#it’s not about being mixed it’s about being CONFIDENT IN BEING MIXED

[brujamala-aka-gigi]

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ mini pac ｡⋆｡ ﾟ

˖ ݁random things about your next lover ౨ৎ ˚

this is a small light hearted pick a pile reading, made for fun. there's a good mix of random, quirky, and deep stuff in each pile. so yeah, pick one and take what resonates or take it as a sign if it makes sense to you. {this reading is written in a non-hetero centric way}

dividers by @cafekitsune & @jimzittos images found in @saizun 's blog.

pile one pile two pile three

pile four pile five pile six

.‧͙˚ *༓ scroll down for the readings ⋆ִ ‧͙⁺˚

.

masterpost ✶ pac readings ✶ ko-fi page

⋆bookings for personal readings are open ཐིཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆.⋆༘˚⋆

They have way too many hobbies, and they’re all kinda niche but related to creativity.

Very playful with almost everything, quirky or bizarre sense of humor. 

Always looking for new things to do, seeks enjoyment and/or entertainment.

Humble, they don’t like bragging or being too loud about whatever they achieve. 

They are open minded because being judgemental goes against their logic. 

Amazing at teamwork. 

Deep down they are actually quite structured and disciplined, despite giving off the opposite impression. 

Unexpectedly responsible in their own way. 

Very curious, wants to know everything about you. 

Is quick to smell bullshit. Impossible for them to be lied to.

˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒘𝒐.⋆༘˚⋆

They love anything that has a darker, spooky, mysterious tone. But they are quite chill about it actually, they love scary things but they are not annoying about it. 

Easily misunderstood and badly judged by others tho.

They try really hard to be good at communicating with others despite being kinda shy and almost awkward. 

Always overthinking and over analyzing. 

They are nerdy, but in a history or philosophy way. Probably unable to do math. 

Amazing emotional intelligence, especially when it comes to dealing with difficult moments from their past. 

Worried about the future: they are not too concerned about traditional success, but they are concerned about leaving some sort of impact in the world, no matter how small. 

˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆.⋆༘˚⋆

Hardworking, dedicated, passionate… maybe a workaholic. 

Actually quite handy and always willing to help or solve anything.

They love their routines, they swear by them.

If they love you, after you ask them “what's going on?” they won’t reply “nothing”, they will go on about an overly specific topic that they were reminded of by something random. 

Charismatic, but in a pretty eccentric way. 

Black cat looks, yellow cat personality. 

They are attractive because they are truly confident in themselves, and maybe quite uninterested in looking exactly like the conventional beauty ideals.

Detail oriented, borderline obsessive. 

They are always doing something, always on the go, always close to burn out… because the moment they chill they accidentally begin feeling unmotivated.

. ˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓.⋆༘˚⋆

Party animal but in a golden retriever way. 

So friendly and nice it's almost scary. But in reality they really enjoy meeting people, hanging out, and chatting. 

Also, quite altruistic and willing to help out anyone with anything, they don’t care who or why. 

They have a lot of friends, and acquaintances, but they have a very small inner circle who they are extremely loyal to. 

Very strong sense of hope for the future. They never lose the conviction that everything will eventually turn out just fine. 

Their will is sometimes too strong, they don’t let anything go easily. 

Either on the spotlight or in a leadership position most times. They don’t look for it, it just happens. 

Sometimes overly protective, but they have quirky ways of showing that.

Not good at flirting, they're quite dorky about it, but somehow it works for them

˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆.⋆༘˚⋆

HOT as fuck. As in sensual and captivating.

Highly perceptive about the people around them, they like to wonder how the mind works.

They might look off standish, cold or uninterested, and yes, they might be most times but that doesn't make them bad people.

In reality they are trying to look cool while being shy and afraid of intimacy.

Highly intuitive.

Many times their expectations for themselves are insane, but their expectations for others are low.

Probably super into classic literature. Dante's Inferno specifically.

Quite romantic, but also kinda pretentious about it. Don't expect average gifs, expect something that is a reference to an obscure experimental new wave french film or something.

They don't joke about their spotify playlists.

. ˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒙.⋆༘˚⋆

Highly sensitive and creative but in a Lana del Rey kind of way.

They really have a sort of "old soul" vibe.

Too empathetic for their own good, but they are always working on it.

Staying at home is their favourite thing to do, specially if there's sweets involved.

Incredibly patient. They actually prefer slow-paced everything. Books, movies, shows, hobbies, everything.

Probably into crafty hobbies and podcasts.

They have a very low social battery, but they are always willing to put the effort if it is because of someone they appreciate.

Very proud of their roots and overall life journey.

Not very talkative, unless they have something they deem important and necessary to share.

masterpost ✶ pac readings ✶ personal readings

✶ ko-fi page ✶

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ available for personal readings ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

[angelbaby191]

Thinking About

Katsuki Bakugo:

who's partner is a higher rank than him.

Katsuki Bakugo, who would be a mess of emotions when he first realizes his partner outranks him as a pro hero. There’d be that instant jolt of pride, mixed with this competitive fire that practically ignites on the spot. It’d eat at him, gnawing a bit, and he’d spend days silently stewing over it.

How the hell did they get higher than him?

Katsuki Bakugo, who wouldn’t stop from watching them in action, admiration sharp in his eyes as he takes in the way they command the scene. There’s something undeniably powerful in how they handle everything – every villain, every rescue – with a kind of calm he can’t help but respect. It’s infuriating, honestly, how flawless they make it look, and it’s that same confidence that somehow makes his heart pound a little harder every time he sees it. He can’t deny it: It's fucking hot seeing you in your element. It's annoying that you've surpassed him. 👀

Katsuki Bakugo, who during patrols, would practically try to make a game out of it, like fine, they’re ranked higher, but they’re not stronger. They totally are. He’d go all out, purposely snagging villains right out of their grasp just to prove he’s just as capable, if not more. There’d be these small moments where he'd throw them a competitive smirk and say something like, “Better keep up, or they’ll start wondering if you really deserve that rank.” But deep down, he loves that they can meet him blow for blow.

Katsuki Bakugo, who in those rare, quieter moments, when it’s just the two of them, he’d lean in with that signature smirk, voice a low, teasing rumble as he murmurs, “Don’t think I don’t know how much this drives you crazy, too. You know, you being stronger than me…it’s annoyin’.” But then he’d pull them close, his eyes glinting with that unmistakable spark. “But it’s also really damn hot.”

Katsuki Bakugo, who knows their rank isn’t just a title. It’s a reminder that he’s got someone incredible by his side—someone who’s earned every bit of his respect, his admiration, and yeah, his affection, too.

[misseviehyde]

A LEAP IN FAITH

"Come on guys, we only get one chance to make this work. Let's jump back and show that slut who is boss."

You and your three girlfriends had been bullied relentlessly back at school by Faith and her bunch of bitches. Even now ten years later it still hurt.

One night the three of you had been talking about how if you could go back in time with what you know now, there is no way you would have put up with the bullying... how you would have stood up to Faith and put an end to her cruelty.

Your friend Jessica was the one who had suggested you try astral projection. She claimed it was possible to project your consciousness back in time and possess your younger bodies. Then the four of you could stand up to the evil bitch.

Jessica made you all lie down in her room and she lit some weird smelling candles. You went through the exercises she had taught you and as you let your mind relax you felt reality shimmer and waver around you.

You were free of your body and drifting through time and space. Jessica, Annie and Kate were with you though and together you focused your efforts on reaching 2014 and being back at school.

Suddenly you found yourself floating in a familiar classroom. With a jolt you recognised your old school and it was a fresh as if it were yesterday.

Faith, Ashley and Chloe were hanging out in their matching outfits doing their makeup and gossiping. Looking around you could see the other girls floating in the air around you too. Each of you had a different aura colour. Green for Jessica, Yellow for Annie, Purple for Kate. Looking down you saw you were blue.

You were invisible to your former bullies and Jessica grinned as she floated over to Faith and the popular girl continued applying mascara and lip gloss obliviously.

"Let's find our old bodies and get some payback on this bitch," gloated Jessica spinning around in the air.

As she did so, her spirit form brushed against Faith and there was a green spark instantly connecting them. "Hey... what the?"

Jessica's face suddenly turned to panic as Faith convulsed and fell to the floor. A green tendril of energy now anchored her to your bullies body and she screamed as she began to be dragged down into Faith.

Jennifer could immediately feel Faith's evil soul starting to merge and blend with her own, leaving her in control but changed. She had to get free and she looked at you imploringly.

Unfortunately at the same time, Chloe and Ashley rushed forward to help their fallen leader. Unable to see the invisible spirits of your friends they ran right through them.l and there was a crack as they too were spirit tethered.

"Noooooo! Ughhhh help me!" she failed trying to tear herself free.

Faith's tanned bitchy body was sucking her greedily in, and as she sank deeper and deeper inside it obviously began to feel good. Jennifer's eyes rolled up in her head and she groaned. She began to feel Faith's personality and confidence surge into her... making her head spin and making her want more.

You were paralysed in fear, but Annie and Kate surged forward to grab her spectral arms and try to help.

"Ahhhhh," they screamed as they too fell to the floor and convulsed. Now tethered to Faiths friends, Annie and Kate screamed as they too were pulled into the bullies bodies, unable to get free.

Kate's face was a mix of horror and ecatasy as she sank into Chloe. "Unnnngggg it feels...."

"Amazing!" groaned Annie finishing off Kate's sentence as she moaned like a whore, and her spirit was sucked a whole foot into Ashley.

"Yessss. It feels... mmmmh good," groaned Jennifer as she stopped fighting and with a grin began to sink willingly into Faith's body. She shivered, feeling Faith's evil changing and transforming her as she eagerly slurped up the other girls soul.

"Yesssss, give it all to ME," orgasmed Jennifer as she ate Faith up and absorbed everything. She began to scream in pleasure and with a cry of ecstasy she was dragged fully into Faith's body.

Your friends moaned and squealed in delight as they sank fully into the bullies bodies. Green, purple and yellow energy crackled around Faith, Ashley and Chloe as the souls and spirits of your friends melted and merged into them permanently bonding with their new bodies.

"Ohhhh fuck yessssss," hissed Kate as she too allowed Chloe's body to begin dragging her in.

"No. I have to resist," panted Annie as she battled to escape Ashley's body. Suddenly a hand was forced down onto her head and Jennifer, now fully in control of Faith, laughed demonically as she pushed Annie deeper into Ashley's body.

"No Annie go deeper. Fucking take it all. Become Ashley."

Annie screamed in pleasure as her friend forced her deeper into the bully and a smile of pleasure flickered over her once innocent features. "Ohhhhh fuck yes. Why am I trying to resist! Give it to MEEEE!"

Whilst the new Faith watched approvingly, Ashley and Chloe began to move, mouths opening in groans of pleasure as long nails flexed, tanned limbs writhed in pleasure and busty chests were thrown out.

Ashley's eyes opened and she slowly sat up giggling as she grabbed her tits and tossed back her silky hair.

"Oh fuck yes, this feels PERFECT."

Chloe groaned and rose to her feet too. "Are we... are we the bullies now? I feel powerful," purred 'Chloe' as she vainly and excitedly examined her body.

"Yessss. Mmmh all of Ashley's memories and knowledge is mine," giggled the new bitch as she blew a kiss to herself in the compact mirror she was now admiring herself in.

"Girls, contain yourselves," purred Jennifer now masquerading as Faith. "We mustn't let anyone know about this. I fucking love how this feels, but we have to acclimatise to being bratty bitches. Being Faith is sooooo fucking delicious. What better revenge than to steal her life and BECOME the bully. Let's assume these new identifies and have some real fun. I always fancied Bobby Green and now with this body I can do something about it."

"What about her?" pouted Ashley, suddenly pointing and with horror you realised the girls could still see you!

"Ooooh yeah. I can't wait to fuck the popular boys too, and we get to bully all our old friends and even ourselves. I don't know why, but that makes my pussy wet." giggled Chloe.

The three girls hugged, grinning wickedly as they finished settling into their new bodies and accepted their improved personalities.

With a movement like a snake, Faith snatched at you and suddenly you were tethered in her grip. You couldn't enter her body as Jennifer was already in control, but you longed to be inside it and felt a surge of jealousy consume you as she yanked you down to hiss into your face.

"Don't worry loser, you'll love being our victim."

"To deal with this loser, we just need to find the appropriate body to force her into. What about that fat little nerd Raymond that everyone used to pick on?"

You begged and sobbed, but the girls laughed as Ashley and Chloe went to find him and Faith prepared to push you inside him.

***

It was a week later.

At the back of the bike sheds an orgy was going on. Cocks in mouths, or rammed into tight pussies. Chloe, Ashley and Faith were living their best lives, panting and moaning with wet slaps as they rode the bad boys.

"This is like SO fucking hot," groaned Ashley rubbing a cock between her tits. "We can do whatever the fuck we want and no one is strong enough to stop us!"

Faith giggled as she rode Bobby cowgirl. "After we've had fun, let's find Jennifer, Kate and Annie and make their lives a misery again. We need to make sure we don't create a paradox. We need those dumb bitches to hate us so they will travel back in time to become us."

You wisb you could return to the future where you were a woman... but that future no longer existed and now it never would...

Meanwhile you grovelled in the dirt, a jocks foot on your head as they made you watch what you could never have. Your new tiny dick twitched pathetically in your fat body as you wished you could escape and return to the future.

You were Raymond the loser. An incel simp who could barely remember what a pussy looked like anymore.

[fratttymatty]

Rebooted

(All characters are 18+)

Dylan was never the type to blend in. At 18, he was finally stepping into his own skin, but still, it was a skin that felt different from the one others expected of him. Quiet, a little reserved, and gay—he had always gravitated toward the girls. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hang out with the guys; it was just that the popular boys in school made him feel like an outsider. They had their own language—one filled with smug smirks, competition, and a kind of easy, cocky swagger Dylan had never quite been able to pull off. He didn’t try. He was comfortable where he was.

His circle of friends? A tight-knit group of girls who didn’t care about popularity, who didn’t care if he was gay. They just liked him for who he was. And that was enough.

But the universe, it seemed, had a different plan for Dylan.

It started on an ordinary Friday afternoon. The bell rang to signal the end of the school day, and Dylan found himself walking toward his usual hangout spot by the bleachers. His friends were there, chatting and laughing, with their bags scattered around. But as he approached, he saw a few unfamiliar faces. Guys. Popular guys. The ones who ruled the school.

"Hey, Dylan!" A familiar voice called out. It was Cassie, one of the cheerleaders and one of his closest friends. She waved him over. "Come sit with us! The gang’s all here."

Dylan hesitated. He wasn’t sure what Cassie meant by “the gang,” but when he looked closer, he saw a mix of familiar faces—and a few others that made his stomach twist: Brent, the captain of the football team, Jake, the guy who spent more time flexing in the mirror than doing anything else, and a few others—pretty much the whole ‘elite’ crew of jocks and their girlfriends.

Dylan felt his pulse quicken. There was no way he belonged here. This wasn’t his scene. But when he caught Cassie’s pleading look, he sighed and walked over, taking a seat on the edge of the table, keeping his distance from the popular crowd.

“Don’t be shy, bro,” Brent said, giving him a grin that was too wide, too knowing. “Get over here, man. We want you to meet the guys.”

Dylan shifted uncomfortably but complied, dragging his chair a little closer. What was going on?

From the moment he sat down, it was like the world around him began to shift, subtly at first. Brent and Jake exchanged glances, and the girls—who Dylan had always been so comfortable with—seemed to be watching him, their eyes glittering with an unsettling mixture of amusement and... something else.

“You know, Dylan,” Jake said, tossing a football up in the air and catching it easily, “You’ve got potential, man. You just don’t know it yet.”

Dylan blinked, not sure what he meant. “What do you mean?”

Brent leaned forward, his voice low but intense. “You’ve got the looks, you’ve got the brains, but you’re not playing the game right.” He glanced at the girls, then back at Dylan. “You need to be more... confident. More dominant.”

Dylan’s brow furrowed. “I’m fine with how I am…”

“Not anymore,” Jake said with a sly grin. “You’ve been hanging with the girls for too long. Time for a change.”

Before Dylan could react, he felt something strange tugging at his mind, like his thoughts were being rearranged in real time. A sharp pull, a weight that lifted, as if the part of him that had always felt like an outsider was suddenly... slipping away. He blinked, trying to shake it off, but the feeling was too strong.

Cassie, perched next to him, leaned in, her voice dreamy and a little ditzy. “Like, oh my god, Dylan,” she said, flipping her hair, “you totes need to, like, show these guys what you’ve got, okay? You’re, like, way cooler than they think.” She giggled, not in a mocking way, but like she was excited by the idea.

Her words hit him like a wave. Everything in him was changing, shifting—and the more he thought about it, the more it felt right. This new version of himself started to form, like an empty vessel filling up with something brash, something confident, something that didn’t care about fitting in... because he was already at the top.

Before Dylan could say anything, his hair—the messy, untamed curls that had always been his trademark—began to change. It wasn’t like some sleek, polished version of cool. No. His hair became perfectly messy, tousled in a way that looked like he’d just woken up after an intense night of partying. There was no more worry about perfecting his style. Now, it was effortlessly good. His clothes, which had always been a little too... quirky for the jocks, seemed to rearrange themselves. His hoodie turned from an oversized, cozy piece into something more fitted and sleek, while his jeans tightened in a way that accentuated his newfound shape. His body felt stronger—sharper, like it had been sculpted into something more powerful.

And then the name came. The new name. The one that fit this new version of himself.

“I’m... Grayson,” he said, as if the name had always been there, waiting for him to claim it. He said it with an ease he didn’t know he had. It wasn’t Dylan. It wasn’t that version of him. Grayson sounded natural. It sounded right.

“Yeah, Grayson,” he repeated, leaning back in his chair with a smirk that felt more confident, more cocky than any expression he'd ever worn before. “That works.”

The transformation wasn’t just physical. His demeanor changed, too. His shoulders squared, his posture became straight and powerful. He was no longer the quiet, reserved guy at the edge of the group. Now, he was the center. He was Grayson, the guy who commanded attention without even trying. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest in a way that made him look untouchable.

Cassie’s eyes glittered. She leaned in, her voice giddy with excitement. “Like, Grayson, you’re so gonna crush it now, totes.” She giggled and then added, “You just need to, like, get with it, you know?”

Grayson didn’t even blink at her words. In fact, he liked that she thought this way, that she was already putting him in the same league as the other popular guys. He grinned, the kind of grin that sent a signal to everyone around him that he wasn’t just playing a part—he was the part.

Brent slapped him on the back, hard enough to make his chair rock. “Welcome to the team, Grayson. You’re gonna fit in perfectly.”

Grayson barely acknowledged the slap, his eyes still focused on the rest of the table. He felt the change completely settle in now, like a tight, perfect fit. The old Dylan, the shy, gay kid who had always been friends with the girls, was gone. In his place was someone who belonged here, who was made for this world.

The following weeks passed in a blur, but Grayson didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore—except being the guy everyone wanted to be around. The girls? They loved him. The guys? They respected him, and he now knew how to play their game. Grayson was the new center of attention. He was the one who knew how to talk to the girls, how to charm them, how to make them laugh. He was also the one who owned his place on the football field. Every part of his old self, the insecure, unsure Dylan, was a distant memory now, fading like an old shadow.

His friends—the girls who had known him before, who had always been his comfort zone—tried to reach out. But Grayson was no longer the guy they’d once known. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need anyone.

Because now, he was at the top. And he didn’t care if the world knew it.

Grayson finally understood: he was exactly who he was meant to be.

Grayson adjusted to his new life with startling speed. It was like stepping into a new suit that fit him perfectly, like the universe had always intended for him to wear this version of himself. The popular group quickly absorbed him into their fold, and he found himself in the spotlight at every school event, every party, every hangout. It was effortless. No more uncertainty, no more second-guessing himself. He was now everything he had once envied: confident, desirable, and completely at ease.

But then there was them.

It was a Friday afternoon, a week after Grayson had fully transitioned into the "popular" world, and he was lounging on the steps outside the gym, chatting with the football team. The guys were in the middle of a heated conversation about their latest game, but Grayson’s mind wasn’t on the game—it was on them. His old friends. The girls.

He hadn’t really thought about it until now, but something was tugging at him, pulling him back to those days when he’d hung out with Cassie, Hannah, Emily, and the others. The feeling was almost foreign now. He couldn’t pinpoint it.

But there they were, walking toward him, his old group, the ones he used to feel so comfortable with. They were coming from the cafeteria, laughing together as they approached.

"Grayson!" Cassie called, a huge grin lighting up her face. Her voice was still bubbly, still a little ditzy, but something was different now. The way she looked at him was no longer playful; it was... adoring.

Grayson stood, the casual confidence now completely woven into his movements. "Hey, girls," he said with a grin, giving each of them a nod as they stopped in front of him.

There was a hesitation in the air. Something was off.

Cassie twirled a strand of her hair, giving him a wide, almost dreamy look. "Like, we’ve missed you, Grayson," she said, her voice slow and a little breathless. “You, like, totally should hang with us more. We, like, never see you anymore.”

Hannah, another one of his old friends, smiled, but there was something different in her eyes—something more intense than before. "Yeah, we miss the old Dylan," she said quietly. But it wasn’t a complaint—it was more of a longing.

Grayson’s chest tightened, the old name feeling strange to hear. "Dylan? That was... a long time ago."

Emily, who had always been the most pragmatic of the group, shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her arms folded. She didn’t smile, but her gaze lingered on him, trying to read him in a way that felt more like an interrogation. "You don’t really seem like the same person anymore," she said, her voice carrying a sharp edge.

Grayson, though, just smirked and leaned against the brick wall, his posture the very image of cocky indifference. "I’m not. Dylan’s gone, you know? Grayson’s the guy now."

The words rolled off his tongue effortlessly. It felt natural now, the confidence, the certainty that he didn’t need to explain himself anymore. Grayson was the guy—he was who everyone wanted to be. The truth of it had become ingrained in him, like a new set of rules he couldn’t ignore.

Cassie tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with what Grayson could only describe as admiration. "Well... I guess that’s, like, okay,” she said, giggling lightly. “I just, like, miss the old Dylan, you know? But... you look, like, way hotter now." She winked at him, giving him a flirtatious smile.

Grayson didn’t think twice about it. He wasn’t the shy, uncertain kid who had spent so much time with Cassie and the others. His world had changed, and now, he felt like a different person—a person who could look at Cassie and feel a twinge of something that was definitely not friendship.

The shift was obvious. Cassie wasn’t the only one.

Hannah’s gaze softened as she watched him, and he caught the way her eyes lingered on him a little too long. "You look different," she said, almost in awe. "Like, not just your hair and stuff... but, like, you are different."

Grayson could see it now. It wasn’t just about his new appearance—his new hair, his new clothes, the sharp edge to his smile—it was the way they were looking at him. They were looking at him like he was... more than their friend. They were seeing him as something else.

