn’t look up, his focus entirely on you. “She needs this. Or would you rather let her suffer while you two throw tantrums?”

Gojo bristled, his hands twitching at his sides. “I don’t trust you.”

“Good,” Sukuna replied smoothly, his tone almost mocking. “I wouldn’t trust me either. But I’m not the one who left her to deal with this alone.”

That struck a nerve.

You let out a shaky breath, your body finally relaxing as Sukuna pulled his hand away. “Better?” he asked, his gaze meeting yours.

You nodded, tears stinging your eyes.

Sukuna stood, his movements unhurried as he turned to face the two men. “She’s carrying enough weight without you two adding to it. If you really care about her, prove it by doing something useful. Like fucking off.”

The tension in the room was palpable as Gojo and Nanami glared at him, their fists tightening at their sides.

Before Gojo could move, Nanami placed a hand on Gojo’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Enough. This isn’t good for her.”

Gojo’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t resist.

“We’ll be back,” Nanami said, his gaze steady as it locked onto yours. His voice was low, carrying both regret and resolve.

Sukuna snorted. “Not if I can help it.”

Without another word, they turned and left.

Once the door clicked shut, the silence rushed in, oppressive and heavy.

Sukuna turned back to you, his expression softening. “You need to rest.”

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Stay?”

He smiled faintly, taking a seat next to you on the couch with respectable space between you two.

Your head swam, a sudden wave of dizziness taking hold. They were coming more frequently now, spells that left you breathless and trembling.

But before you could fall off the couch on your head, Sukuna was there, one of his large, calloused hands wrapping securely around your upper arm. The heat of his touch grounded you as he guided you carefully to the other side of the couch.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble. The sharp edge was still there, but muted, like a blade sheathed. “You don’t need to waste energy on those idiots.”

A weak laugh slipped past your lips as you wiped your eyes, though it sounded more like a gasp. “They’re not idiots. They’re just… pain in my ass.”

His eyebrow arched, he chuckled, the sound warm. “Could’ve fooled me. Barging in here like they own the damn place. If it were me—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, shaking your head even as your hand trembled against the couch cushion. “I don’t need more madness, Sukuna.”

His grin softened, though it didn’t lose its devil-may-care quality. “Fair enough. But you’ve gotta be smarter about this. They’re not going to stop just because you want them to.”

“I know,” you whispered, barely audible, as your hands cradled your belly. The motion was protective, almost subconscious, as you rubbed soothing circles on it.

His sharp crimson eyes followed the movement, narrowing as they settled on the curve of your stomach. “You gonna tell me the truth now?”

Your throat tightened, the walls closing in as panic tried to claw its way to the surface. “I—”

“Relax.” His voice dropped lower, almost a purr, as he leaned back against the couch. “I’m not here to judge. Just saying, if you need someone to run interference, I’m your guy.”

You blinked at him, your heart hammering as you searched his expression. “Why are you helping me?” You asked, the words trembling in the air.

His grin returned, sly and self-assured as always. “Because it pisses them off. And because I like you, princess. Not in a ‘love thy neighbor’ way, but in a ‘let me take you on a date’ way. You’ve got guts.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, shaky and wet with leftover tears but real nonetheless. “Thanks, Sukuna.”

“Anytime.” He shifted, his arm draping casually over the back of the couch, though the movement seemed deliberate, protective. “Now, what’s the plan? Because those two aren’t going to stop sniffing around just because I scared them off.”

You let your head fall back, exhaustion pulling at your limbs, heavier than ever. “I don’t know. I just need... time.”

“Then time’s what we’ll give you,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Let me handle the sorcerer boy band.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt a small flicker of hope.

-

Sukuna didn’t waste time. The same night, after Gojo and Nanami showed up, he had you telling him what you wanted packed. His demeanor calm, though his crimson eyes burned with quiet determination.

“We’ll leave at midnight,” he said, tossing your suitcase onto the bed. “New place, new names.”

You hesitated. “Sukuna, this is… too much.”

He glanced over his shoulder, his grin not unkind. “It’s not. They’re sorcerers, princess. And the strongest too, but not stronger than me.” His tone was laced with a smug confidence. “If you want to stay hidden, you don’t half-ass it.”

By dawn, you were in another country; your new apartment was upscale and screamed money, but it was cozy too. The marble floors, high ceilings, and soft leather couches were a far cry from your tiny space.

Sukuna waved off your questions about how he’d managed it all so quickly, his smirk the only answer you’d get. He had taken care of everything—paperwork, flights, even a fake backstory in case anyone asked too many questions.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he said, tossing you the keys. “Welcome to your new life, and just enjoy the upgrade.” He lounged on your new couch, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you.

He refused to leave your side, and you didn’t argue. It was a relief to have him there, especially since you were certain they would show up eventually. Also, you needed someone around, not just for protection but also because you weren’t exactly the icon of flexpertise right now. The morning sickness and dizzy spells had become a regular part of your day, making even simple tasks feel daunting. Plus, he could help pick things up from the floor and assist you when you needed it. His RCT would also come in handy if you got sick.

The following days blurred into one another, Sukuna taking charge in ways that left you both grateful and unsettled. He was relentless, managing everything from your meals to your prenatal vitamins.

One day he dragged you somewhere the sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the bustling streets as Sukuna pulled you along, his grip firm yet gentle around your arm. You could feel the heat radiating from the pavement, the air thick with the scent of blooming flowers and street food. It was a stark contrast to the anxiety swirling in your chest.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked, glancing around nervously. The last thing you wanted was to run into someone who recognized you from the controversy that had followed you like a shadow. The thought of being exposed made your stomach churn, the twins inside you shifting restlessly in response to your unease.

Sukuna paused, turning to face you, his crimson eyes piercing yet reassuring. “Trust me. No one will recognize you here.” He flashed a grin, the kind that made your heart race despite the worry gnawing at you. “Besides, I’ll be your husband today. No one will question us.”

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism creeping in. “Husband? What if someone asks questions?”

“Then I’ll just tell them I’m the luckiest man alive,” he replied smoothly, his tone playful. “And you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And if anyone gets too nosy, they’ll be disposed off.”

You thought he was just joking at the last bit, but little did you know he was serious.

You couldn’t help but smile at his bravado, even as a flutter of anxiety twisted in your stomach. “You really think this is a good idea?”

“Absolutely,” he said, resuming his pace, his hand still firmly guiding you by the arm. “You need to get out, meet other birthgivers, and enjoy this experience. It’s good for you and the brats.”

As you approached the community center, the sounds of laughter and chatter filled the air, mingling with the soft strumming of a guitar. The vibrant colors of the decorations and the cheerful atmosphere were infectious, but your nerves still danced beneath the surface.

Sukuna opened the door for you, his demeanor shifting to one of quiet authority as he ushered you inside. The room was filled with expectant mothers, some cradling their bellies, others bouncing babies in their arms, some even with their partners. You felt a pang of envy at their ease, their confidence radiating like the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“See? Just regular people,” Sukuna said, his voice low and steady as he scanned the room. “You’ll fit right in.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “What if someone recognizes me?”

“Your mask won’t let them. And if someone does recognize you, I’ll tell them you just look like the CEO, but you have been my wife and have never been to Japan,” he replied, his tone light but firm. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll make sure they forget they ever saw you.”

His confidence was infectious, and you found yourself relaxing slightly as he led you to a circle. He settled beside you, his presence a comforting weight. As the instructor began to speak, you felt Sukuna’s hand rest on your knee, a grounding touch that eased the tension in your body.

After a brief round of introductions, the instructor clapped her hands, her voice that chipper mix of optimism and oblivion. “Alright, everyone, before we start our poses, let’s share a bit about our experiences as parents! Who’d like to go first?”

Sukuna leaned back, arms draped lazily over his knees, his smirk sharp enough to slice through the tension. “I’ll go,” he said, his tone dripping with casual confidence. “So there we were—me and my lovely wife—on a little trip to the beach. You know, just a casual day in the sun.”

The other mothers leaned in, their eyes sparkling with interest, while their husbands shot daggers at Sukuna, their expressions a mix of envy and irritation. He was tall, muscular, and exuded an effortless charm that made him the center of attention. You could practically feel the heat radiating from the glares directed at him, but Sukuna seemed unfazed, basking in the admiration like a cat in a sunbeam.

“Of course, I had to carry her to the water,” he continued, gesturing dramatically. “She was so heavy with those twins, I thought I might need a forklift!” Laughter erupted from the mothers, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Turning back to you, his expression triumphant. “So, I heroically carried her through the waves, and she screamed like a banshee when the water hit her feet.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation washing over you. “I did not scream like a banshee!” you protested, but the laughter bubbling up made it hard to keep a straight face.

“Sure you did,” he teased, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And I was the brave knight saving you from the evil ocean.”

“Look at him,” one mother whispered to her friend, her eyes sparkling. “He’s like a model or something!”

“Right? And he’s so sweet with her,” her friend replied, glancing at you with a mix of admiration and envy.

Soft giggles bubbled through the room, accompanied by fluttering lashes and whispers. Sukuna exuded a kind of dangerous magnetism.

One mom whispered too loudly, “He’s like... a walking romance novel,” her husband coughing pointedly beside her.

Sukuna caught the comment and scowled. “Eyes up front, lady,” he muttered under his breath, annoyed but not surprised. When another woman blatantly winked, he leaned closer to you, slipping an arm around your waist with exaggerated intimacy. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” he cooed, voice low enough for only you to hear. “These vultures are giving me a headache.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved him off.

The instructor spoke. “Okay! Let’s get into couples’ poses. First, the trust fall!”

Sukuna stood, cracking his neck like he was prepping for a fight. You shot him a warning glance. “Don’t drop me.”

He smirked. “No promises.”

As you leaned back, trusting his arms to catch you, another mom muttered something about his “strong, capable hands.” Sukuna sighed, catching you effortlessly before twirling you upright with unnecessary flair. “Keep staring, and I might start charging admission,” he called out, his voice a mix of annoyance and smugness.

“I got one more.” He didn’t wait for approval, because, of course, he didn’t. “So there we were, me and my beloved wife”—his crimson eyes flicked to you with a smirk that screamed chaos—“on a romantic hike in the wilderness. Out of nowhere, she decides to wrestle a goat because it wouldn’t let her pet it.”

The room froze. A couple of moms paused mid-stretch, their jaws dropping like they’d just heard the start of a soap opera. The dads exchanged side-eyes that translated roughly to, Who the hell is this guy?

“And, naturally,” Sukuna continued, his voice syrupy with faux affection, “I couldn’t let her handle it alone. She’s fearless, sure, but not exactly built for a one-on-one with livestock.”

“Oh my god,” you hissed under your breath, digging your nails into your mat. “Stop lying.”

Sukuna ignored you, gesturing dramatically like he was recounting a battle for survival. “So I stepped in, took down the goat, and carried her—my delicate, fragile wife—back to safety.” His grin widened, exposing sharp canines. “All in a day’s work.”

A collective sigh swept through the room, a mix of disbelief and blatant swooning. One mom muttered, “That’s so... romantic.” Another just stared, eyes tracing the veins in his forearms like she was drafting fan fiction in real time.

The dads? All glaring, but none of them dared to say a word. Sukuna, at 6’6” with biceps that looked capable of cracking skulls, radiated the kind of energy that said, Try me. I dare you.

“Alright, Romeo,” you muttered, elbowing him. “Enough.”

Before he could retort, a woman in leopard print, Karen—yes, she had the haircut and everything—stood up, arms crossed and nose wrinkled like she smelled bullshit.

“Excuse me,” she said, voice whiney, “but that story sounds ridiculous. And frankly, this is a yoga class, not open mic night.”

Sukuna turned his head slowly, like a predator catching the scent of fresh prey. “Oh? Didn’t realize we had a fact-checker in the room.”

Karen puffed up, undeterred. “I just think it’s important to set a good example for our kids. You’re just trying to make yourself look good in front of all these women. What kind of husband are you, anyway? And lying—”

“Lying?” Sukuna interrupted, his tone dangerously sweet. “I don’t lie, sweetheart. Some of us just have a sense of humor. You want proof? I’ll take you hiking. Maybe you’ll end up wrestling a goat too.”

Karen crossed her arms with a smug smile on her face and leaned in with a condescending tone. “So, what exactly makes you think you’re qualified to be a husband? I mean, can you even handle a simple pregnancy without making a joke out of it?”

Sukuna’s voice dripped with mock sincerity. “You’re absolutely right. I’m a terrible husband. I should’ve let her handle the goat alone, huh? Really prove her mettle.” His smile dropped as he deadpanned, “Maybe next time, I’ll wrestle your husband instead.”

The room went silent, save for a muffled snort from someone in the back. Karen’s husband, who had been trying to become one with the floor, suddenly found the need to tie his shoelaces.

“Well, no real husband would let his wife wrestle a goat. And clearly, this yoga class is for serious parents, not... posers. Some of us treat the miracle of life with the respect it deserves. I mean, she probably got pregnant out of wedlock, and you’re probably the chump who got stuck with it,” she spat, her eyes narrowing as she regarded you with open disdain.

You opened your mouth to retort, but Sukuna stood up, towering over her with an intimidating presence. The air crackled with tension as he leaned in slightly, his voice low and menacing.

“For the final time, I. AM. HER. HUSBAND. The kind who’s here to support his wife, unlike some people,” he said, his tone dripping with a dangerous edge. The room fell silent, the other husbands shifting uncomfortably, their glares intensifying as they sensed the storm brewing.

“Back off, lady,�� one of the husbands muttered, clearly not wanting to get involved but unable to resist the urge to defend his pregnant wife.

Karen’s husband made a strangled noise, somewhere between a cough and a plea for help. Sukuna glanced at him, sizing him up like he was calculating the time it’d take to fold him into a yoga block. “You good over there, champ?”

The instructor, visibly sweating, clapped her hands again. “Okay, time for the next pose, the Partner Downward Dog! Let’s channel all that energy into our health!”

Sukuna groaned, muttering under his breath, “This woman and her yoga cult...” He shot a glance at you, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “You good to do this, or do I have to carry you like the delicate little penguin you are?”

“I’m fine,” you shot back, already struggling to maneuver your cumbersome body into position. Your stomach felt stretched beyond reason, and every movement brought a new kind of discomfort.

Sukuna was behind you in an instant, his large hands steadying your hips. His touch was firm but not rough, a quiet kind of reassurance he’d never acknowledge. “Alright, lean forward. I’ve got you.”

You could feel his gaze linger—not on the curve of your belly but lower. “Are you ogling my ass?”

“Shut up and focus on not falling,” he grumbled, though his smirk gave him away.

The instructor clapped again, her forced cheerfulness grating. “Great job, everyone! Now, onto the partner wheelbarrow pose.” 

You groaned, already dreading it. Sukuna, however, was unfazed. He easily lifted your legs, holding you steady as you awkwardly braced your arms on the mat.

Karen, the reigning queen of unsolicited advice, determined to assert dominance. “You’re supposed to engage your core more,” she said, her voice cutting through the room like nails on a chalkboard.

Sukuna didn’t even glance at her. “You’re supposed to shut up, Karen.”

She gasped. “My name is not…How dare you—”

“Don’t care.” Sukuna set you down and stood, cracking his knuckles. “Focus on your own yoga or let’s take this outside, or are you gonna send your husband?”

Karen sputtered, her face turning red as her husband tugged nervously at her sleeve. Now actively sweating. “Uh, babe, maybe let it go.”

Karen turned on him. “Are you scared of him?!”

“...Yes.”

“Don’t you start!” She snapped on him.

“...Okay.” He shrank back, clearly regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment.

Meanwhile, the instructor was frantically flipping through her clipboard. “Uh, next pose! Let’s try... uh, partner flying boat!”

Sukuna raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “Flying what now?”

“Just lift me,” you muttered, too tired to argue.

With an exaggerated sigh, he grabbed your hands and hoisted you into the air. The ease with which he balanced you on his feet was almost insulting. He looked up at you, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “See? I’m a natural.”

“You’re a show-off,” you grumbled, though the slight flutter in your chest betrayed you.

Behind you, Karen tripped over her mat again because her husband was clumsy, landing face-first with a muffled shriek.

Sukuna grinned, all teeth. “Careful, Karen. Wouldn’t want your husband to have to wrestle me over that.”

Her husband? Already halfway out the door.

He didn’t stop there. With unnecessary flair, he spun you around, earning gasps from the other moms. “He’s so strong,” one whispered, her voice tinged with awe.

“I can hear you,” Sukuna said sharply, his glare cutting through the room like a knife. “Eyes off.”

The mom in question flushed, looking away quickly. Even Karen seemed momentarily stunned into silence.

When Sukuna finally set you down, his hands lingered on your arms, steadying you. “Alright, you’re done for today,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you protested weakly, already too exhausted to stand.

“I just did,” he shot back, his voice softer than usual as he guided you to sit. His attention was back on you, the rest of the room forgotten. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, leaning against him. Despite his gruffness, you couldn’t deny the safety his presence brought.

Throughout the class, Sukuna was incredibly attentive, fetching water for you whenever you needed it and ensuring you stayed focused. You found yourself laughing openly after months, his unhinged stories and sassy comments bringing a lightness to the atmosphere. He reminded you of Megumi’s dad from years ago, the way he openly showed affection to Megumi’s mom. You couldn’t help but wonder how they were doing after his father passed away long before you reconnected with Megumi in college. The last you heard, his father had left a substantial sum to his mom to start their security solutions business, which Megumi had been managing while also pursuing his psychology degree.

He was quite a few years younger than you, and despite the years of no contact, he had come through for you when you needed him. But you couldn’t reach him now; he had a knack for tracking people down like his father. You remembered Megumi’s frustration when you had to leave your home country to marry the two men. He had been openly against your decision ever since he met them—he could warm up to Nanami, but Gojo? Marrying two men? That was a different story entirely. A wave of nostalgia washed over you as you realized how much you missed your college friends.

As you watched Sukuna’s antics, a swell of gratitude filled your heart. His unwavering support was a comforting presence, even as the reality of your situation loomed in the background.

After the class, as you stepped outside into the warm sunlight, Sukuna turned to you, a satisfied grin on his face. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You shook your head, a smile breaking through your earlier anxiety. “No, it was actually… nice.”

“Good. We’ll keep doing this,” he said, his tone resolute. “You need to enjoy this time, and I’ll make sure you do.”

As you walked back, the warmth of the sun on your skin and Sukuna’s presence beside you, you felt better. Maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to navigate this new life, one day at a time.

A couple of days later, the hum of your laptop was the only sound in the room, save for the occasional clack of your nails on the keyboard. Deadlines loomed, projects needed greenlighting, and your inbox was a battlefield of investors, board members, and department heads vying for your attention. You weren’t just the CEO of your company—you were the company. And even now, with your back aching and your feet swollen beyond recognition, you were determined to stay on top of it all.

Then, of course, Sukuna had to barge in.

“Are you seriously still working?” he drawled, leaning an arm against the door frame with that maddeningly smug look on his face.

You didn’t bother looking up. “I’m busy.”

“You’re pregnant.”

“And?”

“And you’re about to take a damn break,” he said, stalking into the room like a cat ready to knock something valuable off the table.

You scoffed, glancing at him over the rim of your blue lens glasses. “I can’t just stop working. This company doesn’t run itself.”

“Funny, I thought you hired executives for that,” he shot back, his crimson eyes narrowing.

“They still need me.”

Sukuna crossed the room in two strides, towering over you like a thundercloud. Before you could react, he reached down and unplugged your laptop with a decisive click.

“Hey!” you protested, scrambling to grab the cord, but he was faster. With infuriating ease, he tossed the power adapter onto a high shelf you had no hope of reaching in your current penguin state.

“What the hell, Sukuna?”

“Watch me,” he said, smirking. “Your job is to grow those little gremlins, not work yourself into the ground.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. The exhaustion hit like a freight train, your body sagging into the chair as if it finally realized it had permission to rest. Your glare softened, replaced by a quiet sigh of defeat. “I can’t just... stop,” you muttered, weaker now.