Something... attractive.

Grayson felt a flash of discomfort deep in his chest. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected them to want him—like that. This wasn’t the world he’d known. He wasn’t used to being the guy the girls crushed on, not like this. He was used to being the guy they confided in, the one who was always there, always supportive. He didn’t want this kind of attention.

He looked away, trying to push the feeling down. His mind raced for a moment. But then, a thought settled in his brain like a weight: It didn’t matter. He was Grayson now. He wasn’t that old version of himself. He wasn’t the shy, sensitive Dylan who had been more concerned with what his friends thought than anything else.

Grayson wasn’t gay. He wasn’t that guy anymore. The pieces of him that had once fit together in that old version of Dylan—the parts that had found comfort in the girls, in their easy friendship, in his secret crushes—had been wiped away. Now, he was the guy who could casually flirt with Cassie and laugh with Hannah and feel no need to question it. He didn’t feel the pull of something deeper.

He liked the attention, the way they looked at him, the way they were drawn to him now. He could be one of the guys. He was one of the guys. And he liked it.

“Yeah,” he said, straightening up, a smirk playing on his lips. “Things change, girls. But I’m still the same, just... better.”

That night, at the usual hangout, Grayson felt the weight of the shift settle in again. Cassie had been hovering, her flirtations becoming more obvious, and even Hannah’s glances had taken on a new intensity. It was as though they couldn’t help but be drawn to him, to the new Grayson.

He didn’t return their feelings, though. He didn’t feel anything for them, not the way they seemed to feel about him. It wasn’t the same anymore. His thoughts were consumed by the new life he was building. It wasn’t just about the looks—it was about the lifestyle. The world had opened up for him, and he was going to take it all, leaving his old self, his old connections, behind.

“Grayson,” Cassie cooed as she leaned in closer, “you, like, want to hang out later? We could, like, totally grab some coffee and talk... just the two of us?”

Grayson didn’t hesitate. He smiled that smile—the one that had turned into his signature look—and leaned back in his chair. “Sure, Cassie. I’m down. Let’s hang.”

He didn’t feel guilty. Not at all. He wasn’t the person he used to be. Dylan was a memory. Grayson was the here and now. And Grayson was straight.

No, there was no going back.

And for the first time in a long while, Grayson felt completely at ease.

Grayson was beginning to love the life he had created for himself. The popular guys had become his new best friends, the girls adored him, and the school seemed to revolve around him. It was like everything had clicked into place. He was no longer the shy, reserved Dylan who spent time with girls because he didn’t quite fit in with the guys. He was Grayson now, confident and cocky, moving seamlessly through a world where he was the center of attention.

But then there was Cassie.

Cassie had always been one of Grayson’s closest friends, the bubbly, talkative cheerleader with a contagious laugh and a constant stream of “like”s and “totes” in her conversations. But ever since Grayson had fully stepped into his new identity, she had been acting... a little different. More than just her usual ditzy self, she was acting more into him. Grayson couldn’t help but notice how her eyes lingered on him a little too long, how she laughed at his jokes a little too loudly, how she started to copy his every move, even the way he walked.

And that’s when it hit him—Cassie was changing too.

It was after school one day, a bright and sunny Tuesday, when Grayson noticed it the most. He had just finished practice and was heading toward the parking lot, his phone in hand, texting some of the guys about a party later that night. As he turned a corner, he saw her: Cassie, standing by the lockers, waiting for him, her eyes wide and sparkly.

"Grayson!" she squealed, bouncing on her toes as soon as she saw him. “O-M-G! Like, I totes need to talk to you!”

Grayson smirked and started to walk over, but as he did, he noticed something... different about her. She wasn’t wearing her usual cheerleader uniform or a cute casual look. No. Today, Cassie was rocking a tight pink crop top that showed off her midriff and a pair of high-waisted denim shorts that hugged her thighs in a way that screamed “summer girl vibes.” Her hair—usually soft and curly—was now sleek and straight, cascading over her shoulders like she had just walked out of a magazine shoot. And she wasn’t just standing there chatting. She was, like, posing—with her hand on her hip, lips pursed, head tilted in that adorable way she always did.

Grayson raised an eyebrow. "Cassie, you okay?" he asked, a bit more concerned than he’d intended. She was acting... well, a lot more than usual.

Cassie giggled, her high-pitched laugh ringing through the hallway. "Oh my god, Grayson!" she squealed, practically jumping into his arms as she gave him a hug. “Like, I’ve missed you SO much! You’re, like, soooo different now. Like, soooo much cooler than before!”

She pulled back and looked at him, eyes sparkling with what could only be described as adoration.

Grayson felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Not again. Was she... really looking at him like that?

He smiled, trying to brush off the unease. "Yeah, I’ve changed a little. Guess I’ve finally figured out how to play the game."

Cassie clapped her hands together with a high-pitched squee. “You’re, like, SOOOOO hot now, Grayson! It’s, like, soooo cute how you, like, don’t even care! I totes love that about you!”

Grayson chuckled, trying to keep his cool, but he noticed how Cassie was now practically hanging on his every word, her big, doe eyes locked on him, her lips parted slightly like she was waiting for him to say something profound. This wasn’t just Cassie anymore. She was, well... different.

“Yeah, well, it’s a lot easier once you stop worrying about being anything other than yourself,” Grayson said with a wink, feeling a little too proud of how easily it came out.

Cassie’s face lit up with a giant grin. “O-M-G, Grayson! You, like, give the BEST advice! Totes inspiring, like, I feel like I need to, like, totally rethink my life!” She put a hand to her chin, pretending to think deeply, though her thoughts seemed far more on him than on anything else.

Grayson felt the transformation in her. It wasn’t just physical anymore. She was becoming more—more like him. More cocky, more confident, more willing to follow his lead.

“You know what, Grayson?” Cassie said suddenly, her voice turning more flirtatious. “I, like, totally wanna be, like, the coolest girl in school. Like, no one can touch me. You know? I just, like, wanna be like you!”

Grayson smirked again, the realization dawning on him: Cassie was changing to fit into this world too. It wasn’t just about her appearance anymore—she was adopting the confidence, the attitude, even the carefree flirtation he had mastered.

A few days passed, and the shift in Cassie became even more apparent. It was a Friday afternoon, and Grayson had just finished chatting with Brent and Jake about the upcoming weekend. As he turned to leave, he saw Cassie again—waiting for him by the entrance.

This time, she was... well, she was adorably out of control.

Cassie was wearing an oversized, pastel pink hoodie that hung off her shoulder, revealing a glimpse of a lacy bralette. She had teamed it with a pair of knee-high boots and a matching pink backpack with the word “LOVE” written across it in sparkly letters. Her hair was even more perfectly styled now, the loose curls giving her that “I woke up like this” vibe. She looked... so cute it was almost impossible to ignore.

But what really caught Grayson’s attention was the way she was acting.

“Oh my god, Grayson!” she exclaimed, practically skipping toward him. “Like, I TOTES just got the best idea!” Her eyes were wide, and her hands were flailing in the air as she practically bounced from foot to foot.

Grayson grinned at the sight, though there was something new in his gut. Cassie was different. She wasn’t just acting more like a popular girl—she was embracing it with everything she had.

“Yeah, what’s up, Cassie?” Grayson asked, leaning casually against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t sure if he was enjoying this or if he was starting to feel, well... a little guilty. She wasn’t just copying his attitude; she was, in some ways, losing herself in it.

“Oh my god, I’m, like, SO obsessed with you right now!” she said, giggling wildly, her voice so high-pitched now that it was almost cartoonish. “Like, we should totally, like, go shopping this weekend. I want, like, ALL the cutest outfits so I can look like you!” She twirled her hair and smiled at him like he was the most amazing person in the world.

Grayson chuckled, but there was a hint of something else in his chest now. Was this what he had become?

“Cassie, you’re already, like, super cute,” he said with a shrug, trying to brush off the weird feeling. “You don’t need to change for anyone.”

Cassie beamed, but then her face turned serious—well, as serious as Cassie could get.

“No, like, I totally do!” she said, throwing her arms wide, her oversized hoodie flaring out around her. “I wanna be, like, the hottest girl in school, and I think, like, I can do it now—like, with you!”

Grayson stood there for a moment, watching her bounce on her heels. And he couldn’t deny it—Cassie was starting to look... perfect. She had become the kind of girl who was always smiling, always laughing, always looking for the next thing to keep her cute, energetic world spinning. It was like watching a flower bloom into its full, exaggerated beauty.

He had to admit: Cassie was adorable. And in this world of confidence and cocky smiles, she fit in perfectly.

And, maybe—just maybe—Grayson liked that she had become his own little ditzy sidekick in this new world.

From then on, Cassie and Grayson were inseparable. She was his partner in crime, his cute, bubbly counterpart in the world of cool kids, and she had completely embraced it. No longer just the ditzy cheerleader, Cassie was now the ultimate girly-girl, obsessed with looking cute, acting cute, and being obsessed with Grayson.

And in her own way, she was no longer just trying to fit in. She was leading the pack, a version of herself that was just as untouchable as Grayson—cute, giggly, and completely at ease in her new world.

And together, they ruled it.

It was a Friday evening, just a week after Grayson and Cassie had fully slipped into their new personas. The school year had settled into its rhythm, and the pair of them had become inseparable. Grayson, now at the top of the social ladder, and Cassie, who had gone from the cute, ditzy cheerleader to the ultra-confident, bubbly "it girl," were always together. They were the couple everyone talked about, even if they hadn’t officially defined it yet.

It wasn’t like Grayson hadn’t thought about it. Cassie had become more than just his friend—more than just the girl he spent time with to pass the time. There was something about her energy, the way she was always there, her wide eyes that sparkled every time she looked at him. It was impossible to ignore.

And as for Cassie, she had never been more obsessed with someone in her life. Her crush on Grayson, which had started as innocent admiration, had deepened into something more. She liked him more than just for his looks or popularity. She liked the way he made her feel like she was the most important person in the room, the way he casually made everything seem so easy.

It was at the party that weekend when it finally clicked.

The music thumped through the walls of the house as Grayson leaned against the kitchen counter, a solo cup in his hand, chatting with some of the guys. He could see Cassie across the room, surrounded by her usual group of friends, but her eyes were fixed on him—no surprise there. She was always watching him, always a little bit in awe of him, like he was the sun and she was orbiting around him.

Grayson’s smirk curled up at the corners of his lips. She was cute, no doubt about it. And the way she acted around him—well, it wasn’t just cute anymore. It was kind of perfect.

And then, in that moment, something shifted. Cassie’s laugh, high-pitched and slightly off-key, rang out as she chatted with some of the other girls, but it wasn’t just a casual laugh. It was a flirty laugh. And when she caught his gaze from across the room, she tilted her head and blew him a kiss.

Cassie had been working her way through the crowd, and before Grayson could even process it, she was standing next to him, her wide, sparkling eyes staring up at him. Her oversized pink hoodie hung off one shoulder, revealing a lacy bralette, and her perfectly styled hair bounced as she tilted her head to look up at him.

"Hi, Grayson!" she cooed, her voice full of that sweet, innocent energy that made Grayson feel like he could melt into the floor. She leaned against him just a little too casually, but he couldn’t help but notice the way she was very much in his personal space now.

"Hey, Cassie," he replied, his voice a little quieter, the weight of her proximity catching him off guard. He casually brushed a strand of hair out of her face, his fingertips grazing her soft skin. “You’re looking... really cute tonight."

Cassie giggled, a sound that was so adorably high-pitched it could have been straight out of a rom-com. She batted her eyelashes at him. “Aww, you, like, think so? I, like, totally spent, like, a million hours picking this outfit, so I’m so glad you noticed!"

Grayson couldn’t help but laugh. Cassie. The girl who had once been his carefree friend—always happy, always a little clueless—was now the one who had his full attention. She was confident, sure, but still that cute, bubbly, ditzy energy he couldn’t get enough of.

“Yeah, you look... perfect,” Grayson said, leaning closer, a slow grin spreading across his face. He couldn’t deny it. She was perfect. In her own way.

Cassie’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, and she giggled again, the sound making Grayson’s heart skip a beat.

“Grayson...” she trailed off, her eyes gleaming as she stared up at him. “Like, I totally have a confession to make.”

Grayson raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that?”

Cassie, looking up at him with those huge puppy-dog eyes, took a deep breath. “Well, like, I’ve, like, really liked you for a long time, but I was too shy to say anything.” She let out a little giggle, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “I think you’re, like, sooo amazing and cool, and, like, I’m not even sure why I didn’t notice it sooner! But, like, I just, like, wanna be with you... y’know?”

Grayson’s heart skipped, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. He had always thought of Cassie as his friend. She had been the cute, bubbly girl he spent time with, but this was... different. She wasn’t just his friend anymore.

And somehow, somewhere along the way, he’d started to feel the same way.

He smiled, his hand finding the small of her back, pulling her gently closer. “Cassie... I think I’ve liked you for a while too,” he said, his voice low and genuine.

She blinked, her mouth falling open in surprise. “Really?! Oh my god, I, like, totally can’t believe you just said that!”

Before Grayson could respond, Cassie’s hands were on his shoulders, and with a sudden burst of energy, she was kissing him, her lips soft and full of that cute, bubbly warmth that was so Cassie. Grayson didn’t hesitate for a second. He kissed her back, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her even closer.

It wasn’t a deep, passionate kiss—not yet. But it was the kind of kiss that was sweet, electric, and filled with the promise of more. When they pulled away, Cassie was practically glowing, her face flushed, her hands still holding onto his shoulders like she never wanted to let go.

“Oh my god, Grayson, I’m, like, so happy right now,” Cassie said, her voice high-pitched and full of that giddy excitement. “Like, you’re so perfect! You’re, like, the guy of my dreams!”

Grayson chuckled, still holding her close. “I’m glad you think so, Cassie. Because, like... you’re kind of the girl of mine.”

Cassie beamed, her eyes sparkling as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body closer to his. “Like, this is SO cute. I, like, can’t believe we’re, like, together now! I’m totally obsessed with you, Grayson!”

“Same here,” he said with a smirk, feeling that familiar surge of confidence and excitement wash over him.

They were no longer just friends. No longer just two people who shared casual flirtations and hangouts. They were a couple now—a power couple in this new world they had created for themselves. And it felt right.

From that night on, Grayson and Cassie were inseparable. They were the couple everyone envied—the girl who was effortlessly cute, bubbly, and ditzy, and the guy who was effortlessly cool, confident, and cocky. Together, they ruled the school, and nothing could pull them apart.

And for Grayson, the guy who had once doubted his place in this world, it felt like he was finally, truly home.

[lawofangie]

some things i've manifested

these are some basic stories, but i have some "crazy" ones i might share if you guys want lol

note: before manifesting i used to have a pretty "normal" life. i was conventionally attractive, middle classs, etc. i didn't really "need" anything but a social life and better grades. regardless of that, i just manifested whatever i wanted and didn't limit myself. i also added a few little stories behind them.

appearance change:

changed my hair texture to curly

grew from 5'2 to 5'6

clear, even skin and skin tone (tbh i already had a really good skincare routine, my skin was super clear bc of that BUT my face used to be like 10 shades darker than the rest of my body and i had CRAZY backne and strawberry legs)

losing 30 pounds (i used to be 72kg, now i'm 58kg)

changed my shoe size (i used to be size 9 now i'm size 7)

changed my hand size (for reference, my hands used to be a little longer than my phone, i had a "pro max" sized phone.)

social life:

having good friends in my state (im from up north and was completely lonely in the state i live in now)

popularity (i used to be pretty irrelevant but now everybody likes me and wants to be around me)

getting my sp's (i manifested them from scratch and took inspired action to meet them)

having people crush on me more overtly/ getting approached more (this is kind of a weird one, before my appearance change i was pretty attractive like maybe a 7/10, but i got tired of people just ogling me and not approaching me. i only had the unattractive and overconfident guys approaching me, all the attractive ones just stared lol)

just being likable lol (people used to feel threatened by me or feel like i was standoffish for some reason. idrk tbh but it was VERY annoying. i literally used to get accused of "acting like i own the place" for being quiet and just existing 💀. i didn't really care what they thought, but i hated when they complained about it and tried to make it my problem.)

school:

higher gpa (i used to have a 3.0 but i manifested a 3.8, which is a weighted 4.0)

high grades (i used to fail many tests/exams and have a mix of a, b, and c's. now they're all a's)

dream college acceptance

teachers liking me (they actually used to hate my guts it was so annoying 😭)

school crushes liking me back (tbh they probably thought i was already attractive but they never spoke to me or seemed like they wanted to get to know me)

leaving early (my school day ends at like 12 now)

lifestyle:

living closer to the city

having my dream routine (i have my dream skincare products, haircare products, diet, and health routines.)

having a high self concept (tbh i technically always did, i knew what i wanted and deserved. i just felt more like i was being injusticed. so i got rid of the "unwilling victim" mentality. i also used to ruminate on irrelevant things, like mistakes i made, what people thought of me, etc.)

very high confidence (in my looks, abilities, judgement, etc.)

money for my parents and myself

having a busy, productive life (i used to hate school because my grades weren't contributing to anything i wanted to do in life, so i wanted a productive life outside of that.)

always getting my way

getting all sorts of things for free

and more!

i'd say this all took me around 2-3 months, not because manifesting takes time, but because i assumed a lot of things would take time. i also had periods of doubt in myself and tried to handle things in the 3d on my own for some time.. which obviously didn't work. still, all i did was assume and accept these things as true and they happened overnight, in a day, or within that week. the longest anything's taken me is like 7 days, and that was because i kept wavering in my mind. manifestation is truly instant.

but anyways, i hope this is motivational and helpful. i do have some pretty "ridiculous" stories like some revenge stories, "crazy" stories regarding sp's, some not very appropriate stories, really good things happening to me, and others.

thanks for reading! i hope this helps. 🩶

[millersgirl80]

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby (Part 3)

Pairing: DBF!joelxf!reader

Word count: 2.2k

Summary: It’s the day of Joel’s barbecue

Warning: age gap, mention of a break up, oral (f receiving), mention of alcohol.

Part two here

Today was the day of Joel's barbecue, and Hanna was determined that I make an impression on everyone, especially Joel. She handed me a stunning red sundress that hugged my curves in all the right places.

"You look amazing, Darlin!" Hanna exclaimed as she handed me a pair of strappy sandals. "Joel won't be able to take his eyes off you."

I smiled, feeling a surge of confidence. "Thanks, Hanna. I hope he notices me. I'm tired of being just another pretty face to him."

"Are you kidding? With that dress and how gorgeous you look, he won’t be able to take his eyes off you!" she laughed, but there was assurance in her voice. . Now, let's get going. We don't want to be late for the barbecue."

As we arrived at Joel's house, my heart began to race. The sound of laughter and music filled the air, and the delicious aroma of grilled meat made my mouth water. This was the perfect setting for a sultry summer romance.

We walk up the steps and knock on the door, “why don’t we just go home and eat ice cream?” I smile at Hanna. “Because, you need this.”as Hanna finish the door open up to a woman greeting us. She was a tall, leggy blonde with a dazzling smile. I felt a twinge of jealousy as she introduced herself, but I kept my composure.

"Hi, I’m Lisa." Lisa said, her voice sweet and welcoming. "Come on in, the party's just getting started, Joel and everyone just out back!”

I forced a smile, my mind racing with thoughts of Joel and Lisa. As we stepped into the backyard, The lush green lawn was filled with guests, The air was thick with the scent of burning charcoal and alcohol, and the buzz of conversation mingled with the soft summer breeze.

The moment I spotted Joel, standing near the grill, my heart stuttered.

He was talking with a group of friends, laughing, the sun framing him in such a way that I could hardly look away. I felt momentarily paralyzed, a mix of eagerness and fear. I wanted to stride boldly toward him, but I also wanted to retreat like a shadow.

Hanna nudged me from behind. "Go on! You can do this!" she whispered, and I found the courage to step forward, my feet moving almost on instinct.

"Hey, Darlin!" Joel turned his gaze toward me, and the world around faded. The laughter, the clinking of glasses—everything dimmed as his eyes locked with mine. "You look amazing," he said, his voice low and sincere.

I felt heat bloom in my cheeks as I managed a smile, my heart racing like a wild creature trying to break free. “Thanks! You look good too,” I shot back, trying to sound nonchalant, though my insides were a tangled mess of emotion.

The evening unfolded with laughter and good food, but each moment I spent near Joel became its own universe filled with unspoken possibilities. As the sun set, the stillness began to creep in, my gaze drifting towards the stars sprinkled across the night sky. It was at that moment that I caught Joel looking again, the intensity of his stare sending both thrill and comfort coursing through me.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, his voice a warm embrace in the cool evening.

“Sure, I’d love a beer,” I replied, almost too eager. I watched him walk away, admiring the way he carried himself, confident and grounded.

I took a breath, feeling a burst of hope. Maybe tonight was about more than just a barbecue, maybe it was my chance to get Joel to open up and get him to accept his feelings for me. I walk over to meet him for my drink getting caught by my arm. “Dad” I smile. “Darling, this is Lisa. Joel’s girlfriend.” My dad introduced us. “Yea, I met her earlier.” I smile, distracted my eyes still searching for Joel. Hanna walks over and greets my dad and Lisa, excusing us as she pulls me away. “What is going on?” She whispered. I gave her a confused looked. “I saw you talking to Joel. It looked like it was going well.” I nod searching for Joel, finding him standing with Lisa and her drinking the beer that was meant for me. “I-it’s was. I’m gonna head upstairs for a minute, get away from everyone.” I smile heading inside upstairs. Hanna nods and she watches me. As I turn from Hanna, my eyes meets Joel’s, I felt momentarily paralyzed, a mix of eagerness and fear. I wanted to stride boldly toward him, but I also wanted to retreat like a shadow.

I made my way up the stairs without any one stopping me to talk. I walk into the first door I see and close it behind me. I walk over to the window closing the blinds and take a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Everything okay?” The voice behind me makes me jump. I snap my head in the direction of the door. “Yeah, I... I shouldn't be here," I whispered, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Neither should I," Joel replied, his voice husky with desire. "But yet, I still find my way to you."

His words sent a shiver down my spine. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but the temptation was too great. Joel's eyes held me captive.

Joel's hands slid around my waist, pulling me close. I could feel the hardness of his body against mine, the warmth of his breath on my neck. His touch was both gentle and possessive, as if he was claiming me as his own.

"You're trembling," Joel whispered, his lips brushing against my ear. "Are you afraid, Darlin?"

"Yes... no..." my voice was barely audible. "I'm not afraid, but I know this is wrong."

Joel chuckled, a low, seductive sound. "Wrong never felt so right, did it?"

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the moment. I find my lips on Joel’s. His tongue teased my lips, demanding entrance, and I eagerly granted it. Our tongues danced, exploring each other.

Joel's hands roamed over my body, mapping my curves with a hunger that left me breathless. "You're exquisite," he murmured against my neck, his breath hot on my sensitive skin. "I've missed your body and how responsive it is darling."

I arched into his touch, my body responding to his every caress. I ran my hands through his hair, pulling him closer, wanting to feel every inch of his hard body against me. Joel's hands cupped my breasts, his thumbs teasing my hardened nipples through the lace. I gasped, my head falling back as waves of pleasure washed over me.

"Please, Joel," I breathed out. My voice a plea. "I need more."

Joel didn't need to be told twice. He lowered himself to his knees, his hands gliding down my body, lifting my dress as he went. His lips found the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle bites that made me squirm with anticipation.

"You taste so sweet," he whispered, his breath hot against my damp folds. "I want to taste all of you." Joel plunged his tongue into my wetness, my hands gripped his hair, holding him close as his tongue danced and swirled, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body. His fingers teased my clit, bringing me closer and closer to the edge.

"Oh, Joel, I'm going to..." my words were cut off by a wave of ecstasy as my orgasm crashed over me. My body trembled, as I cried out.

Joel continued to feast on me, drawing out my pleasure. My legs trembled, body still pulsing with the aftershocks of my climax.

As I came down from my high, I realized the magnitude of what we had just done. I pulled away from Joel, my eyes wide with a mixture of pleasure and panic. I quickly straightened out my dress. Joel stands with his arms crossed, looking conflicted, while I pace anxiously in front of him.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, darlin?” Joel ask leaning against the closet door frame. I look over at Joel. “Mixed signals and shit, from you.” I continue pacing running a hand through my hair. “Baby.” He whispers. “You know what I think about us. We can’t- “

“Yes we can Joel. You just don’t want to!” I interrupt him. “Darling, I’m sorry. Yes the sex is great, but-“

“This isn’t about sex Joel! My god, are you that fucking blind. I’ve wanted you for years!” I groan, getting frustrated. “This is ridiculous, Joel! Why are we pretending like you don’t want this?”

Joel sighs. “It’s not that simple, Darlin. You and I both know how your dad would react if he finds out about us. This would destroy everything.”

I stop pacing looking at Joel. “It is that simple Joel! You’re just gonna let him control our lives?”

“Goddamn it darling! I’m trying to respect him! He’s been there for me since I can remember! This would break his trust!” Joel’s tone gets defensive.

“And what about us? Are you really willing to throw away what we have just to keep my dad happy? And you just have to deal with it?” I step closer. Joel looks away, “I’m trying to not throw anything away! My loyalty-“

“To a man who can’t see how amazing we are together? A man that not only controls me, but you as well? I won’t accept that anymore! I want you, Joel!” I interrupted Joel again. Trying to push it into his head.

“I know darlin’. Fuck! Okay I get it. I do but your dad is gonna be pissed maybe worse.” Joel rubs his temples sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Let him be pissed then Joel! I’m done living in fear of his reaction. This is my life, Joel! You and I deserve to be happy.” I say determined to get my words through to Joel.

“You deserve to be happy… but I can’t just look the other way. What if it ruins everything? Huh? What if it gets so bad it ruins us?” Joels voice softens “We can’t let fear dictate our choices. If I could choose between losing my dad or being with you, I’d choose you every time!” I walk over and squat between Joel’s legs looking up into his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re saying darlin.” Joel says looking torn.

“Yes I do! I’ve known for a while and I’ll fight for us, and I wish you’d fight too! Are we really going to let him come between us?” I say confidently.

“I don’t want to lose you. I never wanted to. But this…” He gestured between us. “it feels impossible.” He sighs. “Nothing is impossible, Joel. If we’re in it together..all in. No fucking then leaving. No more pushing away, we can figure it out. Just say you want me, that you’re willing to try.” I rest my hand on his knee.

“I want you, Darlin. I do. no sneaking around, I ain’t no damn teenager I’m not hiding anything…” Joel says looking into my eyes.

“I’ll take that. A plan means hope. And I’ll take whatever hope we can find, as long as you’re with me.” I smile wrapping my arms around Joel’s neck.

“I should go find Lisa.” Joel says pulling away. “Ain’t right ya know, shouldn’t have invited her.” He says rubbing his neck. “Why did you?” I ask avoiding his eyes. “To distract myself from you” Joel admits playing with the strings on my sundress. “That didn’t work out too well.” I chuckle. “It would’ve never worked out darlin” Joel smiles. I get the feeling he’s talking about him and Lisa staying together and not about the distraction.

I let Joel leave the room first, I made my way to his bathroom and freshened up then made my way downstairs seeing Joel sit on the bench alone. I look over at Lisa who is talking to some guy and laughing. “You okay?” I sit next to Joel grabbing his hand.

Joel nods lacing our fingers together. “Never been better actually.”

“H-How did she take it?” I hesitantly ask. “Surprisingly well.” He shrugs.

We sit in silence for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry for being a dickhead to ya darlin, just thought If I was mean, it would push you away” Joel drops his head to my hand leaving a small kiss on the back.

“I know. No more pushing me away Joel.” I smile standing up. “Come on. Go enjoy the rest of the night. I’ll meet up with you later.” I pull Joel off his ass and push him towards the group of guys surrounding the grill.

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Azerbajian GP Weekend

Masterlist

Thursday had arrived, and so had the media frenzy. It was the traditional pre-race press day, and the interview room was buzzing with journalists and cameras ready to capture every word and reaction. I was scheduled for a multi-driver interview, paired with Franco, Carlos, Max, and Oscar—a mix of veterans and rookies, all bringing their own energy to the room. I was feeling confident, prepared to answer whatever questions were thrown my way, until I noticed a few familiar faces among the journalists—faces I remembered from whispers in the paddock.

After a few light-hearted questions aimed at Carlos and Max, the interview shifted gears when a well-known journalist turned to me with a sharp look in his eyes.

“So, Y/N,” he began, voice dripping with a tone that already felt accusatory, “there’s been a lot of talk about your rapid rise to F1, especially after missing significant time in F2. Some might say that… connections or publicity stunts might be part of the story here rather than pure skill.” He leaned back, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What do you say to people who think you’re here for PR reasons, rather than merit?”

My stomach clenched, but I kept my face calm. This was it—the subtle way they were calling me out, questioning if I was here because of talent or if I was just a “diversity hire” in a sport still catching up with the times. I could feel the tension in the room rise as Carlos and Max glanced at me, both of them experienced enough to know what it was like to be grilled by the press.

I took a deep breath, feeling Franco’s reassuring presence beside me. He shot me a quick nod, like he was silently encouraging me to respond.

“Well,” I began, keeping my voice calm and steady, “I think every driver here has something to prove. Racing is about results, and I’m fully prepared to show what I’m capable of on the track. I know there’s a lot of speculation, and it’s natural—every driver faces it at some point. I’m here because I’ve earned this seat. And I’ll keep proving that every weekend.”

The journalist wasn’t done. He leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. “Still, disappearing for months mid-season in F2 and then suddenly being ready to jump into F1… it does raise some eyebrows. Care to elaborate on where you were?”

My heart raced. Memories flooded in—of the sleepless nights by my mother’s side, of the last few precious moments we shared. I felt the urge to defend myself, to tell the whole story right there, but I knew better. I took another breath, holding my smile steady.

“As my former team and I have always said, I was undergoing extensive training to prepare for the reserve role I’d committed to with Aston Martin. My team has full confidence in me, and that’s all the focus I’m giving it,” I replied, keeping my tone professional. I felt proud of my answer, but I could tell the journalist was disappointed by my restraint.

Max jumped in, breaking the tension with his classic cool-headedness. “You know, there are always rumors about all of us. It’s all just noise until we’re on track, isn’t it?”

The journalist backed off slightly, though I could tell he wasn’t convinced. Franco shot me a supportive look, mouthing a quick “Nice one” as the attention moved to another driver. I took a deep breath, reminding myself to stay composed. My mother’s voice echoed in my mind, reminding me of all the reasons I was here.

After the interview wrapped up, Franco walked over and gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Forget him. That was out of line. You handled it well.”

“Thanks,” I replied, my voice a bit shaky. “I just didn’t expect that to hit so hard, you know?”

He nodded, his eyes kind. “I know. But you showed them that you belong here. Keep doing that, and everyone else will see it too.”

As we left the interview room, Franco nudged me, a curious look in his eyes. "Did you notice how quickly Max jumped in? It’s like he was standing up for you."

I shrugged, glancing back at the room we’d just left. "I don’t know if it was for me specifically," I replied. "Max just seems to hate when journalists get too personal. He probably saw the question as crossing a line. He’s always been a no-nonsense guy."

Franco didn’t seem convinced. "Maybe, but... he didn’t have to say anything at all. A lot of other drivers wouldn’t." He paused, as if carefully choosing his next words. "Look, I’ve been around these drivers a while now, and I know how they talk. I think Max might be one of the few drivers who’s actually looking at what you do on track, not paying attention to those rumors.”

I hesitated, not sure how to process that. “Maybe,” I conceded. “But why would he? He doesn’t know me.”

“Maybe he’s seen the work you’re putting in,” Franco said thoughtfully. “He knows what it’s like to face doubt—he started young too. Besides,” he added, “Max respects hard work. He wouldn’t have stood up for you if he didn’t think you’ve earned your place.”

I wanted to believe Franco, but I couldn’t help being skeptical. “You might be giving him too much credit,” I said. “Honestly, I still think it was more about hating the question than defending me.”

Franco laughed. “Maybe you’re right. Max isn’t exactly Mr. Empathy. But I think he respects that you’ve been keeping your head down and just focusing on racing. People who’ve been on the grid longer can spot real talent, and he wouldn’t bother standing up for you if he didn’t see something there.”

I looked down, smiling to myself. The thought that Max might see past all the gossip and actually believe in my abilities was… a little surreal. But if Franco was right, it meant something. "You know," I said quietly, "maybe that’s enough for now. If I can prove myself to someone like Max, maybe that’s all I need to do for the rest to start paying attention."

Franco nodded. “Exactly. Let them talk. Just keep showing up on track and doing what you do best. You’re already turning heads, whether they admit it or not.”

We walked on in comfortable silence after that, both of us aware that this race weekend would be another chance. Another shot to show everyone—including myself—that I had a place here, no matter who questioned it. 

We parted ways minutes later, Franco being asked to return to his garage for a filming session between him and Alex. I decided to walk around the paddock a bit more —given that most if not every interviewer was in the interview room right now— I had a chance to relax by myself with a nice little undisrupted wandering walk. It didn’t last long however before I was seemingly cornered by the same man who had stood up for me before. Max Verstappen had spotted me from across the paddock and beelined his way right towards me. 

I froze for a moment, a bit caught off guard. Max was one of the last people I expected to seek me out, especially after that brief encounter in the interview room. He was known for being straightforward, but also for keeping to himself, so seeing him walk toward me like this felt... unexpected.

As he approached, I straightened up, unsure of what to say. Max had that usual intense focus in his eyes, but his expression didn’t seem as cold as it often did. He came to a stop in front of me, his hands tucked in his jacket pockets.

“Hey,” he said, his tone casual but direct. "How are you holding up?"

I blinked, momentarily surprised by the question. "I’m good," I replied quickly, forcing a small smile. “Why do you ask?”

Max looked around the paddock, as if checking to make sure no one else was nearby. When he turned back to me, he spoke a little lower. “Just wanted to make sure you’re not letting the stuff they’re saying get to you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What stuff?”

He shrugged, his expression softening a little. “The gossip. The rumors. People are always going to talk, especially when there’s something new, or something they don’t understand.” He paused for a second, looking at me seriously. “But you’ve been doing well. I can see it.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. It was... unexpected, to say the least. Max wasn’t exactly the type to give out compliments, let alone stand up for someone in public, especially someone like me. The fact that he was acknowledging it so openly made me second-guess a lot of my assumptions about him.

"Thanks," I said, my voice more tentative than I intended. "I appreciate it."

Max nodded. "I know how it feels to be judged before you even get the chance to show what you can do. It’s not easy." He paused again, and then, almost like an afterthought, added, "If you need someone to talk to or whatever, don’t hesitate."

I was caught off guard once more. Max Verstappen, offering to talk?

"Uh, thanks," I replied, this time more confidently. "I think I’ll be alright, but it’s good to know."

He gave me a small nod, a glimmer of respect in his eyes. “Good. Keep your head up, alright? They’ll respect you, eventually. Just keep showing up.”

With that, he turned and walked off, leaving me standing there a little dumbfounded. The last thing I expected was for Max Verstappen to go out of his way to check on me, but now I was left wondering if there was more to him than just the hard-as-nails racer everyone saw on TV. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as bad as the rumors made him out to be either.

BIG TIME SKIP 

After Qualifying, I couldn’t help but smile—P10! I’d made it into the top 10, just behind Franco who had secured P9. We were both on cloud nine and decided to grab dinner together to celebrate. We were walking out of the paddock, laughing and joking, when I suddenly heard someone shout Franco’s name.

“Franco! Where are you going?” Lando’s voice rang out across the busy paddock.

Both Franco and I turned, surprised. We saw Lando and Oscar jogging toward us, the latter giving me a fleeting glance. Lando, on the other hand, didn’t spare me a single glance. His eyes were locked on Franco, his tone sharp.

Franco, clearly still riding the high of a great qualifying result, gave him a friendly wave. “Hey, just heading out to grab some dinner. Want to join us?”

Oscar’s eyes lingered on me for a brief moment, and I could swear I saw something akin to pity flicker across his face, but it disappeared so quickly that I couldn’t be sure. Lando, however, didn’t acknowledge me at all, his gaze still glued to Franco.

“I’m good,” Lando replied curtly, his tone flat. “We’ll catch up later. But I’ve heard... you two are quite the topic today.”

Franco shot me a quick glance, clearly uncomfortable, but said nothing as Lando’s words hung in the air. I could feel his eyes shift between me and Franco, clearly sizing up the situation. The tension was palpable, and I knew exactly what he was referring to. The rumors.

“So, uh, what’s it like?” Lando continued, his voice now almost too casual, his gaze flicking over to me. “Being the new face around here, with all the... stories going around?”

Oscar, standing silently at Lando’s side, seemed content to watch the exchange, though his eyes flicked to me, then back to Lando. I could tell he wasn’t quite sure where this conversation was headed.

I wasn’t sure if Lando was looking for confirmation or if he was trying to provoke a reaction, but either way, I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. The judgment in his tone wasn’t subtle, and I wasn’t about to let it slide.

“Stories?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow as I turned toward him. “What kind of stories?”

Lando shifted uncomfortably, clearly caught off guard by my question, but he quickly recovered. “You know,” he said with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. “The whole... why you suddenly disappeared from F2, then came in and replaced Stroll and all that. Guess people are curious and there are a lot of people willing to tell their stories to fill that gap in.”

Oscar’s eyes darted between us, a slight frown tugging at his lips, but he said nothing. I could see the judgment in Lando’s face now, and I couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“I’m not here to entertain gossip,” I replied, my voice steady but firm. “I don’t know where these ‘stories’ came from, but you’re feeding into them just like everyone else. How about you let me speak for myself? Maybe then you’ll get the real story.”

Franco opened his mouth to speak, likely trying to defuse the situation, but I held up a hand to stop him. I wasn’t going to let Lando get away with it.

“If you really think that just because of my background in this sport, you’re going to judge me on rumors instead of what I can do on track,” I said, my tone cutting through the air, “then maybe you should reconsider how much you actually know from sources that don’t include bias perspectives.”

Lando’s face twitched, and for a moment, I could see the flicker of realization in his eyes. He wasn’t used to being called out so directly. But he wasn’t backing down either.

“Look, I didn’t mean—” he started, but I cut him off sharply, my tone colder than before.

“No, you didn’t mean it,” I snapped, my eyes narrowing. “But you’re still doing it. So maybe before you speak about things you clearly know nothing about, you should think twice. Because I’m not here to be the subject of your gossip.”

The air between us grew tense, and the silence stretched on. Oscar, who had been quietly observing, exchanged a glance with Lando but stayed silent. I could feel the weight of Lando’s eyes on me, but I refused to back down.

“Is that really how it’s going to be?” I asked, my voice hard. “You think you can just judge me based on some rumor mill nonsense without even knowing me? Maybe you should consider that there’s more to me than whatever the hell people want to say about my past. What happens on track is all that should matter. But if you’re still buying into that crap, then maybe you’re not the person I thought you were.”

Lando’s jaw tightened, and I could tell that I had struck a nerve. He didn’t immediately respond, instead glancing at Oscar, who now had a slightly concerned look on his face. Lando shifted on his feet, clearly unsure of how to respond to someone calling him out so forcefully.

“I get it, alright?” Lando muttered, but there was no real sincerity in his voice. “But you’ve got to admit, there’s a lot of speculation.”

I rolled my eyes, the frustration bubbling up inside me. “Speculation is exactly what it is. And it’s none of your business, Lando. What matters is that I’m here, racing, and proving myself every time I get behind the wheel. Maybe if you focused more on that, you’d see it for what it is, instead of judging me based on some stupid rumors.”

I paused for a moment, letting the silence linger between us before I spoke again, my voice sharpening. “And honestly, with all the rumors floating around that you’re a big fan of Trump after some of the things you’ve said in Miami? I’m not surprised you’re so quick to jump on the bandwagon and believe whatever fits the narrative. It’s easier to go along with what the media says, right? But I don’t listen to that stuff. I judge people by their actions, not by what the tabloids want to spin. You don’t know me, Lando, so stop acting like you do.”

I could see him bristle at my words, and for a moment, I could tell that what I said hit harder than he expected. It wasn’t about defending myself anymore—it was about standing up for the idea that I wouldn’t let others define me, especially when they hadn’t bothered to get to know the real me.

Lando’s expression flickered, a mix of frustration and something else—something I couldn’t quite place—passing across his face. For a moment, he was silent, clearly trying to process what I had just said. But I could tell I had made him think, even if just for a brief second.

He didn’t immediately apologize, which told me everything I needed to know. He wasn’t ready to back down yet. But I wasn’t done.

“Just stop hiding behind your assumptions, Lando,” I added, my voice firm. “It’s not a good look. You can’t just brush off people based on things you hear when there’s no real truth to it. It’s lazy, and frankly, it’s disappointing.”

Lando stood there, looking caught off guard by my directness. He wasn’t apologizing, not really. But I could see that I had planted a seed. Maybe it would take a while for him to truly get it, but at least for now, I had made my point. And I wasn’t about to let anyone walk over me—especially not when I knew I was capable of so much more than the rumors said.

“I... didn’t realize it was that big of a deal,” he said, his voice a little quieter now. “I’m just trying to keep up with everything going on around here.” “Well, try harder,” I shot back, my tone biting. “Because if you can’t see past the rumors, you’re just as bad as the rest of them.”

With that, I turned away, my heart still racing with anger. I didn’t want his apology, not really. I wasn’t looking for anyone’s approval. But I wasn’t going to let anyone make me feel small just because they couldn’t look beyond what they heard. I walked away, leaving Lando and Oscar to whatever thoughts they were processing, knowing that I had made myself clear.

Franco, who had been watching from the sidelines, gave me an approving smile as I returned to his side. I didn’t need to look back to know that the tension between Lando and me wasn’t going to disappear anytime soon. But that was fine by me. It was time for me to prove myself on the track, and if Lando and the others had to learn the hard way, so be it.

[gothamite-rambler]

Steph and Jason's first mission together: Astro Girls

Context: Taking place after Jason befriended Cass, who happened to be sick that night, Stephanie found herself in need of someone to aid her in unraveling the mystery of the missing people linked to a yoga club, a cult, a multi-level marketing scheme, and astro-girls. This mission was a mix of her venting about her frustrations and doing something productive. It also marked their first mission together. Jason did appreciate for Stephanie's unhinged eccentricity and fighting skills.

Red Hood cuffed a crazed cult member while Spoiler spoke to the remaining members, most of whom were bruised and scared, with only a few still devoted to Astro.

Red Hood: I’m just going to say this: you are the worst type of person, and the only reason I’m not shooting you is that I’m working with someone who would rat me out to Batman.

Spoiler (sneaking up next to Red Hood): In a situation like this, you can aim for her thigh or something.

Astro (smugly): You can’t blame me for this. If anything, you should be letting me walk.

Red Hood: Why? Were you under the control of someone else?

Astro (confidently incorrect): It’s not my fault I can sway people easily; it’s the Virgo in me.

Red Hood (confused): It’s the what?

He looked at Spoiler, assuming she understood, but she shook her head with her eyes closed. Astro grinned pridefully while clasping her cuffed hands together.

Astro: Virgo means I’m a natural-born leader. People instantly want to follow me. If they were different birth signs, they wouldn’t have messed up this club.

Spoiler (deadpan): I knew it was odd that one of them kept asking when my birthday was.

Red Hood (angry): Am I missing something? Lady, you were running a cult disguised as a yoga club, which was a front for your multi-level marketing scheme that sold diet smoothies to people and nearly killed a lot of them. The people following you are idiots, yes, but you being a virgin doesn’t excuse anything.

Spoiler (exhausted): Virgo.

Red Hood (aggravated): You don’t know how little I care.

Spoiler: I don’t either, but… I can explain what this totally sane woman is talking about. She started all this to have a following of sycophants who could take the fall for her if she did something like this. Oh, and wait, Astro—because of course that's your name—you made the smoothie powder yourself, but it wasn't your fault that every other batch contained some type of drug or poison. As a Virgo, you could only order your 'members' to make it.

Astro (oblivious): Girl, duh. It's not my fault they messed up the recipe.

Red Hood: Bitch, the original recipe had rat poison mixed in it!

Astro: Okay, you’re yelling at me, and the Virgo in me is very sensitive to sound.

Red Hood (angry sigh): That doesn't even make any sense!

Spoiler (stepping in front of him): I got this, Hood. Man, it is great finally meeting an astrological girl.

Astro (fluttering her eyes happy): Oh my goodness, you know about us?

Spoiler nodded, tight smile.

Spoiler (rolling up her sleeves): Oh yeah, you relying on star signs, rising moons, and tides to determine literally anything is totally fascinating. Especially when you use it to be mean to people or dismiss actions like this.

Astro (valley girl accent): Yes, and we’re usually very accurate. Like I said, it’s not my fault I accidentally made a cult.

Red Hood (loud): You were beating people who tried to escape!

Astro: My rising tide—

Spoiler growled and punched the woman in the nose, knocking her to the ground.

Spoiler (kicking the woman while she was down): Oh, was that my Capri Sun rising on the horizon?! No, it's because I think you suck for what you put these poor men and women through for two years! News fa- lash: your alignment named after some piece of Greek mythology or an animal doesn’t excuse the fact that you’re a bad person!

Red Hood: Um, this feels like it's connected to something.