“You can,” he countered, crouching to meet your eye level. His voice was softer this time, the sharp edges smoothed out. “The company will survive without you for a few months. You? Not so much if you keep this up.”

He had a point, damn him.

“I still need to make arrangements,” you mumbled, leaning back and pressing a hand to your belly. The twins kicked in response, as if to echo his sentiment.

“Then make them,” Sukuna said, standing up and pulling your ergonomic gaming chair—he had gotten you one in your fav color—away from the desk with a gentle tug. “But from the couch. And only after you’ve eaten something.”

You wanted to argue, but the idea of sinking into the cushions and delegating for once was too tempting. “Fine,” you relented, glaring half-heartedly as you stood. “But only because you’re being annoying.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, penguin.” His smirk widened as he helped you waddle toward the couch, ignoring your threats of retaliation.

And maybe, just maybe, you felt a little lighter knowing he was right there to catch you when you needed to let go.

The pregnancy itself felt alien. Your body, once familiar, now seemed foreign, stretched to the limits of what it could endure. Veins stood out like rivers on a map, and your skin itched with a ferocity that no cream could soothe. At night, under dim lights, you swore you saw the twins moving just beneath the surface, shapes pressing against your belly as if testing the boundaries of their world.

But when you spoke to them, the chaos stilled. Your voice, soft and uncertain, seemed to reach them in a way nothing else could. “You’re being good today,” you murmured one evening, your hand rubbing olive oil on the tight curve of your stomach. The twins stirred beneath your touch, a gentle nudge pressing against your palm as though answering your unspoken thoughts. Tears welled in your eyes as a fragile smile tugged at your lips. You blinked them away.

From the doorway, Sukuna watched, arms crossed and face unreadable. His presence was always imposing, even when he wasn’t trying to be, but tonight there was something almost tentative about the way he lingered.

“They listen to you,” he said finally, his tone an odd mix of observation and something softer, almost vulnerable.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. The moment felt too delicate to break with words.

Sukuna pushed off the doorframe, his steps heavy but measured as he crossed the room. He reached for the blanket draped over the back of the chair, shaking it out with a flick of his wrist before tucking it carefully over you. His hands moved with an ease that belied his usual brashness, adjusting the pregnancy pillows he’d insisted on buying—three of them, because one wasn’t enough, apparently.

You watched him as he worked, the sharp lines of his face softened by the dim light. He paused when he caught you staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said, the corner of your mouth quirking up.

He snorted, clearly not buying it, but didn’t press. Instead, he stepped back, as if retreating to a safe distance.

“Sukuna,” you said suddenly, your voice breaking the quiet.

He stopped, half-turned toward the door.

“Do you want to feel them?” You gestured to your belly, your voice laced with genuine curiosity.

His reaction was instant and comically transparent. His shoulders stiffened, and his crimson eyes darted to your stomach like it might explode. “What? No. Why would I want to do that?”

You tilted your head, your smile turning sly. “Because they’re your kids, oh faux husband?”

“They’re your kids,” he shot back, his voice gruff, but the tips of his ears betrayed him, turning a faint shade of pink.

You laughed, low and amused. “You’re scared.”

“Am not,” he snapped, but the defensive edge in his tone only confirmed it.

You pressed, grinning now. “Big bad Sukuna, terrified of a couple of unborn gremlins?”

He glared, sulking. “I’m not scared. I just... don’t see the point.”

“Right.” You patted the space next to you on the bed. “Come on. They won’t bite.”

He hesitated, looking like you’d asked him to stick his hand into a nest of vipers. But after a moment, he moved closer, his movements awkward and deliberate, like he was approaching a wild animal.

“Here,” you said, taking his hand and placing it gently on your ginormous stomach. His palm was warm and rough against your skin, and for a moment, he didn’t move.

Soon, a tiny kick met his hand, tentative but unmistakable.

Sukuna froze. His eyes widened just a fraction, the briefest flicker of something raw and unguarded crossing his face.

“They’re saying hi,” you teased, your voice soft.

He pulled his hand back like he’d been burned, stuffing it into his pocket and muttering, “Yeah, well, tell them to keep it down.”

You laughed again, a sound that filled the room and made his scowl deepen. But there was no mistaking the way his gaze lingered on you, softer now, as if the weight of the moment had settled somewhere he desperately wanted to acknowledge.

After ensuring you were comfortable, he retreated to his usual spot in the next room. You heard the creak of his bed as he settled in, close enough to hear you if you called out. The bed wasn’t weak; he was just a giant sequoia tree.

Later that night, when the nightmares came—vivid and merciless—you woke trembling; the images of Gojo’s cold eyes and Nanami’s unforgiving hands lingered, still fresh in your mind, as though they were still in the room. Sukuna was there before you could fully sit up, his hands steady on your shoulders.

“Breathe,” he commanded, his voice firm but not unkind.

When your breaths came shallow and quick, he didn’t leave. Instead, he sat with you, his presence solid and grounding as the panic ebbed.

“You’re fine,” he said, his tone gruff but edged with a care he’d never admit. “I’ve got you.”

And he did. Even when his hands trembled just the faintest bit from exhaustion, you knew he wouldn’t let go. You noticed his long nails were filed down now.

His care was relentless, though not without its abrasive edges. He harassed you to eat, to drink water, to rest. When you tried to push back, his response was always the same: “Argue all you want, princess, but I’m not going anywhere.”

And he didn’t. You felt a sense of comfort in that. Your actual husbands, the fathers of your babies, had abandoned you months ago, while this man—who had no obligations to you—loved you as easily as breathing. You could see it in the way he ensured everything was always within reach for you, even when he wasn’t around. If you asked him for water fifteen times in a night, he’d fetch it for you every single time, despite his fatigue. He’d grumble and yell, but he’d still bring it to you without fail.

He hadn’t even mentioned the date he wanted since that day; he gave you the space you needed until you were ready. He did all of this for you without asking for anything in return. Even when you felt like a human submarine, he found ways to compliment you in his own unique manner, while your husbands had long ignored your existence, even before your pregnancy. You felt desirable, but right now, you simply didn’t have the energy to reciprocate anything.

One day the air in the apartment was stifling, even with the ocean breeze teasing the edges of the balcony curtains. You leaned against the railing, letting the salt-tinged wind kiss your skin. Sukuna was out, and for a few minutes, you allowed yourself a moment to enjoy the ocean breeze, to imagine a life where your past couldn’t find you.

Then you saw them.

Gojo’s stark white hair caught the light first, gleaming like a ghost under the streetlamp’s glow. His figure was impossible to miss, a beacon of anarchy, while Nanami’s shoulders were squared, his sharp gaze cutting through the night like a blade, locking onto you with unrelenting sharpness. His arm rose, a silent gesture to Gojo, and together they moved, their silhouettes bleeding from the street into your sanctuary like shadows with intent.

You immediately grabbed your phone.

Ryo: Please come home fast.

The knock was more a warning than a courtesy. Gojo didn’t wait for permission; the door swung open with an ease that felt invasive, wrong. They stepped inside, their presence heavy, oppressive, as if the air itself recoiled from their arrival.

“You’ve been busy,” Gojo said, his voice unnervingly calm. The cocky lilt you knew so well was gone, replaced by something jagged, something that cut.

Nanami’s eyes drifted downward, catching the curve of your stomach. His brows furrowed, confusion twisting into something darker as a ripple moved beneath your skin. It wasn’t subtle—an inhuman and ugly stretch, limbs pressing outward like trapped spirits testing the walls of their cage. You cursed yourself for wearing a crop top, but nothing else fit you these days, and it was too warm here in Schelles. His gaze snapped back to your face, but the damage was done. You saw it: the revulsion, the disbelief.

The air between the three of you crackled, silent but electric. Gojo’s eyes were locked onto yours, an ocean of emotions churning beneath the surface—rage, fear, something almost resembling grief.

“What’s going on?” Nanami finally asked, his voice tight, controlled, but teetering on the edge.

Your throat burned as you swallowed, the words threatening to choke you. Still, you forced yourself to stand straighter, your nails digging crescents into your palms. “Fine. You want the truth?” Your voice cracked, and you hated yourself for it. “They’re Sukuna’s. I’m pregnant with his twins, and since he’s half a curse, so are they.”

The room plunged into a suffocating silence.

Gojo’s grin faltered, the carefully constructed mask he wore slipping. His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. Nanami’s face was a study in restraint, but the tightness of his jaw betrayed him.

“You’re lying,” Gojo said, his voice low and icy.

You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “Why would I lie? You ignored me. You left me in a country where I didn’t even understand the language. Sukuna didn’t. He took care of me when you didn’t even notice I was breaking.”

“Disgusting,” Gojo spat, his words venomous.

Your vision blurred, but you refused to break. Not in front of them. Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the counter, the only thing keeping you upright. “Then leave. And don’t come back.”

Nanami flinched—a small, almost imperceptible movement, but enough to make your chest tighten with anger. “You expect us to believe that you… cheated?”

“I expect you to believe whatever lets you sleep at night,” you snapped, your voice trembling but resolute. “Because the truth doesn’t matter to either of you. It never did.”

Gojo’s hands shook now, the façade of control crumbling. “You think this is about us? Do you know what I’ve been through? What we’ve been through? I had to kill my best friend. Suguru—” His voice cracked.

“I don’t even know who that is,” you hissed, your anger flaring. “You’ve never mentioned him before. I don’t understand why you’d react like this over killing some long-lost friend I’ve never even heard of. You’ve spent years with Nanami—more time than you ever did with whoever that is, so for all intents and purposes, he should be your best friend. And even if you were so sad over your so-called best friend, why am I the one left to bear the brunt of your grief? What did I do to deserve this?”

You aggressively wiped the single tear that rolled down your cheek and continued, “I begged you—both of you—for any semblance of affection. I told you I was drowning, and you just... left me. You fucked each other for months while I cried myself to sleep in a corner of your penthouse, wondering why I was even there.”