Spoiler (pausing her kicking): My mom used to be into this crap before finding the Lord, and she made a lot of terrible decisions before 'finding the Lord' thanks to people like this!

Red Hood: Oh wow, her becoming religious is less insane than them?

Spoiler: Pretty much, yeah. I’m shocked too.

Astro (weakly): What month was she born? That could be linked to her poor decision-making—

Spoiler patted her elbow and then slammed into the woman’s body as Red Hood watched, impressed.

Red Hood (amused): Huh… I’m glad we’re working together tonight.

Spoiler (punching the woman): Told you our first team-up would be fun. Give me two more minutes with her, though?

Red Hood: Oh yeah, sure. I’ve dealt with crazy people like this before; go nuts for the two minutes. I’ll take care of the hostages.

Spoiler had the woman in a headlock but nodded as Jason walked over to the people who had been brainwashed or kidnapped to be part of the yoga/MLM cult.

Spoiler: Thanks.

[anomaly-076]

mixing whb with tkdb again... What do you think each ghoul's biggest fetish is?

Sorry for filing up your inbox so often 😭😭😭

Tkdb boys idiosyncrasies (18+)

‎‧₊˚✿Masterlist✿˚₊‧

♦ Don't worry at all! I'm glad someone's interested in my writing! ^^ I also went all out with their full idiosyncrasies like all the WHB demons have, so I hope you don't mind ^^ ♦

  ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Jin

Master/Servant play

A Prince of Frost, who'd do anything to keep his peace. The only ones allowed into his chambers is his trusty servant Tohma and you. He might be cold, but should you tempt him, things will heat up fast.

Tohma

Capnolagnia (smoking)

Timophilia (gold, wealth and high social status)

If you feel a pair of observing eyes on yourself while in Frostheim, rest assured it's the Prince's advisor. Fear not, however, he's merely making sure you cause no trouble. He's usually the center of attention during Frosteim's balls.

Lucas

Crurophilia (legs)

In search for his twin brother, Lucas finds little to no time to relax between studying and training. Many other students, including his good friend Kaito, have said he simply needs some healthy distraction.

Kaito

Mazophilia (boobs)

Katoptronophilia (mirror sex)

As confident he is, the moment you're around reduces Kaito to a babbling mess. Give him a few moments and he'll compose himself only to attempt charming you.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

Alan

Sthenolagnia (muscles and displays of strength)

Asphyxiophilia (choking) - after he overcomes the fear of hurting others on accident

A gentle giant with an air of danger who is like the older brother of all his fellow Vagastrom students. Some gossips say he's done some bad things in his past, but nobody dares or knows to say what.

Leo

Autagonistophilia (being in front of an audience/camera)

A small social media influencer with a tongue sharper than most blades. Him and his partner in crime, Sho, are the primary source of trouble in the Vagastrom dorm with Leo being the sole insinuator.

Sho

Amaurophilia (blindfold kink)

The students of Vagastrom are known to never pass up a good fight and Sho is no different. You're likely to either run into him at his food truck or in the Vagastrom garagaes, tending to his bike Bonnie.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

Haru

Doraphilia (texture/feel of fur/animal skin)

The naughty and energetic president of Jabberwock who carries his son Peekaboo around everywhere. If you're not shy ask to pet him, he'll let you, and then he'll also let you pet Peekaboo too.

Towa

Dendrophilia (plants) - plants need love too, ig (sorry, again T-T)

A romantically oriented ghoul with a very light-hearted and curious nature. Don't let that fool you, though, his hugs are that of an anaconda about to strangle its prey. He's so in tune with the nature he eats flowers and the weather reflects his emotions.

Ren

Fictophilia (fictional characters)

A gamer who, despite being chosen into an outdoorsy and hardworking Jabberwock, has the right opposite personality traits. He's an overthinking homebody and will refuse to do even the slightest tasks unless he gains a reward or an achievement for it.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

Taiga

Anthropophagy (cannibalism) sorry

Erotophonophilia (murder)

The lunatic president of Sinostra, with very particular tastes. Anyone who's seen him eat will tell you he doesn't mind getting his face dirty while devouring his meal. His impulsivity makes him very trigger-happy.

Romeo

Hoplophilia (guns)

Romeo is a perfectionist and expects nothing less from his partner either. Curiously, one of his closest Sinostra residents is Taiga, who is nothing of that sort. After spending some time around Romeo, you will find yourself getting whipped into shape.

Ritsu

Hybristophilia (criminals, people who committed crimes)

Dikephilia (justice)

Always striving for justice, yet always seeming to condone criminals' behaviour as evident by his lack of interference and defense of Sinostra's president. Perhaps his moral compass more arched than expected?

  ⋆˚✿˖°

Subaru

Chirophilia (hands)

A legacy-bound actor who constantly worries about minuscule things. His compassion knows no bounds even if it might place him into a dangerous situation. His fellow students would say he simply needs a reassurance from someone he trusts.

Haku

Stigmatophilia (tattoos and piercings)

Capnolagnia (smoking) - you couldn't pry this HC from my cold dead hands

Some students might describe him as nothing but nice, and yet some account him to be a mischievous flirt. Both are true, but only his chosen person gets to fully experience how real those rumors are.

Zenji

Metrophilia (poetry)

A truly gifted poet constantly seeking for another source of ideas for his erotic poetry collection. Loves seeking out new partners to inspire his writing and doesn't shy away from describing acts between him and his partner in his poems.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

Edward

Hematolagnia (Drinking/seeing blood)

Odaxelagnia (biting/being bitten)

The ever so thirsty president of Obscuary, though barely few students could testify to seeing him in the flesh. His chambers are only for the most resilient due to the lingering smell of death and mess of clothes, his or someone else's.

Rui

Voyeurism

Calygnephilia (beautiful women)

To many students and employees he is known as a bartender. To many female students, he is known as an irresistible flirt, but who really knows what happens at his bar after the closing hours?

Lyca

Autozoophilia (being/acting like an animal) - for him it's his wolf form

Amychophilia (getting scratched/scratching)

A young werewolf, who is still struggling to navigate living in the human world. He's very curious and eager to learn. He may come off as a bit intense, but those are only his wolf instincts coming out.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

Yuri

Piquerism (cutting/stabbing someone with a sharp objects)

His personality strongly resembles Henry Frankenstein, which is a reputation he gladly upholds. The image is even enhanced when his assistant is around. In the surgeon's eyes, humans are only interesting or mediocre specimen.

Jiro

Free use kink

A stoic and reserved medical assistant, who isn't opposed to most things. His mobility may not be the best, but he will try. He may not feel strong happiness or pleasure himself, but seeing his partner experience them is enough for him.

[misshoneyimhome]

Reader is devasted by Willy shaving his beard, and Wily is on a mission to prove his stache is as good as his full beard. I got inspired by this picture of the reader talking dirty to him on the phone before his game https://www.instagram.com/p/C7b6t90I43X/?img_index=2

Oh babe! This is just way too hot 😜 I’ve got to admit, the moustache is growing on me, but I definitely miss the beard! 😏 Willy, of course, looks gorgeous no matter what, but just like the reader, I wouldn’t be able to resist teasing him either 🤭

Tropes & warnings: Inexperienced!reader x Willy, established relationship, 18+ smut, f masturbating, sex toy (magic wand), thigh riding, oral sex (f recieving)

Word count: 3.5K

➼｡ﾟ

Call me on my cell phone | inexperienced!reader x William Nylander ✐☆

William Nylander was everything from the absolute best boyfriend you could ever wish for to the worst of the worst. Just as caring, loving, and devoted as he could be, he was equally capable of acting careless and cool. But one thing he never neglected was you. Well, and his style—he just always carried an innate confidence about how he looked.

William knew he was good-looking, and it wasn’t just because social media constantly reminded him. He had this effortless charm, no matter how he styled himself. Whether it was slicked-back hair that made him look suave and polished, a long, untamed mane that gave him a wild edge, or even when he experimented with cornrows, he pulled off each look with undeniable flair.

His confidence wasn’t just about his hair though. It extended to his fashion choices, which were unapologetically him. William didn’t just follow trends; he set them. Baggy jeans, oversized t-shirts, caps perched at just the right angle, and a collection of jewellery that ranged from subtle chains to bold statement pieces—he wore each item like it was tailored just for him. It was this nonchalance about what others thought that made him so captivating. He wore what he wanted, how he wanted, and made it look effortless.

Sometimes, his style choices seemed deliberately contrary to what everyone else around him was wearing. If sleek suits and tailored cuts were the norm, William would turn up in something street-inspired, casual yet impeccably put together. It was as if he thrived on standing out, on being the one everyone couldn’t help but notice.

And you absolutely admired this about him—the way he could walk into a room and own it, no matter what he was wearing. His confidence wasn’t boastful; it was just there, an intrinsic part of who he was. It was one of the many things that made him irresistible.

Yet, today was different. Today, he had decided to shave his beard - into a moustache.

You’d seen the pictures from the morning skate, and your heart sank as you took in the sight of him. While the sharp angles of his jawline remained undeniably attractive, the sleek moustache felt like an entirely new persona. It was bold, it was daring, and it was undeniably William, but it also stirred a mix of emotions within you. The rugged charm that had wrapped around him like a warm hug was replaced by a playful confidence, and though he wore it well, you couldn’t shake the feeling of loss for the familiar softness of his beard.

The moustache was sharp and defined, drawing attention to his full, pink lips and the intensity of his gaze. You couldn’t deny that he looked good—hell, he looked fucking hot—but the change left you feeling a bit disoriented. The warmth and softness of his beard had been replaced with a distinct, clean line of hair that was both intriguing and unsettling. It was as if he had traded in one kind of intimacy for another, and part of you longed for the familiar brush of hair against your cheek when he pulled you close.

You sighed, staring at your phone, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. Did you really want to address this? You knew you could text him, tease him about the new look, but a part of you worried he might take it the wrong way. After all, he seemed to be embracing this bold change, and who were you to rain on his parade? Yet the more you looked at the pictures, the more you felt compelled to share your feelings.

So, reaching for your phone, you decided to send him a quick message. 

Hey, I know you’re probably getting ready for tonight’s game, but… I just can’t stop thinking about you. About how I’m still not over you shaving 😜

You knew William was probably resting in his hotel room, or doing some light work out, like he usually did before a game on the road. Still, your boyfriend—and his moustache—were very much on your mind.

And to your surprise, William called you within just a few minutes.

“Mmm, what do you mean? You don’t like it?”

His voice was rich with amusement, a playful lilt that made your heart skip a beat. You could practically see the smirk on his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners the way they always did when he was teasing you.

You chuckled softly, pressing the phone closer to your ear. “I didn’t say that,” you replied, your tone equally teasing. “It’s just… different. You know how much I loved the beard. Especially between my thighs… giving me those sweet burns…”

William let out a low chuckle. “Ah, so that’s what you miss the most,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a deeper, more seductive tone. “Those sweet burns, hmm? You’re making it hard to focus on the game tonight.”

You bit your lip, feeling a rush of heat at his words. “Oops, I can’t help it,” you whispered, the playfulness in your tone laced with desire. “I was just thinking about… the way you used to kiss me… the roughness of your beard against my skin… it drove me wild.”

“Fuck, you’re not going to let this go, are you,” he said, his voice husky with longing. “But I mean… I can still give you everything you need, älskling. Just wait until tomorrow night.”

“Mmm, tomorrow night, huh?” you murmured, a playful smile curling your lips. “You think one night’s going to be enough to convince me?”

“I think one night will be more than enough,” he replied, his confidence dripping through the phone. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging me to keep the moustache.”

Your breath hitched at his boldness, your heart racing at the thought of what he had planned. “Big talk, Mr. Nylander.”

“Oh, you know I always back it up,” he teased, the smirk evident in his tone. “Get ready, älskling. Tomorrow night, it’s just you, me, and this moustache. Let’s see if you’re still missing the beard after that.”

“Hmm, I guess I’ll just have to be patient then,” you said, your voice a little breathless.

“We’ll see if you can do that,” he quipped, a chuckle escaping him. “But I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”

You bit your lip, trying to steady your racing heart. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good,” he murmured, his tone softening slightly. “Maybe I’ll even show it off to the camera for you during the match. Giving you something to dream about.”

With that, he hung up, leaving you with a mix of excitement and nerves thrumming through your veins. Tomorrow night promised to be unforgettable, and you couldn’t wait to see just how persuasive William could be.

For now, though, you’d settle in and watch the game, your thoughts drifting to his words. Every glance he shot toward the camera, every determined look he wore on the ice seemed to feed the spark he’d ignited. But as the game wound down and the team celebrated a big win, the anticipation became almost unbearable. So, you slipped into your bedroom, a little smile on your face, unable to resist indulging in some alone time to tide you over until tomorrow.

Lying back on the bed, you allowed your legs to spread as you pleasured yourself with one of the toys William had bought you. The Magic Wand. You let your mind wander, replaying his voice, his confident promise. You could practically feel his rough stubble ghosting across your skin, his warm breath on your neck, that deep, playful look in his eyes as he teased you. With every memory of his touch, every thought of the way his beard had felt against you, the ache inside you grew. It was as if he were right there, his body pressing down against yours, his hands roaming over your skin.

The vibrations against your clit built up slowly, matching the steady beat of your pulse as you allowed yourself to let go completely. Each shift of your body and each breath drew you closer, and the more you imagined his rough hands on you, the deeper the pleasure became. With every whispered thought, every memory of his laugh and his teasing smirk, you felt yourself teetering on the edge, your breath coming out in broken, desperate sounds.

And the release when it came was overwhelming. Your body arched off the bed, his name spilling from your lips in a gasp as you rode the waves of pleasure, stars bursting behind your closed eyelids. For a moment, all you could feel was bliss, a warmth settling over you, leaving you spent yet entirely content.

As you lay there, catching your breath, a smile tugged at your lips. You couldn’t wait for tomorrow night. 

_

William wasn’t kidding when he said he’d show you just what he could do with his moustache—or rather, with his mouth. Though it wasn’t the first time he pleasured you orally, and knowing how skilled he was, you could barely keep up with him, caught up in the intensity of his kisses from the moment he stepped through the door.

After he’d greeted the dogs of course, he had only one thing in mind: you, straddling him, before you were his dessert for the evening. 

The living room TV was on in the background, a show half-forgotten, serving only as the backdrop to the warmth of William’s hands on you and the heat of his mouth exploring yours. He kissed you deeply, tasting and teasing with every roll of his tongue. His hands cupped your buttocks, squeezing and guiding you as your bodies moved together on the sofa in a languid rhythm.

Your hands were in his hair moaning into his mouth, lost in the delicious friction as you rolled your hips, your body pressing against his. His lips were hot and insistent, the softness of his moustache brushing against your skin, adding a surprising thrill to each kiss. His hands slipped down to guide you further until you were straddling his right thigh, perched perfectly over the thick muscle, just where he knew you wanted to be.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as his fingers tightened on your hips. “Show me how much you’ve missed me.”

You pressed down, finding a slow, satisfying rhythm as you ground against his thigh, the pressure building with every move. You were clad in nothing but a pair of panties and one of William’s t-shirts, leaving very little of a barrier between your sensitive core and his strong muscles. His hands on your hips held you firmly in place, encouraging each roll of your cunt against him. The bare skin of his thigh was already showing a damp spot where you were leaving your mark, and he couldn’t help but smirk at how easily he had you unravelling.

You whimpered as he brought his mouth back to yours, letting his lips trail down to your neck, leaving gentle bites and kisses along the way. Each graze of his moustache sent a shiver down your spine, heightening the pleasure as you rode his thigh. The friction, the heat between your bodies, and the delicious drag of your clit against his skin had you practically clinging to him, your nails digging into the skin of his shoulder blades as your breaths came faster.

William pulled back for a moment, his blue eyes dark with desire as he watched you, his smirk growing wider. “God, you’re soaked, aren’t you?” His voice was a mixture of admiration and lust, and you felt yourself blushing under his gaze, even as you continued to grind down against him, desperate for more.

“Willy…” you gasped, your voice breathless and needy.

“Mmhm?” He tilted his head, his hands sliding up to cup your face as he kissed you again, deep and possessive. “Keep going, älskling. Don’t stop now. I want you to come for me.”

You moaned as his hands returned to your hips, urging you to pick up the pace, your body moving against his thigh with a newfound intensity. Each grind, each press of your body, sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, building toward that perfect edge.

Finally, he shifted just slightly beneath you, his thigh pressing up harder, giving you just the right amount of pressure as you reached that crest. Your body tensed, and with a gasp of his name, you fell over the edge, pleasure crashing over you in shuddering waves as he held you close, his lips pressing against your neck in a trail of tender kisses.

When you finally came down, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathless and spent, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer.

“Fuck baby, you’re so hot,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Now let’s move to the bedroom for your real treat, eh?”

His words were a low murmur in your ear, each one like a spark igniting the warmth still lingering in your body. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before William guided you to your feet, his hand finding yours with a soft squeeze as he led you towards the bedroom. The anticipation grew with each step. You stole a glance up at him, catching the glint in his blue eyes, that smirk still lingering as he took in the sight of you, flushed and slightly unsteady, completely under his spell.

Once inside, William wasted no time. His lips were on yours again, intense and unyielding, drawing every bit of tension from you as his hands explored, caressing your curves, leaving a trail of heat wherever he touched. He gently nudged you back onto the bed, following close behind as you settled against the pillows, his body pressing against yours with a comforting weight.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this,” he almost growled, his breath warm against your skin. His hands found their way to the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, his fingers grazing your sides as he peeled it off.

Every touch, every glance, was deliberate, his eyes drinking you in with such intensity that it made your skin tingle. He leaned down, letting his mouth trace a line from your jaw to your collarbone, his moustache grazing your skin. The sensation felt slightly new and electrifying, different from the beard you were used to, and yet it made you crave him even more.

With each kiss, each slow, lingering touch, he built you up again, taking his time as he mapped every inch of your body, his attention to you unwavering. When he finally pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes were filled with that familiar mix of adoration and heat, a look that always made you feel like you were the only one in the world.

“Ready for that treat, baby?” William’s voice was a low, gravelly whisper. His eyes glinted with mischief, and that knowing smirk told you exactly how he intended to ruin you tonight.

You nodded, barely able to find your voice, and he wasted no time. With a gentle but determined touch, he peeled away your underwear, his fingers grazing your skin, leaving you shivering under his gaze. He spread your legs, his broad shoulders settling between them as he leaned in, his eyes never leaving yours. The room felt electrifying, making every nerve in your body come alive.

And the moment his mouth connected with your already wet cunt, your head fell back against the pillow, a soft gasp escaping your lips as pleasure bloomed through you. His tongue started slow, deliberate, teasing you with featherlight strokes that had you squirming. The tickle of his moustache added sensation. And he clearly knew the effect it had, the way it made your smile falter into soft, desperate moans as his movements grew more intentional, more intense.

Your hands clutched at the sheets as his mouth fully claimed you, his tongue now moving in long, languid strokes that had your thighs trembling around him. He focused on every inch of your sensitive flesh, lapping up every reaction with relentless dedication. His tongue teased your clit, then your entrance, each flick and suck sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you, while his lips nipped and tugged, alternating between soft and rough, keeping you on the edge with every movement.

It wasn’t long before you were utterly lost to him. The intensity was unlike anything he’d done before, a fierce passion that felt like he was on a mission to consume every part of you. And you knew he was—he wanted you trembling, wanting you to cry out his name until you could barely breathe. His hands held your hips firmly in place, grounding you, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, no matter how much you squirmed beneath his touch.

The room was filled with your cries, each whimper and gasp growing louder as William pushed you higher, his mouth never relenting. You felt like you were floating, like you’d lost control of your own body as you moved against his talented mouth, licks of his tongue, grazes of his teeth pushing you closer to that breaking point. Your hand occasionally threaded into his hair, tugging as you whimpered, desperate for more, for release.

His grip on your thighs tightened as he felt you writhe beneath him, his mouth never once losing its rhythm as he coaxed more desperate moans from you. The sensation of his moustache rubbing against your sensitive skin added a teasing edge, becoming more and more soaked from your juices. Each time you bucked your hips, trying to catch your breath, he pressed you down firmly, holding you in place with a possessive strength.

William’s mouth moved with a calculated, intoxicating precision. His tongue traced along every sensitive spot, his lips closing over your clit to draw out long, agonising waves of pleasure, only to release you at the last second, leaving you panting and eager for more. And he loved it—the way you came undone for him, the way his name slipped from your lips in breathless cries, filling the room. The smile tugging at his mouth was evident even as he continued, his lips curling against you each time you moaned louder.

“God, you taste so good,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against you, sending another surge of pleasure through your body. The sheets beneath were soaked, only confirming he was doing everything just right. Then he paused just long enough to look up, his darkened eyes locking onto yours, a glint of mischief shining through. “I want you to let go for me, baby. Don’t hold back. Come all over this fucking moustache.”

With that, he plunged back into you, his tongue and lips moving with renewed fervour, taking you even higher, closer to that crest you’d been helplessly teetering on. Your breath hitched, and your hands flew to the pillow behind you, gripping onto it like an anchor as he continued to devour you, his mouth relentless and his touch demanding.

And as his name tumbled from your lips in broken gasps, William intensified his movements, his hands pressing you closer, his mouth drawing out every ounce of pleasure he could. You felt yourself reach that point of no return, a shudder wracking through your body as you were sent spiralling into climax, your cries filling the room as you came undone completely.

But William didn’t stop, his mouth working you through every wave of ecstasy, prolonging your release until you were nearly trembling from the overstimulation. Barely able to catch your breath, he slowly pulled back, his lips glistering from your wetness, lingering on your inner thigh with one final, possessive kiss.

He looked up at you, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes, and brushed his thumb over your thigh with a gentle touch. “Told you I’d make you love the moustache,” he murmured, a proud, warm smile spreading across his face. The smirk that followed had your heart racing all over again, as if he hadn’t already left you breathless.

Your smile was slow, still hazy with bliss as you managed to catch your breath. “Can’t argue with that…” you murmured, exhaling deeply, your body still buzzing from the intensity of his touch.

With a low chuckle, he moved up to press a deep, lingering kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his mouth. The kiss was tender but hungry, his hand cupping the back of your neck as he pulled you closer. 

Yet, just as you began to relax, thinking he’d let you come down from the high, he pulled back slightly, his gaze sparking with that unmistakable mischievous intent. “Oh no, älskling, one orgasm isn’t enough,” he growled, making your heart race all over again.

And before you could even catch your breath, he was lowering himself between your thighs again, his hands firm as he guided your legs apart, spreading you open under his gaze. The warmth of his breath teased over your skin, heightening the sensitivity still thrumming through you from your last climax. He held your gaze for a moment, his eyes dark with intent, as if promising he’d take you even further this time.