Nanami stepped forward, his voice steady but strained. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t it?” Your voice was a blade, sharp and unforgiving. “When I came back to confront you, you were sleeping peacefully in each other’s arms. Like I didn’t exist. Like I wasn’t your wife.”

The words landed like physical blows. Neither of them moved.

“I’m sorry,” Gojo whispered, the words fragile, brittle.

You shook your head, tears burning tracks down your cheeks. “Sorry doesn’t fix this. Sorry doesn’t erase what you did. You don’t deserve forgiveness. And even if I could forgive you, I will never forget the night I became an intruder in my own marriage.”

Nanami reached out, his hand hovering near your arm, but you recoiled, crossing your arms protectively over your stomach. “Don’t. You don’t get to touch me!”

Gojo’s voice dropped, desperation leaking through the cracks. “We didn’t know you were pregnant.”

“Of course you didn’t,” you said, your voice shaking with fury. “You didn’t care enough to notice. Even with your six eyes and your oh-so-great curse signature reading abilities you always bragged about, you didn’t.”

When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet but unyielding. “Leave. Sukuna will send over the divorce papers. Sign them and don’t come back.”

They hesitated, their expressions unreadable, but when you pointed toward the door, they obeyed. The sound of it slamming shut echoed through the apartment, leaving you trembling in its wake.

It had to be this way if you were to keep your babies safe, away from the dangers of the sorcery world. You needed to ensure that no one could take them from you.

A few minutes later, Sukuna returned. Finding the front lock broken, he rushed inside, his presence filling the space with a warmth you hadn’t realized you needed until now. He took one look at your tear-streaked face and the shattered pieces of your resolve and said nothing. Instead, he crossed the room, his arms enveloping you in a hug, firm and grounding.

“They were here,” he stated, not asked.

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “I told them the twins are yours; I’m sorry nothing came to mind.”

He tilted his head, his crimson eyes studying you. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of them when they come back.”

“They won’t,” you said, your voice hardening. “They don’t deserve to know them. Or me.”

Sukuna smirked, but it wasn’t mocking. “Good.”

And when he sighed, content, for the first time in a long time, you truly felt that you were safe.

You peered up at him.

Sukuna smirked, his arms still holding you close. “Told you I’d take care of you, princess.”

But even as you closed your eyes, the weight of your choices pressed down on you, heavier than ever.

-

The hum of the plane’s engines was a constant, hollow noise, drowning out the world outside. The cabin was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a reading light over Nanami’s seat. He stared blankly at the leather-bound hardcover of The Myth of Sisyphus in his lap, its pages untouched. Beside him, Gojo leaned against the window, his long legs stretched out in the aisle, his eyes obscured by the darkened lenses of his sunglasses.

Neither of them had spoken since takeoff. The silence between them was heavy, a chasm filled with unspoken truths and raw, festering wounds.

“She’s lying,” Gojo said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, like speaking it aloud would make it more real. “The twins… they’re ours.”

Nanami didn’t respond immediately. He flipped the book closed and placed it on the tray table in front of him, his movements deliberate, mechanical. “I know.”

Gojo let out a hollow laugh, pressing his knuckles against his lips. “She doesn’t understand these things because she can’t see them. Those… those legs under her skin.” His voice cracked, and he turned his head toward the window, the faint reflection of his face pale and gaunt. “That’s not Sukuna’s cursed energy. One of them is mine, and one is yours.”

Nanami’s hands gripped the armrests until his knuckles turned white. “It doesn’t matter.”

Gojo turned to look at him, his sunglasses sliding down his nose enough to reveal his bloodshot eyes. “How can you say that? They’re our kids, Kento. She—she’s going to raise them with him.”

Nanami closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, as if releasing the air from his lungs could somehow ease the ache in his chest. The weight of his thoughts pressed down on him, a suffocating reminder of the choices they had made and the consequences that followed. “And what would we offer them, Satoru? A life filled with curses? A life of blood and death?” His voice trembled slightly, betraying the turmoil within. “She’s better off with him, away from us.”

He opened his eyes, staring blankly at the seat in front of him, as if the fabric could somehow absorb his pain. “I’ve looked into him—he abandoned sorcery long ago and holds no loyalty to its hierarchy. He’s free from the chains that bind us, free from the expectations and the endless cycle of violence that defines our lives. He will prioritize her, unlike us, always off on missions with no guarantee of return.” The bitterness in his tone deepened, each word laced with regret. “He will be there for her, keeping her and the kids safe.”

Nanami’s mind raced with images of what could have been—a life untainted by the darkness of their world, where laughter replaced the echoes of sorrow and love flourished without the shadow of fear. He could almost see you smile, the warmth of your presence, and the innocence of their children, untouched by the burdens they carried. But that vision felt like a distant dream, slipping further away with each passing moment.

“Do you think we could have given them that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the thought aloud would make it more real. “A chance at a normal life, free from the horrors we’ve faced? We’ve only ever known how to fight, how to survive. What kind of future is that for them?”

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken truths and the haunting realization that they had failed not just you, but the very lives they had hoped to protect. Nanami’s heart ached with the knowledge that their choices had led them to this moment, a crossroads where love and duty collided, leaving only fragments of what could have been.

Gojo slammed a fist against the armrest, the sound startling in the quiet cabin. “We didn’t even fight for her. Not once. We just… let her slip away. What the hell is wrong with us?”

 The weight of Nanami's eyes settling heavily on Gojo. “We broke her, Satoru. Piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the woman we claimed to love.” His voice was steady, but his words were sharp enough to cut. “And now she’s gone.”

Gojo’s head dropped into his hands, his shoulders trembling. “I thought… I thought I was doing what I had to. After Suguru, after everything, I just—” He choked on his words, his breath hitching. “I couldn’t lose you too. And I did. I lost both of you.”

Nanami’s gaze dropped to the floor, his voice quieter now. “She begged us to see her. To hear her. And we didn’t.”

Gojo dragged a hand down his face, the stubble on his jaw rasping against his palm. “She looked at me like I was a stranger, Kento. Like I wasn’t even human. Like she was scared of me.”

“She had every right to,” Nanami said, his voice carrying a weight of finality. “We left her alone. We left her angry, grieving, and drowning; we made her feel like she didn’t belong in her own home. Then we chased her relentlessly from one country to another. Any woman, pregnant or not, would be scared.”

Gojo’s laugh was bitter, devoid of humor.

The silence returned, heavier now, punctuated only by the muffled sound of Gojo’s uneven breathing. Nanami sat motionless, his hands resting limply on his lap; he looked utterly shattered.

“Do you think she’ll forgive us?” Gojo asked, his voice barely audible.

Nanami didn’t answer immediately. He stared out at the endless expanse of clouds outside the window, his expression unreadable. “I don’t think it matters.”

Gojo’s breath hitched again, and he leaned back in his seat, tilting his head to the ceiling as if he could somehow escape the crushing weight of his own guilt. He murmured. “We could’ve—”

“Could’ve doesn’t change anything,” Nanami interrupted, his voice harsh. “She’s gone, Satoru. And she’s not coming back.”

The finality of those words settled between them, cold and unrelenting. Gojo turned his head toward the window, the light from the wing of the plane catching on the tears that slipped from beneath his sunglasses. Nanami sat motionless beside him, his gaze fixed on the book in front of him.

Neither of them spoke again for the rest of the flight. The weight of what they had lost, what they had destroyed, was louder than any words could ever be.

-

The days after their visit felt heavier than anything you’d endured. The lie sat like a stone in your chest, each passing moment adding to its weight. You told yourself it was necessary, that it was for your children. But it didn’t stop the nightmares that came in fragments, jagged and disjointed, like shards of a shattered mirror slicing into your subconscious.

You stood in a darkened room, the walls pulsing faintly as if alive. A sickly red light seeped through the cracks, casting terrifying shadows that writhed and twisted. Your breath fogged in the cold air, the chill sinking into your bones.

Gojo was there first, his white hair glowing unnaturally in the dim light. His face was obscured, his features blurred as if smudged by unseen hands. But his voice was clear, cutting through the oppressive silence like a knife.

“You’re disgusting.”

The words echoed, multiplying, each iteration louder than the last until it became a deafening chant. His silhouette loomed larger, his hands outstretched, fingers impossibly long and claw-like. They reached for you, dragging through the air, each swipe leaving behind trails of darkness that spread like ink.

You tried to move, but your feet were rooted to the ground. When you looked down, black tendrils coiled around your ankles, slithering up your legs. They were cold and wet, like the touch of something ancient and decayed.

Behind him, Nanami appeared, his back to you. His suit was untouched by the darkness that surrounded you both. You called his name, your voice trembling and weak, but he didn’t turn.

“Ken!” you screamed, desperation clawing at your throat.

When he finally moved, it was slow, deliberate. His head tilted slightly, just enough for you to catch the edge of his profile. His lips parted, but no sound came. Instead, his skin cracked, fine lines spreading across his face like a porcelain doll dropped from a great height. From the fissures seeped black ichor, thick and oozing, dripping down to pool at his feet.

He turned fully then, and you wished he hadn’t. His eyes were empty voids, twin abysses that seemed to pull you in. His expression was blank, his mouth set in a line of quiet condemnation.

“Why did you lie?” His voice was soft but burrowed into your mind like a parasite.

“I had to,” you whispered, though your words felt small, swallowed by the growing shadows.

“Did you?” he pressed, his figure growing distant even as he stood still.

The tendrils tightened, pulling you downward. You clawed at them, your nails splitting as you tried to free yourself. But they only tightened, dragging you into the floor that had become a gaping maw, teeth lining the edges of the pit.

As you sank, Gojo and Nanami stood above you, unmoving. Their faces blurred together, features melding and twisting until they became something monstrous. Gojo’s laughter echoed, sharp and cruel, as Nanami’s voice droned in an endless loop:

“You should’ve told the truth.”

The last thing you saw before the darkness swallowed you whole was the faint ripple of movement beneath your skin, something inside you fighting against the pull. But even that wasn’t going to be enough.

You woke gasping, your hand clutching your stomach as though to protect the life within. The room was quiet, the shadows still. But their voices lingered, whispering accusations in the corners of your mind.

Sukuna was always there in an instant, holding you as you fought through the panic attack. He rubbed circles on your back and forced you to count and breathe.

A/N: So, mystery hunk (™) is officially in the chat, and yes, he’s soft for our girl in his own chaotic way. Also, the part about Nanami reading Camus? That wasn’t just for flavor text—yes, I went there. If you’ve ever wanted to cry about The Myth of Sisyphus and think about how life is just a series of rolling boulders uphill, congratulations—this chapter’s for you! What do you think Sukuna’s Ryo-side would say to Nanami’s Sisyphus-side? Also, people who are grumbling about Sukuna being our guy, I have my reasons; hear me out: Gojo and Nanami are both special grades in this fic, so you need someone stronk who can proteck and attack you/for you. I will write more fics in the future where you'll have your fav guys as your saviors, so in the meantime, if you have ideas or just want to yell at me, send them on my asks. I’m curious: do you think Gojo’s breakdown was justified, or was he being selfish again? Let’s talk about it! Oh, and if you had to wrestle a goat, which JJK character would you pick to help you? (Sukuna’s banned. Too OP.)

Also this is your manz -

And this is what you married -

Even the stable one is weird -

Next Chapter - Will try for Monday

All Works Masterlist

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

Disclaimer - I found these memes randomly on Pinterest, so lmk the creators if you know so that I can tag them.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Glory Hallelujah

Written for day 25 of the @steddieholidaydrabbles and the 12 Days of Christmas bonus card of the @steddiebingo

Prompts: Christmas & Glory Hole

Rated: E

Tags: Post-Vecna; Everybody Lives; Rockstar Eddie; Sex Clubs; Glory Holes; Blowjobs; Reunions

Notes: I did a poll to determine which prompt from the bingo card I should combine with the Christmas prompt of the holiday drabbles. Merry Dick-mas, you filthy heathens, I love all of you! ❤️

Eddie isn’t sure what the correct word for someone like him is. He’s been pondering it over four beers now, watching the bored-looking girl at the center of the room spin around her pole, but without any success. 

Pathetic springs to mind, but that isn't strong enough. There must be a stronger word than pathetic for someone spending Christmas at a goddamn sex club. But he was lonely, and he had nowhere to go, so it seemed like a good idea. 

It wasn’t. The place is glaringly empty, even Indy’s kink scene having better places to be on this most magical of nights.

He should’ve gone to Kentucky with Wayne. 

Except this is the old guy’s first time meeting his girlfriend’s family, and Eddie can just imagine how this would’ve played out if he’d tagged along.

Hi, I’m Eddie, Wayne’s nephew. Yeah, I might look familiar. Yeah, I was on the cover of Rolling Stone last month. Thanks, I’m happy your grandkids like my music. Yeah, no, I didn’t commit those satanic murders, that was- Listen, can we talk about my uncle? 

So, instead, here he is. 

Fuck, he hasn’t felt this miserable and mad at himself since that one time he told Steve Harrington to get back with his girl while inconspicuously ogling the guy’s sweaty chest hair under his own battle vest. 

Eddie sighs, getting up from his chair. He might as well head home while he still has some self-respect left.

He's almost at the exit when something catches his eye. There's a row of stalls in the wall, each with its own lockable door. 

The light over one is on. 

There's no fucking way, he thinks, even as his feet carry him right over and into the adjacent cabin. Someone probably forgot to kill the light. There's no fucking way anyone is in there. That would be at least as pathetic as a fucking rock star going to a fucking sex club on fucking Christmas day because he's a depressed moron. 

Still, he goes in, locks the door and pulls down his pants. The hole in the wall stares back at him like it's trying to mock him. Eddie tells himself to stop being silly. 

Worst case scenario is he stands here with his limp dick poking through a hole in the wall like an idiot. Nobody will know, because nobody’s there. Best case scenario is he gets to blow off some steam. 

Nothing happens. 

Eddie sighs and is just about to pull out when suddenly, there's movement. His heart leaps into his throat. He hears it all through the thin wall. A sharp intake of breath, like whoever is on the other side is just as surprised as him. They probably are. They've probably been in there a while. Then, the thud of knees hitting the floor. Eddie has just enough time to think that the mystery person must be really eager for this before he feels soft, warm lips wrapping around his tip. 

Whoever the person in the other stall is, they sure know what they’re doing. They start out gently, slowly sliding Eddie’s swelling cock in and out of that deliciously warm mouth, tongue teasing the length of him. Once he's fully hard, the tongue is joined by a hand, alternating soft licks with firm strokes, and Eddie feels something urgent and hot build at the base of his spine. He moans, fingers grasping the top of the stall for leverage as his hips buck, trying to get closer to that mouth even with the wall between them. 

They keep this up for several minutes. Eddie tries to keep his voice down, but it seems like each of his groans and whimpers spurs the other person on. And then, they scrape their teeth over his tip, and a startled curse escapes his lips, and they swallow him all the way down, as far as the wall allows. 

Eddie comes with a hoarse shout, spilling hot and wet into that mouth. The other person doesn’t pull away. Eddie feels their throat constricting around him as they swallow.

“Fuuuck,” Eddie groans, forehead sagging against the wall. His arms feel like jelly from supporting his weight. “Shit. Jesus. Shitshitshit.” 

And that is when the other person pulls off. 

“Eddie, if it’s you, please come out?” 

“Wait a sec,” says a voice. A voice garbled and wrecked from sucking his cock and swallowing his come. A voice that Eddie hasn’t heard in ten years.

Eddie’s heart stops. On the other side of the wall, a door opens.

“Eddie?” Right outside his own door. “Shit, is that really you?”

This isn’t real. It’s some bizarre, orgasm-induced pipe dream brought about by too much beer and seasonal depression. There’s no way the person outside is who Eddie thinks he is. 

He does. At least he remembers to pull up his pants first.

The door swings open, and there he is. Steve Harrington, ten years older but no less gorgeous, clad in skintight denim and a silky purple shirt, lips turned up into a delighted smile. They’re still swollen and shiny. 

“I knew it!” he cheers, pulling Eddie into a hug. “Nobody else babbles curses like that.”

Eddie grunts. Steve pulls back, holding him at arm’s length. 

“Looking good,” he smiles. “Even better than on that Rolling Stone cover. How have you been, man? Dustin said you talk sometimes, but you never-” 

“What the fuck is going on here?” Eddie blurts. His knees are wobbly and his head is spinning. “You aren’t- … You just sucked my- … You’re straight!” 

Steve laughs, and it’s every bit as breathtaking as Eddie remembers. 

“Yeah, no, I figured that out a while ago. Which you would know, if you’d just kept in touch.” He winks right into Eddie’s gobsmacked face, then takes him by the shoulder and steers him towards the bar. “How about you buy me a drink? We can celebrate this little Christmas miracle, and I’ll bring you up to speed.” 

More holiday drabbles

More Steddie Bingo

[mmeskywalker]

|| second date update

summary: you were confused to as why ANAKIN SKYWALKER didn’t call you back. after being friends for so long, you finally got the chance to go on a date with the guy, and he completely ghosts you. what went wrong? you asked yourself. eventually, the question got to be too much to bear, so padmé helps you out…

word count: 2.6k+

a/n: this is lowercase intended. please do not be alarmed! i’ve been watching brooke and jubal tiktoks all week sooooo, here we are.

warnings: modern!ani, a little angsty, but that’s literally it.

——————————————————————————

“no, padmé, that’s exactly the problem.” you groan into your palms. “he won’t call me back!”

just your luck, you go out on a date with your best friend of 4 years and he decides he wants nothing to do with you anymore.

of-fucking-course.

“well—honey,” she sighs, her slender fingers pushing your hair out of your face. padmé pauses for a moment, trying to think of what to tell you until suddenly her head perks. “do you listen to the radio at all?” she asks.

you shake your head. “only when i’m really bored.”

“well, there’s this radio show called brooke and jubal in the morning… they do a segment where they call the people who leave their listeners confused about why they aren’t calling them back.”

“really?” you lift your head. tempting, you think before furrowing your brows. “okay, no—i am NOT having a radio show call anakin to ask about why he’s not calling me back.”

padmé laughs, opening up her macbook, “if you don’t email them, i will, y/n!”

your eyes widen as she clicks on the gmail app, her mouse edging against the button that allows her to contact brooke and jubal. you close your eyes, a hand reaching over to squeeze her arm as if giving her permission to do it despite your heart racing faster than it ever has before.

before you know it, she’s written a message and hitting send.

“what’s the worst that will happen?” padmé says. “they get hundreds of emails a day, they’re unlikely to even respond.”

“right,” you reluctantly agree.

——————————————————————————

you wake up to your phone buzzing beside you. with a groan, you roll over, your hand plopping on the device as if trying to turn off an alarm. it doesn’t turn off. your head perks up, confused until you recognize the number.

brooke and jubal.

“shit!” you shout, stumbling your phone in your hands before clicking the glowing, green button, answering their call.

“uh— hello?” you try to keep your composure, but embarrassment is rushing through your entire body. you’re on the phone with a radio show trying to get ahold of anakin.

pathetic.

“hello! this is jubal, from brooke and jubal in the morning.” a host-like voice booms from the other line. “is this y/n we’re speaking to?”

“it is!” you say, sounding just as excited despite the pit forming in your stomach.

jubal laughs, “wonderful! did we wake you?” he asks. “sorry about that, we just wanted to hear a more detailed version of what happened the other night.”

“this guy… anakin?” brooke jumps in. “you say that he was your best friend?”

“yeah!” you rub your face. “yeah—we were close for 4 years. he asks me on a date, and afterward completely ignores me.”

brooke makes a sound of sheer confusion from the other line. “huh, that’s so weird,” she exclaims. “tell me more about this date. was there anything that could have indicated this out of him?”

you scrunch your forehead, trying to recall a bad moment. “he seemed a little nervous, but that’s just anakin.” you chuckle. “we had a great time. he came over to my house and we prepared picnic foods, laughing and cooking together until he drove us to our favorite park. i thought everything was going really well.”