[chosok-amo]

DO I EVER GET A CHANCE TO BLOSSOM? : GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

being a mother is a dream for almost every woman. the thought of carrying a child inside them and bringing them into the world is also something you want for a moment, but . . just a second the dream shattered right between your feet.

warning. established relationship au, husbands! gojo geto, angst.

the room feels more like a prison than a place of healing, with its cold white walls, sterile smell, and the incessant, mechanical beeping of machines. everything here is sickeningly clean, stripped of warmth and life, as if joy itself would be too fragile to survive in these surroundings. the sterile, metallic tang of medicine hangs in the air, heavy and unforgiving, mixed with the faint, unsettling clink of instruments being shuffled somewhere beyond the door. each sound, each scent digs into you, weighing down every breath, every thought.

your husbands are by your side, their presence grounding you in the middle of this surreal nightmare. on your right, geto’s hand wraps around yours, firm and steady, his thumb brushing soft, comforting circles against your skin. he hasn’t said a word since the doctor’s visit, but he doesn’t need to; his touch alone speaks volumes. you can feel his silent strength radiating through his hand, an unspoken promise that he’s here, that he’ll be here through all of this.

on your left, gojo’s hand is just as tight around yours, though his grip trembles ever so slightly. for someone who usually seems so invincible, so in control, it’s almost unsettling to feel his fingers shaking against yours. he’s normally the one with a mischievous smirk and an easy confidence, but right now, all of that bravado has fallen away, leaving behind a raw, vulnerable version of him you rarely see. his face is tense, hidden behind his signature sunglasses, but you can sense the turmoil in him, even if he tries to hide it.

you look down at your lap, trying to process everything. you’ve been married for nearly five years now, years that have been filled with laughter, adventure, and a deep, unwavering love. despite their busy lives, constantly being called away on missions and responsibilities, they’ve always made time for you, always come home to you. and together, you’ve built a life filled with happiness, support, and dreams. one of those dreams, the most precious of all, has been to start a family—a child to raise, to love, to share all the joy and strength you have with two people you adore.

for years, you’d imagined what it would be like. late-night talks about what they’d be like as parents, joking about whose traits your child might inherit, wondering if they’d have geto’s calm intelligence or gojo’s playful spirit. you imagined tiny hands reaching for yours, little footsteps running through the halls, shared laughter filling your home. every vision of the future had included this—a family with them by your side, watching as the life you’d nurtured together grew.

but now, sitting in this cold, sterile room, you’re faced with a harsh reality. the doctor’s words replay over and over in your mind, each syllable a weight pressing harder onto your chest.

“your heart condition… the risks are severe. pregnancy could strain your body too much. it could put your life in danger.”

the words echo, and they feel like a physical blow, tearing at the vision you’d held onto for so long. you’d always known you wanted kids, always thought it was something that would happen one day. but now, it feels as if that dream is slipping through your fingers, dissolving into the clinical air of this hospital room.

a deep silence settles between the three of you, thick and heavy with unspoken fears. your hands tighten involuntarily around theirs, desperate to hold onto something, to anchor yourself in this moment. a tear slips down your cheek, and you’re only barely aware of it until you feel geto’s thumb brush against your cheek, wiping it away gently. he leans closer, his face soft yet unreadable, his eyes full of a quiet intensity.

you feel the words catch in your throat, your chest tight with a weight so heavy it’s suffocating. your gaze drops to the cold linoleum floor, but the desperate flicker of hope—however faint—pushes you to look up. swallowing hard, you turn your eyes back to the doctor, your voice barely a whisper, cracked and fragile as you speak.

“there has to be something…” your words come out haltingly, breaking over each syllable. “some treatment, anything that could make it safer… is there any possibility?”

the doctor’s expression softens, but it’s a look of sympathy that does little to ease the ache in your heart. they sigh gently, gathering their words with care, and you feel both of your husbands tense beside you, their grips tightening as they hang on the answer just as much as you do.

“there are options,” the doctor replies, and for a moment, hope flickers—a small, fragile spark in the sea of uncertainty. “but they’re limited, and none of them can entirely eliminate the risks.”

you listen intently, clinging to every word, as if each syllable might hold the key to your dream. the doctor goes on, explaining possible procedures, medications, treatments to strengthen your heart… each one sounds like a glimmer of hope, but as they continue, the reality sinks in. no option guarantees your safety, each one carrying its own set of risks and compromises.

“even with these precautions,” they continue, their tone gentle but firm, “pregnancy would still place significant strain on your body. there’s no way to completely avoid the risk, especially given your specific condition.”

a fresh wave of tears wells up, slipping down your cheeks despite your efforts to hold them back. it feels as though your heart is splintering, piece by piece, each fragment a shard of a dream you’d cherished, now scattering away beyond your reach.

you feel geto’s hand tighten around yours, grounding you, pulling you back from the despair threatening to swallow you whole. you turn slightly, meeting his gaze, his eyes filled with an intensity that’s somehow both gentle and unbreakable. his other hand comes up to cup your face, thumb wiping away the tears that keep slipping out, his touch warm against your skin.

gojo watches your face intently, his gaze following as your eyes drop to your lap. he looks down as well, his focus landing on the interwoven fingers of his, yours, and geto’s, the wedding band glinting softly around your finger.

a single tear slips from your cheek, landing on his skin. the sight alone twists something painfully deep inside him, and he feels a wave of nausea at the harsh reality you’re facing. instinctively, he squeezes your hand, offering silent comfort, before turning his attention back to the doctor as they continue explaining your condition.

the doctor adjusts their glasses and sighs, shifting slightly before beginning to explain the complexities of your condition. there’s a gravity to their tone, an unspoken understanding that the words they’re about to deliver aren’t easy to hear.

“your heart,” they start carefully, “has a condition called cardiomyopathy. it's a disease that affects the heart muscle, making it harder for your heart to pump blood effectively. over time, this can lead to weakness, and during times of physical stress, it puts an increased strain on your heart.”

they pause for a moment, glancing at you and your husbands, gauging your reactions. though both of them remain stoic, you feel their hands tighten around yours, their steady grips trying to brace you. you’re nodding, but the doctor’s words feel like they’re sinking deep into your bones, the full weight of them settling heavily.

“pregnancy,” they continue, their tone clinical yet compassionate, “is one of the most physically demanding experiences the body can undergo. it requires the heart to pump a larger volume of blood to support the baby, often up to fifty percent more than normal. for a healthy heart, this additional workload can be managed… but with cardiomyopathy, this level of strain could be life-threatening.”

you swallow hard, feeling the words settle like lead. the room feels even colder now, and you shiver despite the warmth of your husbands’ hands. “what… what exactly would happen if we tried?” you ask, voice trembling.

the doctor’s expression softens as they consider their words. “there’s a high risk that your heart could struggle to keep up with the demands of pregnancy. symptoms of heart failure—like severe fatigue, shortness of breath, and fluid retention—could appear early. if untreated, these symptoms could escalate, leading to dangerous complications for both you and the baby.”

they hesitate, but continue, knowing it’s important you understand. “in the later stages of pregnancy, the strain on your heart could increase to a point where the risk of heart failure or sudden cardiac events becomes very real.”

the words hang in the air, cold and final. the possibilities—the dreams you’d held close, the life you’d envisioned—feel fragile in the face of these realities.

“are there any options?” gojo asks, his voice thick with barely restrained emotion. “anything that would make it possible without risking her life?”

the doctor nods slowly. “we could look into treatments to help strengthen the heart muscle, medications to manage symptoms, and closely monitored care. there may also be assisted options like surrogacy, though i understand that may be a different direction than you’d hoped.” the weight of the decision settles between you, a choice that’s neither simple nor fair.

geto’s throat tightens as the doctor outlines the dangers your heart disease posed to a potential pregnancy. he knew this disease was serious, but the stark reality of what it might mean for your future—and your dreams together—hits him like a punch to the gut.

he glances down at your hand, the ring he’d given you gleaming softly on your finger, and a flicker of guilt worms its way into his heart. he should have known, should have seen the signs sooner… should have taken better care of you.

his mind races with thoughts, each one a barb of worry and anxiety. the idea of you undergoing all that risk, all that pain, to bring a child into the world is almost too much to bear. but he’s torn, caught between the love he has for you and the knowledge that this might not be the life you’d wanted.

he squeezes your hand tighter, anchoring himself to you as the doctor mentions assisted options like surrogacy. the suggestion is bitter to his ears, a reminder of what might have been.

the doctor’s words continue, listing potential options and solutions—treatments, medications, the possibility of surrogacy. each one feels both hopeful and disheartening—a life preserver offered to someone drowning, while simultaneously being reminded that nothing can completely erase the danger your condition poses.

gojo’s question is direct and desperate, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of his emotions. “how likely is it that the treatments would be enough?”

the doctor sighs, their expression sympathetic. “even with these treatments, there’s no way to guarantee a safe pregnancy. the risk might be reduced, but it’ll still be considerable. and even if you do get through the pregnancy, the risks of delivering a child and recovering afterwards would be enormous.”

the words hang heavily in the air, the reality of what they’re saying slowly sinking in. even with everything they could do, there were no guarantees—only a series of risks and unknowns. the room feels even colder now, the fluorescent lights above bathing everything in a sterile, harsh glow.

geto guides you gently to sit on the cold metal bench outside the doctor’s office, his hand lingering on your shoulder as he kneels down in front of you. he studies your tear-streaked face, watching how your eyes remain unfocused, fixed on a spot on the floor as if it might anchor you to something stable. your expression is empty, yet tears still trace silent paths down your cheeks, leaving faint stains on your skin.

a pang of deep hurt stirs in his chest as he looks at you. he takes a slow, steadying breath, wanting nothing more than to take away your pain, to shoulder it himself if he could. after a moment, he reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently, his voice soft as he murmurs, “just wait here for a moment, okay? we’ll talk to the doctor.”

he doesn’t want you to hear any more—he’ll take whatever they have to say himself if it means sparing you even an ounce of further heartache. in his own quiet, determined way, he’s protecting you, doing what he can to shield you from any more painful words about your condition.

you don’t respond, too lost in the overwhelming weight of it all, the sterile walls and the lingering smell of antiseptic, the doctor’s words still echoing in your mind. everything feels distant, muted, like you’re drifting somewhere far away.

geto’s voice cuts through the haze, soft and gentle as he calls your name. “hey… hey, look at me,” he murmurs, his hand giving yours a gentle squeeze, coaxing you back, pulling you toward him with a quiet patience. “please... just look at me.”

but you’re still trapped in the fog, staring somewhere past him, your thoughts spiraling, unable to reach him. he calls your name again, this time a little firmer, his tone threaded with worry but steady. “come back to me, please,” he says softly, repeating, “look at me, please. i’m right here.”

after a long, silent beat, you finally look up, your tear-filled eyes meeting his. all you can manage is a faint nod, a small, wordless acknowledgment, barely enough to convey all that’s swimming inside you. but for geto, it’s enough. he watches you with a soft, understanding gaze, gently squeezing your hand as if to anchor you, grounding you in the only way he knows how before he slowly raise on his feet and walk back inside the room where gojo is waiting, already talking to the doctor.

gojo is pacing around the office, running a hand through his white hair in agitation, the other curled into a tight fist at his side. his usual carefree demeanor has been replaced by a tense energy, a stark contrast to his usual easygoing self.

the doctor is standing by the window, looking weary and slightly uncomfortable. they’re not used to dealing with such emotional situations, and the distress of both men in the room is clear. geto enters quietly and closes the door behind him, the click of the latch sounding like a gunshot in the otherwise silent room.

gojo spins around as geto enters, his expression tight with worry and frustration. he turns to the doctor, his voice clipped. “what are the risks, really? how high is the risk?” he asked, desperate for the change of the answer. hoping this might be one of your stupid pranks you and the doctor pull.

the doctor sighs, clearly bracing themselves to explain once more. “the risks are significant. even with the treatments we’ve discussed, the risk of complications for both the mother and the child would remain very high. the possibility of heart failure or sudden cardiac events is a serious concern.”

gojo’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching. “there has to be something more—something we can do to make it safer, even just a bit.”

the doctor adjusts their glasses, their expression empathetic but firm. “we’ve discussed all the options. we could look into assisted reproduction, but even that poses a risk. there’s no easy way around it… this condition makes pregnancy unusually dangerous.”

outside the doctor’s office, you sit alone, the cool metal bench beneath you somehow grounding and yet painfully cold, like the sterile walls around you. everything feels distant, muted, and your mind is heavy with a sorrow that seems too vast to fully understand. you mourn the vision you’ve held onto for so long—the idea of becoming a mother, of holding a child in your arms, of sharing that love with your husbands. the dreams you’d nurtured so carefully seem to dissolve with every painful echo of the doctor’s words, and no matter how hard you try to grasp them, they slip further away.

tears trace slow, hesitant paths down your cheeks, each one carrying a fragment of that hope you’ve clung to. lost in this aching silence, you feel as though the world around you has faded into a blur, leaving only the heaviness of your thoughts and the quiet sound of your own breathing.

you’re so wrapped up in your grief, so deeply entangled in your own thoughts, that you don’t notice at first when someone settles onto the bench beside you. a faint rustling sound reaches your ears, but you dismiss it, assuming it’s just one of your husbands come to sit quietly by your side, respecting the storm of emotions you’re lost in.

but then you hear it—a soft, unfamiliar coo, followed by a tiny, muffled whimper. you freeze, your heart stuttering as the unexpected sound registers in your mind, cutting through the haze of sorrow. it’s the unmistakable cry of a baby.

your head lifts slowly, almost as if in a trance, and you turn to see a young woman sitting next to you. she’s cradling a small, red-faced infant who’s squirming and fussing in her arms, his tiny fists clenched as he lets out a series of hiccuping cries. the woman looks up and meets your gaze, a sheepish, apologetic smile crossing her lips. her eyes are tired, but kind, and she looks as though she hasn’t had a moment of rest in days.

“oh—i’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice gentle, tinged with an embarrassed laugh. “he’s usually calm, but I think he’s a little hungry, and... well, it’s been a long day.”

she adjusts the baby carefully in her arms, trying to soothe him with a soft shushing noise, her hand gently patting his back in an effort to ease his discomfort. but even as she rocks him back and forth, his cries continue, a tiny, plaintive sound that tugs at something deep within you.

for a moment, you’re speechless, just watching them, taking in every detail—the delicate roundness of the baby’s cheeks, the way his little fists flail in the air, the soft, downy hair on his head. there’s a warmth in the mother’s eyes as she looks at her child, a look filled with an overwhelming, unconditional love that seems to radiate from her every movement.

you feel a strange pang in your chest as you watch them, a bittersweet ache that brings fresh tears to your eyes. the woman notices, her smile softening as she gazes at you, her expression filled with gentle understanding, as if she can sense the sorrow you’re carrying.

the woman shifts on the bench, adjusting the baby in her arms as he finally begins to settle, his tiny whimpers fading to soft hiccups. her gaze falls to the ground, her fingers idly tracing small patterns on the blanket wrapped around her child. she lets out a sigh, one that’s heavy with exhaustion and frustration, and then, almost hesitantly, she begins to speak.

“it’s been… a rough time,” she says softly, her words laced with a bitterness she can’t entirely hide. “my husband… he’s so insistent on having more kids, even though we’re already struggling with the two we have. he just… doesn’t seem to understand how much it takes to raise them, not just money, but time, energy, patience… it feels like i’m the only one holding everything together sometimes.”

she lets out a weak, humorless laugh, shaking her head as if to brush away the heaviness of her own words. her fingers tighten around the blanket, and she glances away, as though ashamed to admit her struggles. “and now,” she continues, her voice dropping to a barely audible whisper, “now i just found out i’m pregnant again… with twins.”

her eyes close for a moment, and you can see the strain etched into her face, the faint lines of worry and fatigue that seem to weigh her down. her shoulders sag under the weight of it all, and her voice trembles slightly as she confesses, “i don’t know how i’m going to manage it. i’m barely making it as it is.”

you sit silently beside her, listening as she pours out her frustrations, her fears, her anger. the bitterness in her tone is unmistakable, each word filled with a quiet resentment, a simmering resentment towards the husband who doesn’t see, doesn’t understand, doesn’t help. she speaks as though she’s been holding these feelings inside for far too long, and now they’re spilling out, raw and unfiltered.

as you listen, a strange feeling settles in your chest—a deep, gnawing sense of unfairness, one that cuts through your own sorrow like a knife. here she is, a woman who already has two children, who’s now expecting two more, and yet… she feels trapped, overwhelmed by the life she’s been dealt. and here you are, with a loving family, a stable life, and yet, the one thing you want most in the world—to have a child of your own—is slipping further and further from reach.

the contrast feels almost cruel, a painful reminder of the injustice woven into life. she has the thing you yearn for, and yet she struggles beneath its weight, feeling burdened rather than blessed. your heart aches with a confusing mix of empathy and envy, a bitter sorrow that deepens with each of her words. the air between you grows heavy, charged with unspoken emotions, as you both sit there, each lost in your own worlds of struggle and longing.

your chest tightens as you listen to the woman next to you, her tales of exhaustion and frustration cutting deep into your already raw emotions. it’s a stark reminder of the very thing you yearn for, yet a cruel twist of fate keeps it from your grasp.

the unfairness of it all weighs heavily on you, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. she has the very thing you want so badly, the very thing you feel you’ve been denied, and she’s drowning in it, struggling to keep her head above water.

the woman turns to you, her eyes filled with a desperate, weary sort of hope. “would you mind… holding him for just a moment?” she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper, as if afraid of imposing. but before you can respond, she carefully places the baby into your arms, murmuring her thanks as she hurries off toward the restroom.

for a moment, you freeze, unsure, feeling the soft weight settle in your lap. the baby blinks up at you, his cries stopping as he takes in your face, his wide, curious eyes locking onto yours as though studying this new, unfamiliar person holding him. a soft coo escapes his lips, and he reaches one tiny hand toward your face, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek. you can feel his warmth, his small body alive and pulsing with the innocent, unburdened spirit of someone just beginning life.

gently, you tighten your hold around him, cradling him close. his skin is soft and delicate, his little body curling instinctively against yours, as if already trusting you completely. the warmth of him spreads through you, soothing some of the ache in your heart. he babbles softly, his small sounds breaking the silence that has weighed so heavily on you.

slowly, you let yourself smile, just a little. it’s a fragile, bittersweet smile as you watch him. your finger brushes over the downy hair on his head, his tiny fingers wrapping around one of yours in an instinctive, trusting grip. the simplicity of it tugs at something deep within you, a feeling of tenderness you can’t quite put into words.

for a fleeting moment, holding him in your arms, it’s easy to imagine what it might be like—to have a child of your own, to hold them just like this, to watch as they grow, to care for them with all the love you have.

as the door to the doctor’s office opens, your husbands step out, their eyes scanning the hallway, but they don’t see you anywhere. a flicker of worry immediately crosses their faces, an unease that tightens with each passing second of not finding you. but before they can start searching, a woman catches their eye, standing nearby, looking distressed and on the verge of tears.

she notices them and hesitantly approaches, wringing her hands, her voice trembling with anxiety. ’excuse me… have you seen a girl?” she asks, describing your features in detail—the features they know all too well. the woman’s words bring a sense of familiarity to them, but her next sentence makes their hearts race.

“she’s… holding my baby,” she adds, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes filling with fear. the words seem to echo between them, and both their expressions shift, alarm flashing across their faces.

gojo’s mouth parts slightly, and he instinctively reaches for geto’s arm, a tight squeeze that mirrors the sudden worry gnawing at them. a thousand thoughts fill their minds at once—where could you have gone, why hadn’t you told them, and how on earth did you end up holding a stranger’s child?

without a moment’s hesitation, both husbands exchange a look of mutual understanding, and, their expressions serious and determined, they begin to search, the woman trailing after them as they walk down the hall, their hearts pounding in fear and urgency to find you safe and sound.

gojo and geto navigate their way through the hallway, their gazes sweeping the area with a growing sense of unease. they had expected to find you sitting quietly in the waiting room, perhaps even in the same exam room, but your absence is concerning and unsettling.

the woman’s description of you holding a baby sparks a moment of recognition, and their worry escalates into genuine fear. the thought of you being alone with a stranger's child and the possibility of something happening to you is suddenly very real.

you look down at the baby in your arms, and a soft smile spreads across your face as he coos again, his tiny voice bubbling up with sounds that melt away the weight of your earlier despair. he looks at you with wide, innocent eyes, filled with curiosity, studying you in his own baby-like way. you can’t help but let out a small laugh, the sound barely a whisper as you brush your knuckles gently over his plump cheek, marveling at how impossibly soft and warm his skin feels against yours.

“my baby,” you murmur, almost unconsciously, as though saying the words makes this moment a little more real, as if he really were yours, even if only for a heartbeat. The simple phrase stirs something deep within you, a fierce, protective warmth that spreads through your chest, and you lean down to press a tender kiss to his forehead. His skin is so warm beneath your lips, carrying a sweetness and purity that makes your heart clench.

you pull him a little closer to your chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing as he settles against you, his tiny head resting comfortably in the crook of your arm. It’s like he fits perfectly, as though he were made to be here, to be held by you. one of his hands reaches out, gripping at your shirt in his tiny, determined fist, and the sight of it—the smallness, the trust—makes your breath hitch.

you run a gentle hand over his soft hair, stroking the fine strands that feel as delicate as silk, and he gazes up at you with those wide eyes, his tiny mouth parting as if he’s trying to form words. “you’re so precious,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion as you continue to hold him close, like he’s the most delicate treasure in the world.

he makes another small sound, an innocent gurgle that draws a smile from you, and you find yourself instinctively swaying, rocking him gently, as though your body knows exactly how to comfort him. you lean your cheek against his head, inhaling the pure, powdery scent of him, that soft, warm fragrance unique to babies. for a moment, you let yourself dream, holding him tightly, letting yourself imagine what it might be like if he were truly yours, if this precious warmth in your arms was something you could come home to every day.

you tighten your embrace around him, as if you could somehow keep him a little longer, savoring every heartbeat, every small sound.

gojo’s hand moves to your head, his touch tender as he gently pats you, his fingers threading through your hair in a comforting gesture. his voice is soft, almost a whisper, as he leans close. “love,” he murmurs, his tone filled with both sorrow and understanding, “this… isn’t your baby.”

the words come slowly, each one heavier than the last, and you can hear the strain in his voice, feel the weight of what he’s saying. it hurts him to say it, to shatter the fragile happiness he saw on your face just moments ago. his fingers linger on your head, gentle and reassuring, as if he’s trying to soften the blow, to hold you together even as he reminds you of the reality.

you look at him, eyes wide, lost, the pang of realization settling in. it feels like a harsh slap, one that pulls you abruptly from the small world you’d slipped into—the one where, for just a moment, you let yourself imagine holding your own child. your gaze shifts back to the baby, held protectively in the your arms, and the ache in your heart swells.

“i know it’s hard,” gojo continues, his voice barely above a whisper, each word wrapped in the tenderness he reserves only for you. “but… taking someone else’s baby… that’s not what you want. we’ll… we’ll figure this out, alright?” he tries to offer you something, anything to cling to in this moment, his thumb brushing lightly against your temple, hoping his presence can ground you.

your lips tremble, a soft, almost inaudible “no...” slipping from your mouth as your whole body shakes. you instinctively tighten your arms around the baby, pulling him closer to your chest as if protecting him from the world, as if he truly belongs to you. the warmth of the baby against you feels like the only thing real in this moment, the only thing that makes sense in a world that’s suddenly come crashing down around you.

you shake your head, eyes wide with panic and desperation, as though refusing to accept the truth. the baby’s tiny, innocent face is a sharp contrast to the turmoil you feel inside, and it’s all too much to comprehend. the joy, the love, the ache in your heart—it all blurs together, overwhelming you. you can feel the weight of his small body, so delicate, so perfect, and for a brief moment, in your arms, you allow yourself to believe that he’s yours.

as you tighten your hold on the child, gojo's heart aches at the sight. your refusal to let go, your desperate attempt to keep the baby as close as possible, speaks volumes more than any words could. he watches you, seeing the pain and confusion, the longing and the pain, all painted across your face, reflected in the tears that shimmer in your eyes. he knows, more than anyone, how deeply you yearn for this, how painful it is to be reminded of what you don’t have.

he leans in closer, his hand still caressing your head, trying to soothe you. “baby..”

he leans in closer, his hand continuing to stroke your hair, trying to soothe you. “baby,” he murmurs, his voice tender but firm. “i know how much you want a baby… believe me, i do. but… this child, he’s not ours. it’s not right to take him like this.”

gojo’s words hang heavy in the air, each one a painful but necessary truth. his eyes gaze at your face, filled with a deep understanding, but also the weight of a reality you both must face.

before you can even react, the baby is suddenly lifted from your arms. startled, you instinctively reach out, panic flashing across your face. turning around, gojo sees geto standing beside the baby’s mother, who’s holding her child tightly to her chest, her expression a mixture of fear and anger. her eyes narrow as she looks at you, her gaze searing, resentment clear as she holds her baby protectively.

you stand up, the panic rising in your chest as you take a step forward, almost pleading, “it’s my baby…” the words escape your lips, raw and broken, a desperate echo of the fragile dream you were just holding in your arms.

the woman’s face hardens, her glare cutting through you. “how dare you,” she snaps, her voice laced with fury. “how could you just take him? you… you had the nerve to call him yours?” her hands clutch her child even tighter, shielding him as if to ward you off.

you feel the words pierce you, shame and sorrow mixing painfully in your chest. your hands tremble as you lower them, your heart racing, still caught between the desperate, fading hope of a future and the cold reality in front of you. gojo steps closer to you, his hand finding your shoulder, his presence grounding you as you struggle to catch your breath, feeling a sharp ache in the hollow space where the baby had just been.

gojo’s touch on your shoulder is a lifeline, anchoring you to the present while your heart is still clinging to a dream. he stands beside you, his presence a shield against the woman’s anger, his grip on your shoulder steady and firm, as if silently telling you that he’s there for you, that he understands.

he watches as the woman holds her baby away from you, protective and fierce, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and fear. the baby’s cry pierces the air, adding to the painful truth of the moment.

gojo’s touch on your shoulder is like a lifeline, grounding you in a moment where everything feels like it's slipping away. his hand rests gently yet firmly, a silent promise that he's there for you, even as everything inside you screams to hold on to what’s slipping through your fingers. you’re trembling under the weight of your own feelings, but his presence is a small comfort, the only thing that makes you feel like you’re not entirely lost.

you glance at the woman, her eyes blazing with anger and protectiveness, clutching her baby away from you. the baby’s cries are sharp, filling the air with an undeniable reminder of the painful truth. it’s hers. not yours. the desperate ache in your chest intensifies, and you can't help but look at the tiny life in her arms, wishing, hoping, that somehow, it could be yours.

geto, standing beside gojo, looks at you with the same heavy expression that mirrors his, his gaze filled with a sorrow that matches the pain you're feeling. his eyes soften as they meet yours, but there's nothing he can say to ease the ache in your heart. he feels it, too—the agony of watching you break, and it pulls at his soul.

you look at the baby now, tears falling freely as you watch the little one’s cries intensify in the mother’s arms. you can’t help but whisper, “he’s crying because he doesn’t want her...” the words come out like a plea, a desperate attempt to make sense of everything, to try and convince yourself that maybe, just maybe, the baby wants you instead. your voice shakes, raw with emotion, but before you can take a step closer, geto’s hand wraps gently around your arm, stopping you.

his grip is firm, but his eyes are soft as he looks down at you, silently asking you to stop. you try to pull away, but he moves to your other side, standing between you and the woman, as though to shield you from the unbearable truth.

your eyes lock with geto’s, and for a moment, your world narrows to just him, the one person who has always been there for you. you silently beg with him, your expression pleading, but his face remains unreadable. you turn your gaze back to the baby, the ache in your chest deepening.

“please...” you whisper, the words a broken cry as you speak to the woman. “give me the baby... you’re struggling with money, and you have two children already... my husbands and I, we could give him a good life. we could provide for him. please.”

your voice cracks as you continue, your heart breaking more with every word. you sound pathetic. desperate. it’s not a side of yourself you’ve ever shown, but the unbearable weight of this moment has shattered everything inside of you. you know, deep down, that you’re asking for something impossible, but the dream of having a child, of raising a family, drowns out everything else.

you feel small in the moment, exposed, vulnerable in a way you’ve never been before. and even though you know you’re not supposed to be doing this—taking another woman’s child—you can’t stop yourself. the desperation is consuming, the longing for what you can’t have swallowing everything else around you.

gojo’s heart shatters as he hears the pain in your voice, the raw plea for something you want so badly, but can’t have. he can feel the weight of your despair, the aching desire for a life that seems just out of reach. he wants nothing more than to take away your pain but there’s nothing he can say, nothing he can do in this moment to make it right.

the woman’s face is set in a hard, unmoving expression, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and hurt, and the baby’s cries only serve to intensify the tension.

the woman’s eyes narrow with fury, her grip tightening around the baby as her emotions boil over. her voice cracks, sharp and furious as she screams at you, her words slicing through the tension in the air. “how dare you?!” she spits, her voice thick with anger, as she glares at you with pure disdain. “how dare you ask a mother to give up her child?! even if i’m struggling, he’s still my son! no one is taking him from me!”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the world feels like it stops spinning. the rage in her voice is palpable, her protective instincts flaring as she stands her ground. your heart aches, but you can’t look away. you feel the sting of her accusation, the weight of her anger pressing down on you, and despite the deep sorrow inside, there’s a small, quiet voice that tells you she’s right.

you can’t take someone’s child, no matter the reason. the reality of what you've done, of what you’re asking for, sinks in, making you feel smaller, more insignificant than ever. her words echo in your mind as you stand there, trembling under the weight of your own mistake. you want to explain, to tell her that you didn’t mean it like that, that you only wanted to help, but the words die in your throat.

the baby in her arms continues to cry, and you instinctively want to comfort him, but you know now that it’s not your place. not your baby. and even though the longing still burns in your chest, the reality is clear now. you can’t force something that wasn’t meant to be.

you stand there, your words tumbling out in a frantic rush, a desperate attempt to salvage some semblance of control over the chaos swirling inside of you. “i’ll give you money,” you say, your voice trembling. “every month. for compensation. i can help you, just—just give me the baby.”

you look at geto, searching his face for something, anything, to support the madness spilling from your lips. “right, suguru?” you ask, your voice pleading as you turn to him, desperate for him to agree, to somehow make it all okay.

but the moment the words leave your mouth, you realize how irrational, how out of touch with reality they sound. your husbands exchange a glance, and the look in their eyes is enough to break your heart all over again.

geto’s face tightens, his jaw clenched as he watches you. the pain in his eyes is overwhelming, like a weight pressing down on him. he doesn’t respond immediately, as if trying to process what you’ve said, what you’re asking. his silence speaks louder than anything he could say.

gojo, standing beside you, looks just as torn. his usual calm demeanor shattered, replaced with a raw, vulnerable expression. his hand grips your shoulder, not in comfort, but in a desperate attempt to bring you back, to snap you out of this madness.

but it’s clear to them both that you’ve lost yourself in this haze of grief and longing. nothing makes sense. the reality of your situation has overwhelmed you so completely that the words you speak are the frantic pleas of someone who feels like they’re losing everything.

both of them are hurting. deeply. watching the woman holding the baby, and seeing the desperate, disoriented look in your eyes, they feel the weight of your pain, but also the crushing responsibility of your actions. they can’t support you in this. not this. they both want to hold you, to make the pain go away, but even they know they can’t fix everything, no matter how much they wish they could.

as you turn to geto, your pleading eyes searching for validation in your words, the heavy weight of your request hanging in the air, he can feel his own heart breaking. the words you’re speaking, the desperate plea, are like a daggerpiercing his chest. he can’t help but wish he could say yes, that he could fix this situation, that he could make you happy. but the truth is crushing, and he can only shake his head, the words trapped in his throat as he tries to find a way to reply.

but it’s gojo who speaks first, his voice soft but firm. gojo's hand tightens on your shoulder, his voice strained as he speaks, “love...” he begins, his tone quiet and heavy. “you... you know we can’t do that.”

each word feels like a blow, and he can see the pain in your eyes as you listen, as his words sink in. “you know we can’t take someone else’s child,” he continues, each word a lance to your heart. “we can’t just... we can’t just ask her to give up her baby, love. that’s not right.”

you look at gojo, your expression lost and pleading, as if none of this makes sense to you. “but… why not?” your voice is barely above a whisper, thick with desperation. you sound so genuinely confused, like your mind is struggling to grasp a reality that feels so wrong, so unfair.

“she’s struggling, satoru,” you say, gesturing weakly toward the woman. “she doesn’t even have money. she can’t give him the life we can, the life he deserves.” your words are raw, your gaze flicking between the baby nestled in her arms and gojo, searching his face for some understanding.

“she’s having twins. twins. what harm could it be to… to just give us one?” your voice breaks, the plea in your tone aching and vulnerable. “we’d be helping her, making things easier for her. why can’t you see that?”

gojo looks at you with an ache that mirrors your own, his eyes red-rimmed, struggling to hold back tears. his grip on your shoulder is firm, grounding, but his silence cuts deeper than anything. he wants to make this okay for you, to take away the hurt.

gojo’s heart breaks at the pleading tones of your voice, the desperation that seems to cloud your judgment. he wants more than anything to fix this, to make the world right for you again, but the truth is unbearable. the reality is that taking another person’s child is wrong on every level and no amount of pleading, no amount of convincing, can change that.

“love,” he whispers, his voice strangled. “it’s not about how much we can give him, or how much she can. this child is hers, and we have no right to take him.”

he can see the anguish in your eyes before meeting geto’s for a second and back to you, the way you’re struggling to make sense of a world that’s suddenly become so unfair. but the fact remains— this isn’t about what’s easier for the woman or what’s better for the child. it’s about doing the right thing, and the right thing is to leave that child with his mother.

gojo’s hand reaches up, his fingers gently tracing your face, wiping a tear from your cheek. the look in his eyes is filled with pain and sorrow, but more importantly, it’s filled with understanding.

“i know...” he says, his voice strained. “i know how much you want a family. i know how badly you want a child. but love, this... taking someone else’s child isn’t the way...”

you ignore gojo’s words entirely, your heart and mind spiraling as you drop to your knees in front of the woman, desperation pouring out of you. your hands tremble as they reach out, clasping her knees, and you look up at her, your face streaked with tears, eyes wide with a raw, unfiltered plea.

“please,” you whisper, voice breaking. “please… if you can’t… if it’s too much for you, give him to me.” your words tumble out, nearly incoherent in their urgency. “or… or sell him to me,” you add, the words slipping past your lips without thought, your desperation clouding everything else.

the woman stares down at you, her expression shifting from shock to anger, but you don’t stop. you press the top of your head against her knees, bending forward as you sob, shoulders shaking with each breath. “i can’t—i can’t get pregnant,” you manage, voice choked. “i’ll never… i’ll never be a mother. please… please, just… please let me have him.”

the room seems to close in around you, all sounds muted except for your own quiet, desperate cries. your husbands stand nearby, their faces etched with pain and helplessness as they watch you, seeing the extent of your suffering laid bare.

gojo’s hand hovers over your shoulder, uncertain, as if afraid to break the fragile shell of your sorrow, while geto’s gaze is fixed on you, his face drawn with grief. they feel every ounce of your pain, yet are bound by the truth they can’t alter—no matter how deeply they wish they could take this agony away.

gojo steps forward, his face tight with remorse as he looks at the woman, who clutches her baby protectively to her chest. “i’m so sorry,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “please… just go. thank you for your patience.”

the woman stares back, her expression a mixture of confusion and hurt, but she nods slightly before turning and hurrying away, the baby’s soft cries fading as she disappears down the hall.

as the door clicks shut, geto moves immediately, sinking down beside you, his arms reaching around your trembling form. he pulls you close, wrapping you in a firm embrace, one hand cradling the back of your head as you press against him. he holds you tightly, his touch a gentle anchor amid the storm inside you, grounding you even as you break down, sobs spilling from your chest in waves.

gojo watches as the woman and the baby disappear down the hallway, his heart aching in his chest. the silence that follows is heavy and oppressive, the atmosphere thick with sorrow and disappointment. he feels a pang of guilt, realizing that his words, despite being true, couldn’t soothe your pain, couldn’t change your reality.

he sees geto pull you against him, the way you cling to him, your body trembling with sobs. gojo stands there, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he struggles with the feeling of helplessness that washes over him.

seeing you like this, so vulnerable and broken. seeing you so shattered, so utterly broken by something he can’t fix, is like a dagger to his heart. he wants to fix it, to make it all better, but he can’t. and that realization, the feeling of being powerless to bring you the happiness he knows you deserve, is eating him alive.

geto’s gaze drifts up to meet gojo’s, and for a moment, they share a look—one filled with a profound helplessness neither of them is used to feeling. gojo’s jaw tightens, his hand resting on your shoulder as he murmurs softly, “let’s get her home. she don’t need to be here anymore.”

geto nods, his expression heavy with sorrow as he carefully slides his arms beneath you, lifting you into his embrace with gentle strength. you curl into his chest, clinging to his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you tethered. he cradles you close, his grip secure, yet tender, as though he fears you might shatter any moment.

gojo walks ahead, clearing a quiet path as they make their way through the sterile hospital corridors and out into the fresh air. every step is quiet, purposeful, the weight of the moment hanging between them. they reach the parking lot, the cool breeze offering a slight comfort as they move toward the car. gojo opens the door, waiting as geto settles you gently in the backseat, tucking a blanket they always keep in the car around you as if it might shield you from the ache of reality.

both men share another look—one that speaks of the hurt they’re carrying for you, the unspoken promise that they’ll stay by your side through it all, no matter how heavy it gets.

geto sits beside you in the backseat, his hand gently combing through your hair, his touch a silent reassurance. gojo starts the car, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror to check on you, his heart clenching at the sight of you, bundled in the blanket, your eyes empty and vacant, your body still trembling lightly.

the car ride is silent, the only sound coming from the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from you. gojo keeps his eyes on the road, his fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his thoughts a turmoil of worry and despair.

“she’s asleep..” gojo notices you’ve fallen asleep in the backseat, the exhaustion of everything you’ve been through evident in your closed eyes and the deep breaths coming from your lips. he looks back a few times, his heart constricting each time he sees your weary form.

he glances over at geto beside you, who’s watching silently as well. the two men exchange a look, a thousand wordless thoughts and emotions passing between them in that instant, before gojo diverts his attention back to the road.

geto keeps his gaze on you, his hand still gently stroking your hair, his fingers tracing soft, slow circles against your scalp, as if hoping the rhythmic motion might offer some comfort in your sleep.

the rest of the car ride passes in a silent, heavy tension. neither gojo nor geto speak, the depth of their worry and despair is too great for words. they both feel as though they’ve failed you, even though they know they’ve done everything they can.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, they pull into their driveway. gojo cuts the engine, the sudden quiet only adding to the heavy atmosphere. he looks over his shoulder at you, your face still and peaceful in sleep, the pain and sorrow gone for the moment.

gojo steps out of the car first, moving around to open the door for geto as he carefully lift you from the backseat, working in tenderness to carry you inside, his hands and arms gentle and protective against your body.

once inside, he leads the way down the hall, heading straight for your shared room and gently laying you on the bed. he pulls off your shoes and slides you further up the bed, pulling the sheets over you as you continue to sleep. geto looks down at you, concern etched into his features, his heart aching in his chest. he sits beside you on the edge of the bed, watching as your chest rises and falls with each breath.

gojo stands in the doorway, his face drawn and weary, his eyes tracing over your sleeping form with a mixture of pain and heartache. seeing you like this, so vulnerable and broken, is tearing him apart, the knowledge that he’s powerless to ease your suffering gnawing at his heart.

“she’ll be okay…” he whispers, more to himself than to geto, a silent hope that speaking the words might make them true. geto doesn’t respond, his eyes glued to you, his hand resting atop the blankets that cover your form. he’s just as worried as gojo, just as hopeless. he knows better than anyone that time is the only healer in situations like this, and time can be a brutal remedy.

gojo steps outside the room, letting the door open, his movements mechanical, stiff—as if keeping himself together is all he can manage, leans back against the wall, the cool surface grounding him as he shoves his hands into his pockets, fingers curling into fists. he tries to steady his breathing, tries to force himself to be strong for you, for geto. but the weight of everything finally breaks through, and the tears begin to slip silently down his cheeks. he doesn’t wipe them away, just stands there, letting the grief settle in his chest, heavy and unrelenting.

inside, geto still sits on the edge of the bed, his gaze locked on your hand resting atop his lap. he swallows thickly, feeling the tightness in his throat as he lets himself tear up, his vision blurring as he studies your wedding ring—the small, delicate circle that symbolizes the promises they made to you, promises they feel helpless to fulfill. his thumb gently brushes over the ring, and he bites down hard on his lip, the pain a small distraction from the ache in his heart.

for a long moment, geto just sits there, his hand never leaving yours, grounding himself in the warmth of your touch. he wants to say something, to offer you comfort, but he knows words would fall short. so he simply stays, his silent tears falling as he holds your hand, hoping that maybe, somehow, his presence can bring you even a small measure of solace.

gojo stands just outside the room, his shoulders slumped, the weight of his grief and helplessness evident in every line of his body. he watches as geto’s shoulder trembles slightly, the quiet sobs that geto tries to suppress as he sits beside you on the bed. gojo feels his heart break further each time he sees geto struggling to hold it together, knowing he can’t ease his own or geto’s pain right now.

he wants to step forward, to offer comfort, a hand on a shoulder, a word of reassurance, anything. but he can’t move, a part of him afraid that the moment he steps into the room, the dam holding back his own tears will break for good. instead, he just stands there, the sound of geto’s soft weeping echoing in his ears, a silent testament to a pain that refuses to stay hidden.

it had been days since that painful incident, and each one weighed heavily on you. you’d barely left the bed, consumed by a deep, silent grief that kept you withdrawn, the hurt sinking deeper with every passing hour. you barely ate, barely spoke. you’d turned away from your responsibilities, from jujutsu high, from the life you’d built with such dedication. instead, you lay in bed, letting exhaustion take you each night as tears ran dry against your pillow.

tonight, though, the weight of your sorrow pulled you from bed in the middle of the night. in a daze, you found yourself drifting to the walk-in closet, your only escape from the endless loop of sorrow. sitting on the carpeted floor, you pressed your back and head against the shelf, drawing some comfort from its solidity as you sat there, letting soft murmurs slip from your lips—whispers of thoughts you barely registered yourself.

in the dark bedroom, geto stirred, reaching out instinctively for you, only to find the sheets cool and empty. he blinked, the room settling around him as he sat up, trying to piece together where you could be. beside him, gojo still lay asleep, his face etched with lines of exhaustion and worry, even in sleep.

then geto saw it—the faint glow of light spilling out from the closet, and he heard your soft voice drifting from within, quiet, like a sorrowful melody he couldn’t quite make out. with a sigh, he slipped from bed and moved toward the closet, the sound of his bare feet soft on the floor.

as he reached the doorway, he found you there, sitting alone on the carpet, your figure almost blending into the shadows, shoulders slouched, your head leaning back as you stared blankly ahead. slowly, you turned your head toward him, your expression so exhausted, so worn, yet somehow you mustered a weak, fleeting smile—one that tugged painfully at his heart.

“hey,” he whispered, his voice soft and tender, laced with the worry he felt deep within.

“hey,” you murmured back, your voice barely audible, like the faintest crack of light through a closed window.

geto lowered himself onto the floor beside you, his eyes gentle as they took you in. he reached out, his hand finding yours while the other arm wrap around your shoulder. his thumb tracing delicate circles over your knuckles, grounding you both. for a moment, neither of you spoke. there was nothing to say that hadn’t been said already, no comfort that could ease the ache you both felt. but his presence, solid and steady, brought a small glimmer of warmth to the cold grief wrapped around you.

gojo slowly blinked open his eyes, the absence of your warmth on the sheets drawing him from sleep. confusion clouded his vision when he found the bed empty beside him, and for a moment, he simply lay there, the lingering remnants of sleep still holding onto his mind.

then, the low murmurs of a quiet voice drifted through the silent room, pulling him completely into wakefulness. his eyes focused in the darkness, and in the faint glow spilling from the crack in the walk-in closet doorway.

he sat up in bed, the covers pooling around his waist as he listened to the familiar cadence of your voice, the strain in your tone a harsh contrast to its usual smoothness and strength.

he could pick up snippets of your quiet, almost broken-sounding whispers, but the words were indistinct in his ears, lost in the haze of sleep and worry. the only thing that was clear was the sorrow, the despair that seemed to linger around each syllable.

gojo threw off the covers. the floor was cold beneath his feet, the hardwood offering no comfort against the icy chill that seemed to settle in the absence of your presence in the bed.

the cool night air hit gojo’s bare legs as he threw off the covers, the warmth of sleep vanishing with every step toward the closet. each step on the hardwood felt like a jolt to his heart, the icy chill settling not just in his feet, but in the aching place where you should’ve been beside him.

he found himself pausing at the doorway, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of you and geto on the floor, hunched together in the glow of the closet light. geto’s hand was gently intertwined with yours, his other arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders as if he could somehow shield you from the sorrow that weighed you down.

gojo forced a small smile, leaning casually against the door frame, as if to lighten the mood. “having a party without me, huh? i see how it is,” he joked, trying to inject a little warmth into the quiet room. “the invite must’ve gotten lost in the mail.”

you looked up, and for a moment, that familiar sparkle flickered in your eyes, even if just for a second. your lips lifted in a sad, faint smile as he crossed the small space and sat down beside you, pressing his shoulder against yours with a gentle nudge.