“there was even a moment where it looked as if he wanted to kiss me,” you continue. “we had just stopped laughing, and he started to look at me with his big, beautiful, blue eyes… it was as if the entire world momentarily stopped spinning.”

“looked as if?” jubal asks. “so he didn’t actually kiss you?”

that stings a little, but you shake your head. “no, he didn’t actually kiss me.”

“bummer!” brooke replies. “i wonder why? it sounds as if you guys had a really great night. a romantic picnic with your best friend—i don’t understand what went wrong, do you jubal?”

“no, i don’t either!”

jubal pauses for a moment, “and you’re sure nothing weird or embarrassing happened during your date?”

“i’m positive, jubal.” you are quick to reply.

“well,” he sighs. “i’m pretty confused too then. i say we call him and get to the bottom of this. before we do that though, you need to prepare for the worst. whatever he’s about to say will be broadcasted on the radio, and it might be embarrassing. are you okay with that, y/n?”

you nod your head, your tone shifting slightly. “yes, i—i just want my best friend back.”

“you seem like such a kind girl,” brooke frowns. “we’ll figure this out for you.”

“we aaarrrrreeee going to have to ask you to mute though, y/n,” jubal adds, “i know it’ll be tempting but try not to join into the conversation until we signal you in.”

you let out a quiet laugh, nodding silently. “okay, i’ll try my best!” your nervousness begins to pile into your gut as they warn you about adding anakin the the call. it’s all beginning to feel a little too real. you swallow thickly, double checking that you’re muted.

“hello?” anakin stretches, his voice groggy from sleep.

“hello, good morning!” jubal says, excitedly. “can i speak to anakin, please?”

“uh, yeah, this is him.” anakin replies, confused.

jubal smiles warmly, his voice clear on the other line, almost as if he were catching up with an old friend. “hi, how are you?” he asks.

“good— who is this?” anakin is clearly not in the mood, and you look to the side, ashamed to be contacting him this way.

“this is jubal, from brooke and jubal in the morning!” before he can finish, anakin cuts him off. “broken what?” he asks, mishearing jubal’s declaration.

some guy in the background laughs as brooke comments, “well, we are broken.” before jubal chuckles, cutting them off. “no, brooke and jubal in the morning, we host a radio show!”

“we’re calling you because we got an email about you from one of our listeners,” jubal says. “an email?” anakin replies. “yeah it’s from a girl that you went out on a date with!”

“what, i’m sorry— i don’t understand what’s going on.” anakin sighs, scratching his head.

“i know, you’re not supposed to yet, i’ll explain… okay, so i host a radio show, and we do a segment called ‘the second date update’, that’s where you go out on a date with somebody and then don’t call them after. when that happens, they email us to see if we can get you on the phone and ask what happened.”

“okay…” anakin says, his attention beginning to focus on the phone call.

jubal raises a brow. “so you went out on a date with a girl named y/n?”

you hear anakin stand from his bed and know exactly what he’s doing. whenever he gets stressed he starts to pace back and forth, and it causes you to hold you breath. “y—yes i did,” he mutters, almost as if he were embarrassed.

“you sound a little ashamed there, buddy?” jubal states. “is everything alright?”

“yeah, everything’s fine.” anakin clears his throat. “why are you asking about y/n?”

jubal doesn’t hesitate to answer. “well, she told us that you guys had a really romantic evening. you went out on a picnic, enjoyed some alone time together, and there was even a moment where she thought you would kiss her.”

“i don’t know if i want to talk about this on the radio…” anakin says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“listen, man,” jubal sighs. “i get that, i do, but y/n agreed to hearing whatever it is you have to say, no matter the outcome.”

anakin exhales sharply, and you can practically hear him running a hand through his hair. “she said that?” his voice is quieter now, more cautious, like he’s speaking directly to himself and not the hosts.

“she did,” jubal says, his tone warm, almost encouraging. “she just wants her best friend back, man. but she also doesn’t understand what happened. you’ve got to help us out here—what’s going on? why’d you ghost her?”

anakin groans, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of his pacing. you know exactly what he looks like right now: hair a mess, his hand constantly fidgeting at the back of his neck, that crease forming between his brows like it does when he’s stressed.

“it’s not like i wanted to ignore her,” he finally mutters, almost defensively. “but it’s… complicated.”

brooke hums, and you can picture her leaning closer to the mic like she’s about to pull the truth out of him. “anakin, you know we’re not letting you off the hook with ‘complicated,’ right? y/n told us the date was perfect—picnic, laughs, chemistry. what could possibly have gone so wrong?”

“nothing went wrong!” he snaps, but then he sighs, his tone softening. “that’s the thing. it was perfect. it was too perfect, okay? y/n’s been my best friend for years, and suddenly, she’s there, and she looks… she looks beautiful, and she’s laughing at my dumb jokes, and we’re just… making sandwiches in her kitchen like we’ve done a hundred times before, but it doesn’t feel the same. it felt like… like I was standing on the edge of something huge.”

jubal chuckles lightly. “sounds like you’re describing a rom-com moment, dude. you’re telling me you ghosted her because it felt too right?”

anakin groans again, frustrated. “you don’t get it. if it went wrong—if i messed it up—i wouldn’t just lose a date. i’d lose her. and I can’t… i can’t lose her.”

your heart squeezes painfully at his words. it’s everything you’ve been dying to hear, but it’s also infuriating. he was scared? that’s why he disappeared without a word?

brooke clicks her tongue, her voice playful but firm. “anakin, honey, i’m gonna be honest—you sound like a massive idiot right now. instead of risking messing things up, you actually messed things up by ghosting her. she thinks you don’t care.”

“but i do care,” he blurts, almost desperate. “i care so much it freaks me out. y/n’s… she’s everything. she’s been there for me through everything. and then that night, it wasn’t just friendship anymore—it was something more. i didn’t know what to do with that.”

there’s a long pause, and you realize you’re holding your breath, your hands gripping your phone so tightly your knuckles ache.

“look,” jubal says, breaking the silence. “i get that you’re scared, man. love’s messy, and yeah, maybe it’s risky. but if you don’t talk to her, you’re gonna lose her anyway. is that what you want?”

anakin’s voice is so quiet you almost don’t catch it. “no. that’s not what i want.”

“so, can we bring her in?” brooke asks gently, her voice softening now. “she’s been listening this whole time. do you want to talk to her?”

your stomach flips as the words register. this is it. the moment you’ve been waiting for—and dreading.

anakin hesitates, and for a second, you’re terrified he’ll say no. but then he exhales, his voice steady despite the emotion laced in it. “yeah. yeah, let me talk to her.”

jubal gives you the signal, and your thumb hovers over the mute button. your chest feels impossibly tight, the rhythmic pounding of your heart drowning out every other sound in the room. you try to steady your breathing, but it’s no use—the nervous energy coursing through you is electric. swallowing the lump in your throat, you finally press the button, unmuting yourself.

“anakin?” your voice wavers, barely above a whisper.

there’s a beat of silence so long you’re sure he’s left the call. just as you’re about to check your phone, his voice filters through, quiet and uncertain. “y/n.”

his tone carries so much weight that your stomach twists painfully. “so…” you begin, your words shaky. “you’ve been ignoring me because you’re scared?”

he groans softly, the sound distant, like he’s pacing again. you can almost picture him: one hand tugging at his hair, the other shoved deep into his pocket. “it sounds so stupid when you say it like that.”

“because it is stupid,” you shoot back, though your voice lacks venom. “do you know how much i’ve been overthinking this? how many times i’ve replayed that night in my head, wondering if i did something wrong?”

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” he says, almost tripping over his words in his eagerness to reassure you. “you were… perfect.” his voice dips lower, softer. “that’s the problem, y/n. everything about that night was perfect. and it terrified me.”

your breath catches, the sincerity in his words catching you off guard. “terrified you? why?”

anakin exhales heavily, and when he speaks, his voice is laced with raw vulnerability. “because i realized that night that you’re not just my best friend anymore. you’re… so much more than that. and if i mess this up, i lose you. i don’t know if i could handle losing you.”

his confession hits you like a tidal wave, a mix of emotions swelling in your chest—relief, frustration, affection. “anakin,” you say softly, your voice cracking under the weight of it all. “you’ve been my best friend for four years. do you really think i’d just disappear if something went wrong?”

he hesitates, and you can hear the faint creak of floorboards as he shifts his weight. “i don’t know,” he finally admits, his voice so small it makes your heart ache. “but i couldn’t take that chance.”

“you idiot,” you mutter, shaking your head even though he can’t see you. there’s no malice in your words, only exasperated affection. “do you have any idea how much i wanted you to kiss me that night? how much i’ve been hoping you’d just talk to me instead of leaving me in the dark?”

“i wanted to,” he says, the regret heavy in his tone. “god, y/n, i wanted to kiss you so badly. but then i started overthinking, and all i could see were the ways i might screw everything up. so i panicked.”

you let out a dry laugh, the bitterness in it surprising even you. “well, congratulations. you managed to freak yourself out over nothing and made things awkward anyway.”

he laughs, a soft, breathy sound that carries a hint of his usual warmth. “yeah, i guess i did.”

silence settles over the call, thick with unspoken emotions. it’s not uncomfortable, but it’s heavy, like both of you are trying to figure out what comes next.

finally, he breaks it. “so… where do we go from here, y/n?” his voice is tentative, like he’s afraid of the answer.

before you can respond, jubal’s voice cuts in, light and teasing. “how about i pay for your second date?”

you can’t help but laugh, the tension breaking just enough for you to breathe again. “i think that’s be wonderful, jubal.”

“good,” jubal adds, clearly grinning. “because it sounds like you two could use a do-over. no pressure, though.”

anakin’s chuckle rumbles softly through the line. “i wouldn’t mind that. a do-over, i mean. but only if you’re up for it, y/n.”

your chest tightens at his words, but this time, it’s not from anxiety. it’s hope, tentative but real. “yeah,” you say quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “i think we could use a do-over.”

the radio show hosts cheer dramatically in the background, and even brooke chimes in with a delighted laugh. “now that’s what we like to hear!”

as the call winds down, anakin’s voice softens again. “can i call you later? you know, without the whole radio audience listening in?”

you grin, the weight of the past few days finally starting to lift. “yeah, anakin. call me later.”