“oh, satoru,” you murmured softly, holding up the tiny, delicate baby clothes in your hands. “i… i bought these without thinking.” your fingers ran over the soft fabric, as if the touch itself was soothing, but your gaze was distant, lost somewhere else, somewhere softer, somewhere that felt far away from this pain. “they were so cute. i couldn’t help myself.”

you managed a laugh, but it was hollow, filled with sorrow. “i… i thought, maybe… one day, you know?” your voice cracked, and gojo’s heart clenched as he saw the tear slipping down your cheek. he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing you gently against him, while geto’s hand tightened around yours.

you looked at the tiny clothes again, a fresh wave of grief in your gaze. “i was just about to throw these out,” you whispered, barely meeting their eyes. “they’re just… they’re just a reminder now.”

gojo’s throat tightened, the sight of the baby clothes clutched in your hands, a painful reminder of what might’ve been. his arm tightened around you, pulling you snugly against his side as geto’s grip on you tightened too, the three of you creating a silent bubble of comfort in the dim light of the closet.

“you don’t have to throw them away if you don’t want to,” gojo said quietly, his voice soft as he took in the delicate fabric, the innocent symbolism of a future that was so suddenly snatched away.

your fingers traced over the fabric, trembling as they glided across each tiny fold and seam. the baby clothes were soft, achingly so, and it was like holding a piece of a dream that had slipped through your fingers. your lips quivered, a quiet murmur escaping as you whispered, “it’s... so soft.” the words fell from your mouth, barely more than a breath, but they carried the weight of everything you’d hoped, everything you’d imagined.

your hand lingered, stroking the fabric as if comforting yourself through the gentle touch. tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision, and you couldn’t look up at gojo or geto—couldn’t face the pity, the sorrow that mirrored your own pain. instead, you kept your gaze on the tiny clothes in your hands, clutching them as if they were a lifeline, a piece of the child you’d longed for.

“i thought... i thought one day...” you choked on the words, a tear slipping down your cheek, dampening the fabric. “i thought one day they’d be filled. they’d... they’d be his. or hers.” your voice was a trembling whisper, barely holding together under the weight of your grief.

gojo’s heart ached with each word, each broken confession that echoed in the quiet of the closet. the weight of your sorrow, the quiet pain in your voice, it was all too much. he swallowed past the lump in his throat, his grip on you tightening—a silent, wordless offering of comfort.

“you can keep them.” gojo said, his voice quiet but firm. he leaned closer, his arm around you pulling you a little closer, his fingers tracing small circles on your shoulder, “if... if it helps. you don’t have to let go.”

geto, his fingers still intertwined with yours, listened silently, his eyes on you, watching the mixture of pain and longing that played across your face. he could almost feel the weight of your sorrow, the ache in his heart matching yours.

he gently squeezed your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he spoke, his voice a low, comforting murmur. “you don’t have to do anything right now,” geto said, echoing gojo’s sentiment. “we’re here. we’re right here with you.”

your voice was barely a whisper, the words thick with the weight of everything you’d been carrying for days. you rested your head on gojo’s shoulder, your body trembling with the sobs you tried to suppress but couldn’t hold back any longer. “i’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice shaky and fragile. “i’ve been so... so sad all these days, and... i just... i can’t help it.”

your hands gripped the soft baby clothes tighter, as if holding onto something—anything—that might make the pain just a little more bearable. you could feel their presence around you, the warmth of both of them, and yet the emptiness inside felt overwhelming.

gojo pulled you even closer, his face burying into the top of your hair as he held you tight, his arms strong and comforting around you. “don’t be sorry,” he said fiercely, his tone brooking no argument. “don’t you dare apologize. you’ve been through something unbearable. you don’t have to pretend to be okay. we’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.”

geto moved in closer too, his knee bumping against yours as he shifted, his voice firm and reassuring, “you’ve done nothing wrong. you can feel whatever you need to feel, we’re here for you,” he echoed gojo’s words, his hand holding yours, the warm, tangible contact a lifeline in the sea of grief that surrounded you. he moved slightly, his free hand gently brushing the dampness from your cheeks, his touch tender and soothing. “you don’t have to hold back. not with us. you don’t have to be strong. not right now.”

tears welled up again, threatening to spill over, and you couldn’t stop the overwhelming flood of emotions. “i don’t want to keep hurting you both,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “you’ve been so patient, so kind, and i just feel like i’m breaking apart... and i don’t want to drag you down with me.”

but even as the words left your lips, the warmth of their embrace told you everything you needed to know. gojo’s hand rubbed soothing circles on your back, while geto’s fingers gently brushed through your hair, both of them offering their quiet support, their unspoken understanding.

“you’re not breaking us,” gojo murmured, his chin resting on the top of your head, his breath stirring the fine strands of your hair. “you could never break us,” he said, his voice strong and sure. “we’re here for you. through the good, through the bad. we’re not just going to abandon you because you’re hurting.”

geto’s hand slid to your cheek, his fingers gently tracing along your jawline, his gaze filled with pain and love, “you’re our wife,” he said quietly. “our soul. our everything.”

your head lifted slowly from gojo’s shoulder, your eyes searching his face with a flicker of something new—something more hopeful. for the first time in days, there was a spark of determination, an ember igniting in the midst of your grief. your fingers trembled slightly as they reached up, brushing through gojo’s hair, as you locked eyes with him, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“maybe...” you started, your voice shaky but gaining strength as you went on. “maybe we should try. maybe the doctor was wrong.”

you could feel your heart race at the words, a mix of vulnerability and hope swirling inside you. you wanted to believe it, needed to believe it. that maybe, just maybe, things could work out—despite everything that had happened. despite the crushing weight of loss you still carried. maybe you weren’t as broken as you thought.

“what if we give it a shot?” you whispered, eyes darting between your two husbands, your gaze now full of hope. “maybe there’s a chance. maybe... we could try again.”

“no,” geto’s voice is quiet, answering without hesitate, the gentle steadiness in his tone somehow making the words sting even more. “i know how much you’ve dreamed about having a family, raising a child together.”

his words are comforting yet heartbreaking, an acknowledgment of the unspoken fears you both share. you feel a tightness building in your throat as you fight to hold back tears, feeling the weight of his hand grounding you. but it’s gojo’s voice that breaks the silence next, and it’s strained in a way that cuts right through you.

“but… we can’t lose you.” his words come out in a whisper, barely above a breath, and there’s a tremor to it you rarely hear. he looks down, his head hanging low as he grips your hand, his knuckles white with the intensity of his hold. “i don’t… i can’t imagine… if something happened to you.”

gojo’s grip on your hand tightens, the thought of losing you, his lifeline, too much even to speak of. geto's hand on your cheek feels like an anchor, keeping you grounded, even as your heart races in anticipation of gojo’s next words.

“not at the risk of losing you. never.” he continues, his voice firm despite the strain. “i can’t… i’d never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you.” he lifts his gaze from the floor, his eyes meeting yours, a mix of love and fear swimming in the blue depths. “i would give up everything, give up the idea of family, if it meant keeping you safe. losing you would be an emptiness… a pain… that i wouldn’t survive.”

gojo’s gaze shifts up again, from geto before meeting yours, the depths of his love and worry so achingly clear in his eyes. “i can’t lose you,” he repeats, the words catching slightly in his throat. “i can’t risk it. i’m not willing to gamble with your life. you’re too precious to us. too precious to me.”

geto’s hand moves to your chin, gently guiding your gaze towards him. his expression is gentle, filled with care, and yet there is an almost unbearable sadness lurking in the depths of his eyes. “please understand,” he says softly, “we value your life above everything else.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but geto’s soft, steady voice stopped you before you could speak any further. his hand on your chin held you gently, but firmly, as if trying to ground you in the moment, to make sure you understood his words clearly.

“no buts,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering, a quiet plea in his eyes. “this isn’t about what you want, love. it’s about your life. and we’re not willing to risk it. not for anything, not for anyone.”

his words hit like a cold wave, each syllable piercing through the haze of desperation you’d been holding onto. you felt your heart falter, the overwhelming urge to fight back, to keep grasping for that sliver of hope, but deep down you knew the truth in his voice. the painful truth that your husbands loved you far too much to let you endanger yourself again, no matter how much you wanted to try.

“you mean everything to us,” gojo added softly, his voice barely a whisper, as if he too was struggling to keep the weight of it all from breaking him. “we can’t lose you. not like this.”

geto’s thumb gently brushed your cheek, his expression softening, even as sorrow shadowed his gaze. “we would do anything to see you happy, but we can’t let you sacrifice yourself for a dream. your health, your life... that’s what matters most to us. not the baby, not anything else. just you.”

the words wrapped around you like a vise, heavy and final. it felt as though the very thing you clung to—the hope of motherhood, the thought of a family—was slipping through your fingers. the ache in your chest deepened, but as you looked into the eyes of both your husbands, you saw only love, only the raw, painful care they had for you.

you swallowed hard, the tears that had been on the edge of falling finally breaking free. you didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to let go of the dream, but you knew—they were right. the risk was too great, and they were asking you to protect yourself, even if it meant letting go of a piece of your heart.

“i understand,” you whispered through the sobs, your voice small, fragile.

gojo’s arm pulled you closer, wrapping tightly around your shoulders, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back and his face burying into your hair. his body trembles slightly, fighting back his own tears as he holds you fiercely.

“we love you,” he whispers hoarsely. “so much. please, understand that this... this isn’t about not wanting a family with you. it’s about keeping you safe.”

geto’s hand moved from your chin, his fingers tracing down your neck, the touch gentle, as he stepped closer, his own eyes glossy with unfallen tears. “we want a future with you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with love, “a long, long... safe and happy future. and we won’t take any risks with that.”

he gently pulls you to his chest, holding you close, his arms wrapping around your frame as he cradles your body. his heart is hammering against yours, the rhythm a quick, nervous staccato that speaks of the fear they’re both feeling.

“please, please understand,” gojo’s voice is a quiet, desperate plea, “it’s not that we don’t want kids with you. it’s that we want you to be safe. we want to keep you safe. we both do.”

geto’s hand is stroking your hair, his lips pressed softly against the top of your head as he holds you closer. the pain in his voice is evident as he adds, “we want you to be healthy, happy… with us… for a long time.”

you nod slowly, pressing your face against geto’s chest as a defeated “okay” slips from your lips, barely more than a whisper. your voice trembles with the weight of the word, laden with acceptance and heartache all at once. the surrender in your tone brings a wave of relief mingled with sorrow to both your husbands, who tighten their embrace around you as if shielding you from the pain of letting go.

geto’s hand gently strokes your hair, his lips brushing your temple in silent reassurance. his hold is steady, strong, grounding you as you lean into him. gojo’s hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours after he wraps his arms from behind, squeezing gently, offering a quiet reminder that he’s here, that they’re both here.

gojo's head rests on yours, his forehead against your hair, his breathing soft and steady against your neck. his body is a warm, solid presence behind you, a shield against the emptiness, a constant that you can rely on.

geto leans down, his mouth brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “we're here. we'll always be here.”

the room is silent, the quiet interrupted only by the shared, steadying rhythm of your breaths. in the comfort of their embrace, there is a heartbreaking beauty to the moment, a quiet strength in the simple act of being together.

gojo’s hand gently releases yours, his fingers tracing up your arm in a slow, careful path. it comes to rest on your waist, the thumb tracing soothing, repetitive circles against your hip. a silent, gentle touch, an attempt to soothe your aching heart as he continues to lean into you, his body curved around yours.

geto’s hand in your hair is now a gentle, almost massaging motion, his fingers slowly sliding through the strands, his touch both comforting and intimate. they hold you—not as if you’re fragile or broken, but as if you’re precious, valuable, worth every

breath and second of their time. gojo and geto’s silence speaks louder than words—the steadiness of their presence, the tenderness of their touch, the quiet strength in their hold. they love you, they love you so desperately, and you can feel it with every beat of their hearts, every soft exhale as they hold you.

in the quiet of the car, geto’s fingers tap rhythmically on the steering wheel as he stares at gojo, both of them caught in the tension of their unspoken thoughts. they glance into the backseat, where two small, confused faces peer back at them. the boy with pink hair and brown eyes clutches the sleeve of the other boy with jet black hair and striking blue eyes, looking to him for reassurance, even in their silence.

geto sighs, voice low and uncertain. “i don’t know how she’ll react. bringing two strangers—two kids—into the house... especially when she’s going through so much.”

gojo shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. “i know,” he says, his tone hesitant. “but we can’t just… leave them. we found them because they were being hurt—abused by the villagers just because they have jujutsu. we can’t turn our backs on them now.” his words are resolute, but his expression falters. behind his cool, stoic front, there’s a softness, an unwillingness to abandon these two boys who have already been through so much.

geto looks away, taking a moment to weigh their choices. he knows gojo’s right, knows he doesn’t have it in him to just leave these kids to fend for themselves. not after what they’ve seen, and not when they have a home to offer, even if things are complicated. but he also knows you, and he knows how fragile things are right now.

the pink-haired boy shifts, sensing the tension, and tightens his hold on his friend’s arm. the boy with blue eyes stares back at the two men, his gaze unwavering, as if waiting for them to make a decision, as if he’s already used to uncertainty and the discomfort of being unwanted.

geto glances at gojo, reading the determination in his face, the concern for the boys, and sighs. he can feel a sense of responsibility for them too, the same feeling that has him glancing at the boys’ faces in the mirror, their wide eyes silently pleading.

he turns back to gojo, his own expression torn, “you don’t think she’ll… react badly?” he asks softly, his voice filled with worry. “after… everything that’s happened, i don’t want to overwhelm her.”

geto’s words hang in the air, the weight of their implications obvious—the fear of further straining the delicate balance of your current state, the worry of adding to the emotional burden you’re already carrying.

gojo’s gaze flickers to the boys in the backseat again, their innocent faces watching them, waiting. he can feel the tension in his own chest, the conflict of wanting to help these kids and protecting you from further sorrow.

gojo lets out a quiet, resigned sigh, his hand running through his hair one last time before he nods toward geto. “let’s just… see how she reacts. if it’s too much… if it hurts her more, we’ll figure something out.” his voice carries a tone of forced steadiness, but geto can see the conflict still etched in his eyes. he’s trying to reassure himself as much as he’s trying to reassure his friend.

with that, gojo pushes open the car door and steps out, the night air feeling heavier than usual. he circles to the backseat, pausing as he looks at the two boys through the glass, their small faces gazing up at him with a mix of uncertainty and trust. he softens his stance, letting his usual intimidating presence melt away, and carefully opens the door.

kneeling down to their eye level, he offers a gentle smile, his voice as soothing as he can manage. “hey… you’re safe now, alright? no one’s going to hurt you here.” his hand extends, and the pink-haired boy looks at his friend before they both reach out to gojo, taking comfort in his calm demeanor.

“come on out,” he says softly, his hand light on their backs as he guides them out of the car. “we’re going to take you inside. there’s someone very special to us who lives here too, and she’s… she’s going through a tough time, so we’ll need to be gentle with her. but i promise, you’re safe.”

the boys nod quietly, their small frames pressing closer to gojo as he stands, keeping them close as they walk toward the house with geto following behind. his heart aches, knowing they’re stepping into something complicated, but he feels a flicker of hope as they near the front door.

gojo can hear the quiet, anxious breaths of the boys standing next to him, their hands gripping his shirt. their wide eyes are fixed on the door, filled with both fear and anticipation. he glances at geto, their unspoken understanding of the situation heavy between them.

he gently pats the boys’ heads, hoping to soothe their uneasiness. “don’t worry,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “everything’s going to be alright.” he reaches out, his hand wrapping around the cold, brass doorknob, and with a soft inhale, he pushes the door open.

the soft creak of the hinges seems unusually loud in the quiet night, a prelude to the quiet of the house and the unknown that awaits inside. gojo feels the boys’ grip on his shirt tighten slightly, their small bodies tensing with nerves.

he leads them quietly inside, their footsteps muted against the smooth wooden floor. the house is still, as if holding its breath, the only sound coming from the boys’ soft breathing and the slight creak of the old floorboards beneath their feet.

geto places a steady hand on gojo's shoulder, a silent agreement passing between them as he asks him to stay with the boys in the living room. gojo nods, a gentle understanding in his eyes as he watches geto head outside.

in the backyard, you sit quietly on the bench, your face softly illuminated by the last light of the day. the glow of the sunset dances across your features, casting a gentle warmth over you. at the sound of approaching footsteps, you slowly open your eyes, turning to see geto’s familiar figure walking toward you.

he gives you a soft smile, the kind that holds a thousand unspoken words, and sits beside you, close enough that you can feel his presence in every quiet beat between you.

“hey…” he whispers, his hand reaching out to brush a few strands of hair from your face. he lets his fingers linger for a moment, tracing gentle circles, a small comfort as he gathers his words.

“i need to talk to you about something,” he says, his tone tender, careful. you can see something in his eyes—an unspoken depth, a mixture of love and worry. he holds your gaze, waiting for you to take in the moment, as if he knows how much you’ve been through and wants to ease you into whatever’s coming next.

under geto’s touch, your heart stutters, the familiarity of his gesture settling something deep within your chest. you lean your head into his hand, relishing the small comfort it offers, but you can feel something in the air, a tension that he’s trying to hide behind his soft smile.

you listen as he speaks, your eyes never leaving his. you can tell he’s carefully choosing his words, threading a delicate needle between what he needs to say and your current fragile state.

geto’s voice is soft, almost tentative, as he begins, “love… there’s something i need to tell you.” his hand remains a reassuring presence on your shoulder, grounding you as he carefully chooses his words. “gojo and i… we brought home some kids.”

you blink, a flicker of surprise crossing your face, and he takes a breath before continuing. “during our mission, we found these two boys. they were… kept in a cage, treated like they were less than human, all because of their cursed energy.”

he watches your expression closely, as if bracing himself for your reaction, hoping he’s not overloading you. there’s a slight sadness in his eyes as he speaks, feeling the weight of what he’s just shared.

“we… we couldn’t just leave them,” he adds, voice laced with quiet conviction. “i talked to gojo, and we both agreed—they don’t have anyone else. they were being hurt for something they can’t control, something they were born with. we… we couldn’t just turn away from that.”

he pauses, waiting, his hand gently tracing soothing patterns on your shoulder, his gaze never leaving your face as he lets the gravity of his words settle between you.

before you can even form a response, geto’s words rush out, almost in a tumble, “just for a night or two, love,” he assures quickly, his tone soft but slightly anxious. “we’re… we’re not trying to make this more difficult for you. it’s just temporary, okay? just until we figure something else out.”

he gives you a small, hopeful smile, his hand still on your shoulder, trying to soothe any worries that might be surfacing in you. “we don’t want you to feel overwhelmed. i know things have been… heavy lately. we’ll handle everything, i promise. you don’t even have to see them if you’re not up for it.”

he’s watching you with a gentle, pleading look, his gaze searching your eyes, hoping that his words are enough to ease any anxiety. it’s clear he’s trying to make this as easy as possible, fully aware of all that you’ve been carrying.

his voice is gentle, yet it’s clear that he’s worried about how you’ll react. he gauges your expression as he speaks, watching for any sign of distress or discomfort, all while maintaining a soothing rhythm with his hand on your shoulder.

his words rush out, trying to provide reassurance while also pleading for your understanding. his anxiety is evident, the weight of the situation heavy in his voice. despite all of this, there’s a hint of hope in his eyes, a hope that you will understand, that you will accept the temporary situation for what it is.

“what about their parents?” your quiet question hangs in the air, and geto’s expression falters, a brief flicker of sadness crossing his face. he sighs, his gaze dropping to his hands before looking back up at you. “they… they don’t have any,” he says softly, his voice laced with a quiet grief. “the villagers… they saw them as a curse, something to be feared. they were going to leave them to fend for themselves.”

he pauses, taking a deep breath, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand. “we couldn’t just walk away,” he adds gently. “not after everything we saw… and knowing what could happen to them.”

he glances back toward the house, where gojo is no doubt keeping the boys company. “they’ve been through so much already. we thought… maybe we could give them a little safety, even if just for a short while.”

you nod, your lips forming a soft, understanding smile as you look up at geto. “okay,” you whisper, a gentle acceptance in your voice that makes the tension in his shoulders ease. he lets out a quiet sigh, his hand moving to rest over yours, squeezing it in silent gratitude.

geto’s expression softens as he looks at you. your quiet acceptance seems to ease some of the tension in his shoulders, a small sigh of relief escaping his lips. he reaches out, his hand covering yours, giving it a gentle squeeze of gratitude.

he continues to watch you for a moment, the weight of the situation still hanging in the air. but there’s a sense of peace between you now, a quiet understanding that you’ve both come to an agreement, albeit a difficult one.

“thank you,” he murmurs, his voice low and gentle. “i know it’s a lot to ask, but…” he trails off, his gaze dropping to your joined hands, his thumb tracing small, comforting circles over your skin. he looks up at you again, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and concern. “i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

and it’s been two days since the boys came into your home, and your husbands can already see the change in you. they watch from the kitchen as you sit in the living room with the two boys, your laughter echoing softly through the house. after weeks of grieving the news that you couldn’t have children, they see a lightness returning to your face—a spark they’ve missed more than they could say.

geto leans against the counter, arms crossed, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watches you. “she’s really taken to them,” he murmurs, his voice low but warm.

gojo nods, eyes glued to the scene before him. you’re talking to the boys, both of them wearing oversized shirts from your wardrobe—the smallest clothes in the house, yet still comically large on their tiny frames. the boys look up at you, wide-eyed and smiling, completely enraptured by your presence.