“i will,” he promises, and for the first time in days, you believe him.

[etclouie]

possibly for your celebration could i get 72 and 79 with mattheo please

˚୨୧⋆｡ prompt/s; 72) “you’re not actually trying to convince me that was a friendly kiss, are you?” and 79) “i wish you’d give me a chance” — from 100 dialogue prompts

˚୨୧⋆｡ warnings; mattheo x best friend!reader, secret pining, matt kisses reader, reader uses mattheo and matty interchangeably, that’s it i think

˚୨୧⋆｡ a/n; if this is horribly ooc, mbmb

— thank you for celebrating 600 with me || submissions are now closed

the castles corridors were eerily quiet as you walked side by side with your best friend, Mattheo. the castle had its usual charm but tonight it felt different. 

there was an air of tension that neither of you could ignore. 

Mattheo’s usual smirk was absent and was replaced by something softer, more contemplative, though he still held that same dangerous allure.

you felt the weight of his gaze on you as you passed through the hallways, your heart racing slightly faster than it usually did but you ignored it. you had more important things to focus on, like your upcoming exam. 

“so,”

Mattheo broke the silence between you, his voice a mix of amusement and something you could t quite place. 

“are you actually going to study for that potions exam, or should i just plan to carry you through it?”

you rolled your eyes, nudging him with your elbow as you continued walking. 

“i can handle it, thanks. i don’t need a babysitter”

he barked out a laugh before he grinned, flashing you a ‘really?’ look. 

you’d stopped to turn to him, rolling your eyes as you caught the look on his face. crossing your arms over your chest as he spoke. 

“that’s what they all say, but you’ll be begging for my help when you fail”

he teased, which pulled a huff from you before you laughed alongside him. Mattheo always knew how to make you laugh, even on the worst days. 

“more like you’ll be begging for my help when you fail”

you countered, and his lips tugged into a frown momentarily. as much as he hated to admit it, you were right. potions wasn’t exactly his strongest suit. 

as you rounded a corner, the two of you slowed. something in the air had shifted and you noticed the change before he said anything. 

Mattheo’s usual smirk was long gone now, replaced by something serious. his posture stiffened, and his eyes met yours with an intensity that was unfamiliar. 

“Matty?”

you asked, using his nickname but being unable to mask the unease creeping into your voice. 

“there’s something i’ve been wanting to talk to you about”

his voice was low, hesitant even. a stark contrast to his usual cocky confidence which made you frown. 

you knew it had to be something really serious for him to have no cockiness about him. 

“what’s wrong?”

he didn’t answer immediately, instead he stepped closer. his gaze locked onto your lips made your heart skip a beat, and instinctively you took a step back. 

“Mattheo?”

you used his full name this time, in an attempt to get words out of him. but before you could process what was happening, he closed the gap between you. 

his hand reached up to your face, cradling your jaw and absentmindedly running his thumb across your cheek. 

“Mattheo, what—“

his lips pressed against yours in a swift unexpected kiss, effectively cutting you off mid sentence. 

you froze, every muscle in your body locking up. it wasn’t a friendly kiss, not in the slightest. it was something else entirely— a kiss full of intent, and you could feel it. as if every ounce of tension he had been carrying had poured into that single moment. 

when he pulled away, his face stayed inches from yours and his breath was warm against your skin. 

you stared at him wide eyed, trying to process what had just happened. 

“wait, hold on—“

you sputtered, backing up a few steps but he followed again. you kept backing up until your back hit the wall, Mattheo staying a hairs width away. 

“you’re not actually trying to convince me that was a friendly kiss, are you?”

Mattheo’s lips curled into a half smirk, but his eyes weren’t mocking. they were vulnerable..

“no”

he murmured, face staying inches from yours and his eyes searching yours. 

“not friendly. but i didn’t want to just tell you, i needed to show you”

your mind was spinning. the reality of the situation something akin to overwhelming. 

Mattheo Riddle — the same Mattheo who had always been the mysterious and somewhat unpredictable bad boy of Slytherin house — had just kissed you. 

and it wasn’t some quick, meaningless gesture. 

it wasn’t like the various flings and one night stands he’d told you all about, much to your dismay. 

it had been a kiss that made your pulse race and your heart skip. 

“why didn’t you just tell me?”

you managed to ask, your voice shaky as you continued. voice dropping to a barely audible whisper. 

“why now?”

Mattheo sighed, his expression softening even more. 

his left hand braced himself on the wall by your head, while the other cradled your face again. thumb drawing languid strokes across your cheek. 

“i’ve been trying to figure out the right time for ages, but there’s never been one. you’re my best friend. i’ve been hiding this from you and it’s been driving me insane”

he said in one breath, exhaling as the last word slipped before he sighed. 

his eyes even softer than before, his whole demeanour different. he seemed something akin to shy, though he’d never admit to it. 

“i wish you’d give me a chance”

your breath hitched. you looked up at him, struggling to find words to make sense of it all. 

it wasn’t that you didn’t care about him. of course you did, you always had. but the idea of shifting your entire relationship, of risking everything you’d built over the years—it scared you. 

“i don’t know what to say Matty”

you admitted, looking away and staring at the ground trying to sort through your jumbled thoughts. 

his hand holding your face tilted your gaze back up to him, his eyes pleading as they met yours. 

“you don’t have to say anything now. i just.. i need you to know how i feel, i wish you’d give me a chance”

you swallowed hard. 

could you really take that step? could you allow yourself to risk everything for a chance at something that could be so much more?

your eyes stayed locked with his, the same glint as before swimming around in his eyes and it made you realise one thing. you’d never seen him this open or this vulnerable. 

the Mattheo you knew was always guarded, always playing some game. but now, it was just him — bare and raw — and something inside you shifted. 

“i don’t know what’ll happen Mattheo,”

you whispered, voice quieter than you had intended it to be. 

“but i’ll think about it”

Mattheo’s face lit up with a rare, genuine smile— his relief palpable. 

“that’s all i’m asking for. just a chance, that’s all i need”

he said softly, and you believed him. 

for the first time in your life, you didn’t feel the need to run from him. you didn’t need the answers right away, but maybe just maybe, it was time to give him that chance. 

as you both stood there, the weight of the moment sinking in, you could almost hear the unspoken promise between you. 

this was only the beginning. 

⋆˚࿔ reblogs are highly appreciated 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[generallycharmingcriminalminds]

Angel In The Snow

Summary: Modern AU where Nicky died, and months later, on Christmas Eve Agatha and Rio see each other at Nicky's grave.

Warnings: Hurt/slight comfort, referenced child's death, like one curse word, exes who still love each other.

Word Count: 1,319 words

Christmas Eve morning, what had once been one of Agatha’s favorite days, now spent standing in front of the cemetery, in the snow, trying to get the nerve to enter. Eight months, and it still ripped her heart out just thinking of the funeral. The one she loved the most standing beside her silently as they watched the coffin lower into the ground, the rest of her heart inside. Agatha tightened her grip on the bouquet of purple azaleas in her hand as she forced her feet forward, making her way towards the grave she came to see. A shuddering breath escaped her as she crouched in front of a headstone, reaching a gloved hand out to brush the snow away, revealing the name. Nicholas Harkness-Vidal. Nicky, her pride and joy, her little boy, forever six years old.

The illness had come quick, there still wasn’t a name for it, or treatments, so Agatha had been forced to watch her little boy deteriorate by the day, his own body betraying him. She never understood exactly what the geneticist had told her and Rio…Rio, the woman Agatha loved, still loves, even after their divorce. Neither woman ever reached acceptance in their stages of grief, both staying in anger, at the situation, and at Rio. It had been something to do with Rio’s egg that caused Nicky’s illness, at least that was how the doctor’s had explained it to Rio and Agatha in the hallway of Boston Children’s Hospital.

Agatha and Rio divorced not even two months after the funeral, unable to look at each other without screaming, if Rio was even home. Being a badass FBI agent meant she was rarely home even when Nicky was alive and well. But once he got sick, and eventually passed she claimed it was just too hard, leading to one of the worst fights they ever had in their almost ten year long marriage, the fight that led to their divorce.

“Being here is hard for you? Seriously, Rio? You were never here!” Agatha had screamed at her wife.

“I tried, I am trying. But at least you got to be here for him, make sure he knew he was never alone. You got to help him with his homework after school, drive him to sports, be here for dinner, his bedtime routine. You knew his favorite food, favorite color, stuffed animal, everything, unlike me. You got to be his mother, in every way that counts. Thanks to my job, and the crazy schedule I work, the most maternal thing I did for him was use my egg for his conception, and that’s what killed him,” Rio had replied softly, tears in her eyes, no fight left in her anymore as she avoided Agatha’s furious, hate filled expression.

“I wish we had never used your egg! We should have used mine, it would’ve saved us money, and probably wouldn’t have killed him! I want a divorce, Rio, you look too much like him, and I hate you for it.”

“Aggie…” Rio started, but a cold look from Agatha shut her up.

“It should’ve been you, not him.” With that Agatha had turned on her heel, storming out of the room.

Agatha shook her head, as if that would make the memory of her cruel words go away. She didn’t really hate Rio for her resemblance to Nicky, or blame her for Nicky’s death. But Nicky had Rio’s dimples, and her smile, and her unnatural ways of sitting in chairs that simultaneously drove Agatha insane and made her smile. It had all been too much seeing the woman she loved, and also seeing her little boy in Rio. So once the divorce had been finalized Agatha packed up her life, sold the house, and moved from Salem Massachusetts to Westview New Jersey, a small town where no one knew her as Agatha Harkness, the stay at home mother who tragically lost her only child. Instead they knew her as one of the best cops in the whole department.

She’d even made friends in Westview, Jennifer Kale, a cosmetic company founder. Lilia Calderu, a fortune teller who Agatha knew was just scamming people, but somehow it was legal. And Alice Wu-Gulliver, a fellow cop whose mother had once been a well-known rockstar, apparently. But Agatha wasn’t sitting in front of her son’s headstone on Christmas Eve to think about them.

Agatha carefully set the bouquet of azaleas on the ground in front of Nicky’s headstone, a shaky breath leaving her as she wiped her eyes, realizing she had started crying. “Hi, baby, mami and I both miss you, with all of our hearts. I’m sorry you had to hear us fight so much when you got sick, and I’m sure you saw it get worse, because there is not a doubt in my mind you’re keeping an eye on both of us, just like Santa if you think about it. I wish it had been me instead of you…parents aren’t meant to bury their children.” Agatha heard the snow crunching under someone’s relatively quiet steps, but she didn’t turn, assuming the person would just pass by, they didn’t.

“You and I both know he’d hate hearing you talk like that, Agatha. You’re right, parents aren’t meant to bury their children, but six year olds aren’t meant to bury their parents either,” a voice behind her said quietly, and it just made the tears slip down Agatha’s cheeks more. She didn’t turn her head as Rio crouched next to her, placing a bouquet of green azaleas, her gloved hand finding Agatha’s without thinking. “I saw you sold the house,” she said, attempting to make small talk, some sort of connection.

“Yeah, I couldn’t stay there, every time I turned a corner I expected him to come running up to me, wanting cuddles. The ghosts of the happy family the three of us once were was too much to overcome…”

“Just like our divorce.” There was no anger, or resentment, just sadness and understanding in Rio’s tone. “You know, Salem hasn’t had a white Christmas since the year Nicky was born,” Rio noted, looking up, some of the flakes catching on her eyelashes, and melting on her face.

Agatha nodded in agreement, moving to rest her head against Rio’s. “Our little boy’s watching over us,” she said hoarsely, and she believed it.

When they both left the cemetery a little while later Agatha finally met Rio’s eyes for the first time. Both had dark circles under their eyes, neither slept well anymore. “Do you…maybe…wanna get a cup of coffee, just for old time’s sake? No expectations, just two people who’ve known each other for years?” Rio inquired.

“Unfortunately I can’t. I have to get back to Westview because a friend of mine is having a Christmas party tonight, I’m sorry,” Agatha answered, her tone surprisingly sheepish as she glanced away from her ex-wife.

“Oh, well, it was worth a shot. Merry Christmas, Aggie.” Rio hadn’t even noticed she used that old nickname, but Agatha did as Rio turned, starting to walk away.

Before Agatha could think things through, or even at all she called after Rio. “Wait, what are your plans for Christmas?”

“No clue, probably unpacking my apartment that I’ve been living in for six months and haven’t done anything with,” Rio admitted, now the sheepish one.

Agatha scoffed, shaking her head. “Come on, Nicky would be disappointed in me if I let his mami spend Christmas alone. You’re coming to New Jersey, and staying in my guest room.” Her tone made it clear Agatha wasn’t going to accept any arguments from Rio.

What neither of them could see was Nicky watching from above, smiling ever so slightly. He didn’t know if his mama and mami would find their way back to each other, but for the first time since before he died, he had hope.

[adviceformefromme]

A little personal note and advice as we wrap up 2024!!

Finally getting some time to myself...Currently in the process of moving apartments so just finding some time now to write and share. It’s been another crazy year. I am always amazed at my life and the things I accomplish each year. The theme for 2024 was definitely healing and wellbeing, and for that I have made transformational change. Some things I did that really made 2024 transformational.

Moved overseas, moved into the apartment that had been occupying my vision board for years. The process to moving overseas started 12 months prior, I went ghost for a few months prayed and meditated every single day asking God for where I should move to (I didn’t know where my vision board home was), I was guided to a location, trialled living there for almost 3 months fell in love, returned home to sort my visa and finally made an official move 1 year later. This was a process of listening to Gods direction and being obedient. I tried to move abroad before and it was truly not in God’s plan, I wasted time, energy and money seeking something that was not for me. Lesson learnt. Listen for God’s direction always. Take action from that place.

I went from having the worst birthday of my entire life last year, to having the best birthday of my entire life this year. The reason I share this is because those dark places you’re in right now can literally be a catapult to your dream life, just like the previous story. In my darkness last year, I swore to have the very best birthday this year. A yacht, girls trip, amazing food, music. I imagined it all, and I did it all. It was incredible. I loved being on the yacht, I loved that I arranged it and I loved that my dreams were possible. I planned this trip from January with friends and at points I thought it wasn’t going to happen, the boat prices were super expensive, the boat I loved didn’t allow food.. But I persisted. I convinced the boat to make an exception. It was truly a magical birthday. And the lesson is to dream big and make plans, even if you don’t have the funds, even if it’s seems wild. You can experience your dream life if you stay focused and committed (time and planning makes this a lot easier).

Walking away from people you care deeply about, for your own wellbeing. There was a particular person in my life who actually transformed me, this connection was one of those that shift the entire direction of your life, they lift the veil and open your eyes to a new way of thinking, of seeing yourself and loving yourself. But these people are like angels that come to help and heal  you, but sadly have to leave when that season is over. And this was the case, I did try to hold on for longer but, every part of me knew my season with this person had past. As painful as this is, walking away means it’s back in God’s hands. By doing this I allow space for alignment, I allowed myself to trust, and stay true. You always know in your heart when you are going against yourself, when you are wanting more than someone can give you, when you are holding on when it’s time to let go. And by being brave, and remaining graceful you can appreciate what was, and welcome more truth.

I invested in my health on a new level. Infra-red sauna and ice bath spa weekly. Removed carbs from my diet. Green juices daily. High protein. Blood works every 12 months. Health checkups. Supplements. Homemade goats milk kefir. Low-tox living. Gym membership. Bi monthly acupuncture. Chiropractor adjustments. Dry body brushing. Weekly bone-broth. Only buying clothing made from natural fibres (linen, cotton, wool). No polyester. Downloaded Yuka app to ensure I am checking the harm rating of products I buy. This transformation has resulted in  a deeper self love and care. I have no desire for alcohol, for anything toxic in my body. This journey started with a health scare last summer and resulted in a complete holistic lifestyle change. It didn’t happen overnight. It’s been a process, and there is still a way to go. But my key takeaway is to continue to educate myself and learn about living better, because every change I have made has enhanced my life on a new level. 

As I wrap up this year, I am reminded that I am responsible for creating the life of my dreams. It’s the efforts I make, the choices - daily. The books I read, the conversations I have, the risks I take. The vison board I stay close to. Listening to God, prayers, actions. The actions are KEY. Next year I plan to go braver and bolder. No dream is too big. 2025 I am coming for you! 

[starjunkyard]

Obsessed with the degrees to which james wilson is a messy bitch. Primps and preens himself whenever he realises his boy best friend is stalking / sabotaging / psychological-warfare-ing him. Slept with his terminal patient. Immedicable people pleaser. Chronic adulterer. Three ex wives. PROPOSED TO HIS GIRLFRIEND AT SOMEONE ELSE'S WEDDING? Fuck you doin in the oncology wing my boy. Psychiatric ward is on the left corner

[painfully-unoriginal]

So I drew these under the assumption that diane used to be part of kitty's crew and realized after that i don't actually know if that's tru or not so uuuuuhhhh probably should've just waited for the movie to come out to start drawing shit but 👍

[peachyutdr]

i finished it, was kicked out of the game, and then spent the next 10 minutes drawing this. i will now go take a shower, most likely cry, and then go through the emotional turmoil of convincing myself to reset so i can do a geno run. i hate it here :D

[kendyroy]

i’ve always wondered what worst logan thinks of main logan. is he jealous at all of how revered he was? i mean what do you even think of the guy that’s considered the “best version” of you when you’re seen as the worst.

[catastrxblues]

EVERMORE by taylor swift (feat. bon iver) — “and i was catching my breath, floors of a cabin creaking under my step. and i couldn’t be sure, i had a feeling so peculiar, this pain wouldn’t be forevermore.”

my #swiftiegiftexchange2024 for @lovesickallovermybed!!!! 🫶🏽🫶🏽

[seven-tastic]

true friends will visit you at the hospital

[ratatatastic]

i love the poker table and all the shit that has come from it if not because you can see exactly who's the loudest persistent bitch there and who exactly finds that endearing spoiler alert its exactly who you think it is womp womp

deeply important to me on a "whos the best and whos the worst at the table" maffhew and benny insisting forsy is the best because of his good pokerface and his consistency and even swaggy agrees that forsy is pretty good meanwhile benny cant help adding an "ekky thinks he's the best" while he's at it and swaggy has to get his two cents in as well: "and [ekblad] thinks he's pretty good."

and when forsy gets asked best and worst he decides he can't say worse and instead only lists the people he think are the good and: "ekky's pretty good actually but he's very... he's a little bit more wild so he's got some big swings."

and at first it's like oh maybe this is a benny/swaggy bullying ekky moment as they're prone to wont to do (ekky deserves it and likes it) but then forsy immediately says afterwards that c*usins is: "but i think nick c*usins. hes doing pretty good. yeah, I know, I know... we're gonna get him though."

which immediately discredits why he thinks ekky is a good player because both benny AND demers were like c*usins is the WORST at poker

and if you think oh forsy is just a carebear of a man and he cant choose the worst- NO HE DOES NOT. HE ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT BECAUSE in the same interview he has no qualms of naming lundy as the worst playoff beard (2nd year in a row btw): "its gotta be one of the finns probably... lundy" and calling out luosty for his culinary abominations: "luosty is eating—he's putting raw onions in the pasta which is... yeah thats a little... weirdo, weirdo!"

this is just forsy whos very bad at hiding his bias and will warp the world in favour of it because he'd rather die than not pick ekky for TWO whole questions (best at poker and best playoff beard)

and with primetime panthers we learned that ekkys too loud and pushy for both benny and swaggys taste that they both elected him as the worst seatmate on the team plane which is so comical that mr. im not very good at poker but I still sit with them and get shocked when ekky bounds over and wants me to play too would say such a thing huh

and the double whammy is that swaggy prefers forsys who's the complete opposite of ekky

and i just think everyone going, forsy is nice quiet and reserved in his facial expressions and ekky is loud insistent and not as good as he thinks he is, is just sooooooooooo