“look at her,” gojo says softly, unable to hide the fondness in his voice. “i don’t think i’ve seen her smile like that in… a long time.”

geto’s gaze softens, the sight of you laughing and at ease bringing a sense of peace he didn’t realize he’d been longing for. “maybe,” he begins cautiously, glancing at gojo, “maybe they’re what she needs right now. maybe… this is good for her. for all of us.”

gojo looks over at him, a faint smile forming. “yeah,” he agrees, the hope in his voice barely contained. “maybe it is.”

you step into the kitchen with a soft, purposeful stride, moving toward the fridge without a word. your husbands watch you carefully, their attention fixed on your every movement. it’s become a familiar pattern over the past few days—when you’re about to say something, your movements always slow down, like you’re gathering your thoughts before speaking, even if you haven’t fully decided what to say.

the fridge door clicks open, the cool light inside casting a gentle glow on your face. you reach for the soy sauce bottle without thinking, your fingers brushing over its smooth surface. the motion is casual, almost instinctive, yet your husbands notice the slight pause in your movements as you close the fridge door behind you.

they exchange a brief glance, both noticing something subtle but significant in your expression—the way your lips are pursed just slightly, the furrow between your brows. it’s a look they’ve come to recognize all too well; a mix of hesitation and contemplation. your thoughts are racing, but you haven’t yet found the words to match the emotion brewing inside.

gojo is the first to break the silence, his voice soft but steady, knowing that his wife often speaks in ways more subtle than words. "what is it?" he asks gently, his gaze never leaving your face. his eyes are understanding, attuned to the nuances of your silence.

his question hangs in the air, his tone comforting but expectant, waiting for you to share whatever’s on your mind. gojo can tell that it’s something important, something he knows you want to express but haven’t quite found the courage to. he doesn’t push, but his eyes are full of quiet concern, urging you to open up, to let him in.

geto, standing beside gojo, also watches you closely, his expression softening as he notices the way you clutch the soy sauce bottle a little tighter than necessary, your fingers wrapped around it almost protectively. his gaze meets yours, waiting for a response, his usual calm demeanor barely masking the worry in his eyes.

the kitchen feels suddenly small, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

the silence in the kitchen is almost deafening, the only sound coming from the steady, comforting breaths of your husbands. you can feel their eyes on you, their gazes unwavering as they wait patiently for you to speak.

gojo’s question hangs in the air, his voice soft but firm, his eyes searching yours. geto stands beside him, his body taut with anticipation, his eyes fixed on your face, waiting for you to give them any hint of what’s going through your mind.

you look up at them, your gaze soft, almost tentative, as if afraid of what their reaction might be. you hesitate, your fingers still gripping the bottle of soy sauce, though it feels almost distant now, like you’re holding it just to keep yourself grounded. you take a deep breath, your voice barely above a whisper, “have you figured out what you're going to do with the kids yet?”

the question hangs in the air, fragile and uncertain, your words quiet, as if testing the waters, as if you don’t want to bring up something that might undo the small comfort you’ve started to find in the chaos of it all.

your husbands exchange a brief glance before turning their attention back to you, the weight of the question settling between the three of you. the truth is, they haven’t figured it out, not yet. they haven’t really wanted to talk about it, not after seeing how much the boys have seemed to brighten your spirits. since they arrived, you’ve been lighter, more like yourself again—laughing more, talking more, playing with the kids. the last few days have felt like a breath of fresh air, a small but much-needed respite from the heavy grief that had been hanging over you.

but now, standing in the kitchen, the reality of the situation is unavoidable.

geto lets out a long, soft sigh, his eyes flickering to the floor for a moment as he rubs the back of his neck, thinking over his words carefully. he then looks up at you, his expression soft but weary. “no,” he says quietly, his voice almost regretful, “we haven’t figured it out yet.”

the silence that follows is thick, uncomfortable, the words unspoken between you three hanging like a shadow. geto’s gaze never leaves yours, as if he’s trying to read the very depths of your thoughts, hoping to understand what’s going on in your mind.

gojo steps closer, his usual confident demeanor softened as he looks at you with a gentle understanding. he places a hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding but also filled with reassurance. “we didn’t want to bring it up,” he admits, his tone low, “not when we see how happy the boys have made you. not when you’ve seemed… better.”

you can feel the hesitation in their words, the fear of adding more weight to your already heavy heart. they’ve seen how much the boys have meant to you, how much joy they’ve brought back into your life. it’s hard to bring up the reality of the situation when it feels like the kids are part of the healing you’ve started to experience.

the air between the three of you is filled with unspoken emotions, a quiet understanding passing between you.

in that moment, the glimmer of hope in your eyes is unmistakable. you gently place the soy sauce bottle down on the counter, the weight of the decision momentarily forgotten as you step closer to them. your hands tremble slightly as you reach for both of their hands, your fingers curling around theirs with a quiet desperation. your gaze locks onto theirs, and for a moment, it’s like the world narrows down to just the three of you.

“maybe… maybe the kids can stay here,” you say softly, your voice thick with hope, a plea more than a suggestion. “maybe we can make it work. they don’t have anyone else, and I—I don’t want to see them hurt. not when they’ve already been through so much.”

your voice falters, but the sincerity in your words remains. you search their faces, waiting for any sign of understanding, any indication that they might agree with you. the thought of the kids leaving, the idea of them going back into the world where they were mistreated, tears at your heart in ways you can’t quite explain.

the more you think about it, the more the idea of them staying with you feels like the right choice. your heart aches with the thought of giving them a home, a family, the safety they so desperately need.

you squeeze their hands, your voice more pleading now, “i know it’s a lot, but maybe... just maybe, we can make this work. they deserve a chance, don’t they?” your words are soft, but the conviction behind them is undeniable. “please..”

the look of hope in your eyes is like a knife through their hearts, a mix of desperation and longing that neither of them can deny. your words hang in the air, almost pleading, your voice shaky as you ask them to let the kids stay. your grip on their hands is strong, your fingers trembling ever so slightly as you silently urge them to understand. you’re terrified of losing the sense of comfort and fulfillment you’ve found in them, and the thought of sending them back into the world that has hurt them so much is unbearable.

geto can feel his heart breaking as he listens to your words, your pleading, geto’s hands cradle your face with gentle tenderness, his touch so soft, yet firm enough to ground you. his expression is a careful balance of guilt and love, his eyes soft as he searches yours, trying to understand every layer of your emotions. he sees the hope, the hesitation, and the underlying fear that lingers in your gaze—the same fear he carries in his heart.

“okay,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, a soft promise wrapped in the usual warmth and love he always offers. his words are gentle but resolute, as if this one word, this one decision, is all that matters in the world right now. “we’ll make it work. we’ll take care of them.”

the silence between them is thick as they share a lingering stare. geto’s gaze holds steady, a silent challenge in his eyes, but there’s no anger—just resolve. after a long beat, geto turns his attention back to you, his smile softening as he sees the light returning to your face. he reaches out, his hand slipping behind your neck to gently pull you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “okay, baby,” he murmurs, the words filled with tenderness.

and when he pulls back, his eyes meet gojo’s once more, the tension between them palpable, unspoken. his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. you rest your head on his chest, feeling the weight of the moment settle. gojo’s gaze is still full of disapproval, but there’s a deeper understanding in it now, a recognition of the weight of geto’s decision. he doesn’t agree, but in the end, he knows this is something that can’t be undone.

before you can respond, a heavy silence hangs between you, filled only by the weight of what’s about to come. from behind you, gojo’s voice slices through the air, sharp with disapproval. “suguru,” he warns, his eyes narrowed and cold, a storm brewing behind those intense blue orbs. the tension in the room thickens, like a wire pulled taut.

geto doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break his gaze. he’s made up his mind, and there’s no going back now. he knows what he’s risking, knows the weight of his choice, but he also knows this is what you need. “i’m doing this for her,” he says quietly, but his words ring with finality. “if giving them a chance, if keeping them here with us, makes her smile again, if it gives her some peace—then i’ll take the risk.”

there’s no anger in his voice, only the raw honesty of someone who’s willing to do whatever it takes to see the woman he loves happy again—even if it means defying the man beside him.

gojo can feel his jaw clenching, the muscles taut with frustration as he watches you lean into geto’s chest, your head resting against his shoulder. a wave of protective anger runs through him, but beneath it, he can feel the beginnings of understanding—the slow but gradual realization that geto is serious, that this isn’t just a fleeting decision made in a moment of rashness. his eyes dart from you to geto, his expression a mixture of anger and regret.

gojo’s jaw clenches tighter, the muscles in his face twitching as a storm of emotions swirls within him—anger, frustration, and the gnawing ache of helplessness. he watches you, nestled in geto's arms, the gentle curve of your body fitting so perfectly against him. his protective instincts flare up, but there's something deeper, more reluctant, stirring within him too: the creeping recognition that geto’s decision is not a momentary whim. this is something serious, something geto believes in with all his heart.

gojo’s gaze flickers from you to geto, his eyes narrowing in conflict. he sees the quiet certainty in geto’s expression, the way he’s holding you, the way you’ve allowed yourself to lean into him, to trust him with your vulnerability. and there’s no denying it—geto’s commitment to this, to you, to this family, is real.

then his eyes move to the two boys, laughing and playing, oblivious to the tension in the room. gojo watches them for a moment, their innocent joy a stark contrast to the complicated emotions running through him. he feels a wave of guilt mixed with frustration—it’s not just about what’s best for you anymore. it’s about the kids too, the responsibility, the choices they’re all going to have to face.

with a defeated sigh, gojo pulls his gaze away from the children and looks at geto once again. his expression softens just slightly, a resigned acceptance beginning to seep in as he meets geto’s knowing smile. there’s no more fight left in him—not now. it’s clear that geto’s made up his mind, and somehow, gojo knows this isn’t a battle he can win.

“alright,” gojo mutters, his voice low but tinged with finality, before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering for just a moment. it’s a silent promise, an acknowledgment of your pain, your grief, and the decision he’s now forced to accept. his heart aches as he straightens up, but there’s a flicker of something else there too—maybe it’s love, maybe it’s just the weight of the situation, but gojo knows this is the path they’ve chosen now.

he turns his attention back to geto, his eyes locking onto his husband’s with a mix of weary fondness and reluctant understanding. “don’t make me regret this,” he warns softly, giving the man a kiss on his forehead, his voice carrying an edge despite his acceptance.

geto’s expression softens, his eyes filled with an understanding that can only be gained through years of being together, through the trials and tribulations that they’ve faced together. he knows what gojo is going through, the inner struggle of weighing risks and the weight of responsibility. “i won’t,” he replies quietly, his words carrying a promise and a plea, a reassurance that he has thought this through, that he has considered every angle, every possible outcome.

geto’s eyes flick to you, still resting against his chest, your head tucked beneath his chin. he rubs your back gently, his touch firm yet gentle, a comforting gesture filled with love and reassurance. he sighs quietly, his chin resting on the top of your head, watching you both with a mix of love and concern.

gojo can feel the mix of emotions swirling within him, a maelstrom of feelings, each one pulling him in a different direction. there’s anger, frustration, a deep-seated protectiveness, and a lingering sense of helplessness. but as he looks at geto, as he hears his husband’s gentle reassurance, he can also feel a strange sense of acceptance, a reluctant surrender.

sighing, he concedes, “i know you won’t.”

gojo expression softens, the tension draining from his shoulders as he lets out another soft sigh—a sigh of acceptance, a sigh of resignation to this new reality. “just... just make sure we don’t end up with more kids here than we can handle,” he murmurs with a hint of sarcasm as he give you another kiss on your head, a small attempt at humor to ease the tension.

geto chuckles quietly, a dry laugh that holds a hint of agreement. he looks down at you, his hands holding you gently, and smiles. “don't worry,” he replies, his tone a mix of certainty and sarcasm, “the last thing i want is to see you two get even more gray hairs from the stress of looking after a bunch of little brats.”

a soft laugh escapes you, amusement bubbling up as geto’s dry humor cuts through the tension. you lift your head from his chest, meeting his gaze, and there’s something warm and unspoken in his eyes—a mixture of love, understanding, and that hint of playful sarcasm that always lightens the heaviest moments.

with a grin, you rise on your toes and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, feeling the way his expression softens in response. then you turn to gojo, who’s still watching the two of you with a mix of reluctant acceptance and warmth in his gaze. without missing a beat, you place a kiss on his cheek too, feeling his arm instinctively come around you, grounding you between them.

“thank you,” you murmur, your smile sincere, gratitude shining in your eyes as you look between the two of them. they’ve given up a lot for you, bent themselves around your happiness, and this choice feels like a gift—a promise that you won’t have to face the heartache alone.

“so,” you add, glancing back at the two boys in the living room as they continue to play, “should we go shopping?” your tone is light, but there’s a spark of excitement there too, the promise of a new beginning. “y’know, for the kids..” you added, fingertips touching gojo’s collar playfully.

gojo rolls his eyes at your words but his lips curve into a small smile, still wrapped around you. “shopping, huh?” he murmurs, his hands settling on your hips, his fingers tracing absent circles there. “you just like spending my money, don’t you?” he teases, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

geto’s arm wraps around you from the back, his chin resting on your shoulder. “don’t worry,” he adds, his voice tinged with an amused fondness, “i’m sure we’ll find plenty of things the kids need,” he laughs quietly, his breath warm against your skin, “and maybe a few things that we adults can…” his words trail off, the implication clear, his lips brushing your neck softly.

you chuckle, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you look up at gojo, giving him a small, playful pout. “the kids need clothes, hubby,” you say with a soft huff, feigning indignation, being mischievous with the hubby word. “and, y’know, probably everything else, and for us, ‘adult’ too.”

his fingers continue tracing those gentle circles on your hips, and you can feel the warmth of his hands anchoring you. he raises an eyebrow, clearly amused as he watches you try to hold your pout, a teasing gleam in his eyes.

gojo laughs quietly, his hands moving down to give your hips a gentle squeeze, his fingers warm and firm against your skin. “and just what kind of ‘adult’ things do you have in mind?” he asks, his voice a low murmur, a hint of playfulness in his tone. “because if my memory serves me right, we’ve got plenty of those at home already.”

geto laughs too from behind you, his chin still resting on your shoulder, his hands wrapped around your waist, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your neck again.

you hum softly, a knowing smile curving your lips as you let your gaze flick between the two men. but instead of answering, you slip out of their hold, leaving them standing there, anticipation sparking in their eyes. with an easy, confident stride, you head toward the living room, throwing a casual wave over your shoulder.

“yuuji, megumi,” you call, your voice light and inviting as the two little boys perk up, their eyes wide and curious as they look at you. “let’s go spend my husbands’ money.”

their faces light up with excitement, and they quickly scramble to their feet, hurrying toward you with delighted grins. behind you, you hear the surprised chuckles of gojo and geto from the kitchen.

the two men stand there for a moment, their gazes fixated on you and the two boys. gojo looks bewildered, a hint of amusement playing on his face, while geto has a mixture of shock and humor in his expression. “spending our money, huh?” gojo mutters, his eyes narrowing slightly in mock indignation.

geto laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “oh, this is going to cost us a fortune…” he muses, a smile tugging at his lips.

the boys rush over, their little bodies bumping into you, their hands reaching up to grab onto yours. you can feel their excitement as they giggle and chatter with each other, their voices high with anticipation.

“where are we going?” yuuji asks, his eyes wide with curiosity.

megumi, on the other hand, is quieter but just as curious. “shopping?” he asks, his small fingers gripping your hand firmly.

you hum with excitement, giving each boy’s hand a reassuring squeeze as you answer, “that’s right! we’re going to get you two everything you need.” yuuji’s eyes sparkle with glee, and even megumi lets a small smile slip as he squeezes your hand back, his quiet curiosity bringing a warmth to your heart.

turning around, you glance over your shoulder at your husbands, a radiant smile lighting up your face—a look they haven’t seen in too long. your eyes glint with happiness, a genuine joy that makes you look like yourself again, the shadows of recent weeks nowhere to be found.

for a moment, gojo and geto just stand there, captivated by the sight of you, your laughter mingling with the boys’ giggles. neither of them can do anything but follow, exchanging a quiet look that says more than words ever could. they know they’re in for an adventure today, but neither would trade it for anything.

as they fall into step behind you, a sense of peace settles over them. maybe this wasn’t the life they’d planned, and maybe things hadn’t gone as expected. but seeing you happy, seeing you whole again as you lead these two bright-eyed boys out the door—it’s worth every risk.

[ask-the-koopa-family]

I love writing little storiiiiies

Heres a story where Bowser and Cherry decide to have a baby together (Cleo of course!)

Art/OC/story are mine dont copy/repost

#story

#supermariobros

#supermario

#bowser

#bowserxoc

#canonxoc

#princesscherry

The sun was setting over Bowser’s castle, casting a warm, golden glow on the stone walls. In the great throne room, Bowser sat, deep in thought. Beside him, his wife, Queen Cherry—once the Princess of the Piranha Plants—watched him in silence. They had known each other since childhood, lost touch over the years, but fate had brought them back together. Now, they were married, ruling the Koopa Kingdom side by side.

Together, they were raising Bowser Jr. and the seven Koopalings, forming a large, chaotic family. But there was something on Cherry’s mind, something she had been thinking about for a while, and tonight, she knew it was time to talk to Bowser about it.

Cherry (walking up to Bowser gently):

"Bowser… Can we talk? I need to ask you something important."

Bowser (looking up, smiling softly):

"Of course, my queen. What’s on your mind?"

Cherry took a deep breath, knowing the weight of her words. She loved Bowser deeply, and while their family was already big, there was a longing in her heart she couldn’t ignore any longer.

Cherry (her voice soft but steady):

"We already have a wonderful family, with Bowser Jr. and the Koopalings. I love them dearly, but…" (she paused for a moment, gathering her courage)

"I’ve been thinking... I’d like for us to have a child together. A baby of our own."

The room fell silent. Bowser, clearly taken aback, blinked at her in surprise. He sat up straight, his massive form looming in the warm light of the evening.

Bowser (smiling hesitantly):

"A baby… with you? Hmm…" (he thought for a moment)

"That’s… a big decision. We already have eight kids to handle, and... it’s not always easy." (a grin spread across his face)

"But... the idea of having a child with you, Cherry..."

"It makes me happy."

Cherry (smiling tenderly):

"So… you’d be okay with it?"

Bowser (nodding but with a hint of worry in his voice):

"I’d be more than okay with it. I’ve already raised eight kids, and I’m proud of them. But…" (he looked at her seriously)

"There’s something that concerns me. You’re human, and I’m a Koopa. What would our baby even look like? Would it… even work?"

Cherry could hear the hesitation in his voice. She moved closer to him, placing her hand gently on his, her eyes full of reassurance.

Cherry (speaking softly):

"I guess.. youre right.. But.. It doesn’t matter what they’ll look like. They’ll be unique, Bowser. A part of both of us. They won’t have to choose between being human or Koopa—they’ll be both. And that’s beautiful."

Bowser (sighing but smiling slightly):

"That’s true. The Koopalings are all different, and yet they’re united." (he scratched his head, still thinking)

"But what if they feel... out of place? Caught between two worlds? I don’t want our child to suffer because of who they are."

Cherry (shaking her head gently):

"They’ll never be alone, Bowser. They’ll have you, me, and their brothers and sisters to help them. And if they ever feel different, we’ll be there to show them they belong. I believe they’ll be stronger than we can imagine."

Bowser pondered her words. He had spent his life proving his strength, fighting for his kingdom, and protecting his family. The idea of a child, one born out of his love for Cherry, began to seem less daunting and more exciting.

Bowser (smiling more confidently):

"You know what? You’re right. This baby would be special. A mix of strength, love, and all the lessons we’ll teach them." (he chuckled)

"And with a family like ours around them, I’m sure they’ll be able to handle anything."

Cherry (laughing softly, feeling reassured):

"Exactly. Imagine a little one with your strength and courage, and maybe a bit of my..." (she laughed)

"Patience to balance things out."

Bowser (letting out a hearty laugh):

"Ha! That would be one formidable kid! That little one would probably have more energy than all the kids combined." (then, more seriously)

"But I’m ready. If that’s what you want, then I want it too. I’m ready to be a father again, and this time, to a child that’s truly ours."

Cherry felt her heart swell with relief. She had known Bowser would have his doubts, but she also knew that, in the end, he would embrace the idea. They had overcome so many challenges together, and this new adventure would be one of the most beautiful ones yet.

Cherry (hugging him warmly):

"Thank you, Bowser. I know this baby will be our greatest adventure."

Bowser (holding her close):

"Yes, an adventure that will change everything. And I’m ready to face it with you, Cherry. No matter what they look like, this baby will be our heir. The heir of two worlds."

They stayed like that, embraced in the soft glow of the fading sun, ready to embark on this new chapter in their lives. Together, Bowser and Cherry were sure they could face whatever challenges came their way, bound by their love and the future they were about to build for their family.

[boyyeahright]

ok but the amount of people hating on mixed ppl bc of kendrick’s diss like— my brother in christ you are MISSING THE POINT. he’s not hating on drake for being mixed he’s hating on drake for being so insecure about being biracial that he overcompensates and does weird shit like collect hip hop heirlooms and pretend that he’s a gangster rapper just so he can ”appear more black” while still appealing to his white audience

[dykedvonte]

Why do you think did Curly let Jimmy go before the crash? I've seen the theory Curly briefly thought about crashing too but didn't expect Jimmy to go through with it

I generally believe it was shock and a bit of denial.

It’s the sort of thing where Curly knew Jimmy enough to know he blows up at things but he never would’ve expected him to go through with something so crazy. He gives Jimmy way too much benefit. It’s just his nature and the dynamics he has with Jimmy. They have a stable relationship as friends but it’s stabilized by the unhealthy toxic aspects that keep him in it. He’s like this with Anya, taking the gun is something he really shouldn’t have kept off the record, so is Swansea’s feigned hostility toward Daisuke. He doesn’t want to get people in trouble and doesn’t want to believe anyone would cause trouble other than to themselves. He’s a very lenient man.

I think the words were hollow in his head. Said but not really meant like all the times Jimmy lashes out and says something cruel to him or others. He never means it, if he did why would he still be Curly’s friend? Curly’s head wasn’t in the right space in that moment, he just got through panicking with Anya and if the sound design is anything to go by, was panicked and preoccupied going to confront Jimmy. I mean, the flash of the warning signs before he runs back are identical to the dissociative episode of sort he has when going to talk to Jimmy to do his Psyc eval.

There is this sort of assumption in fanon that Curly was the idealic person for the job and simply failed. None of them were the idealic people to be there, it’s Curly’s entire concern with the ladder he chose. I see more interpretations of him being purposefully ignorant where I see him as just always looking the wrong way or not in a place where he can see it. There’s something different about seeing something than being told about it in the human mind. It may just be the psych student in me but Curly def has some sort of cognitive dissonance just like Jimmy but when it comes to his role as a Captain vs who he is.

They blur in his head to where if you ask him if he was acting as a Captain or a friend or himself to his crew he couldn’t answer. Not with confidence even if he did. There are many times we see that Curly himself is not in the right headspace to lead the Tulpar and that’s outside of anything with Jimmy. He’s spacey, he’s not sleeping, he’s deeply unhappy with himself and life. It’s why there’s believability he crashed the ship. Maybe the others saw it, or maybe Jimmy heard enough of it to spin it in a way that made Curly seem suicidally depressed.

So the tdlr is I think it wasn’t so much letting Jimmy go, more so not seeing the severity of what he was allowing to transpire. In his mind it’s just another one of Jimmy’s bluffs, cruel words, off words but just words. Jimmy rarely ever acts, why would he now? Maybe he’s never seen it because Jimmy hides those actions? Either way, he just never thought he’d really do it.

[vigilskeep]

one thing abt visibly chasind morrigan that’s super interesting is that it makes your ability to ask if flemeth is really her mother actually makes sense when it’s startling how fereldan flemeth looks and dresses when you’re brought there

[chirpsythismorning]

Me explaining that we technically haven’t seen anyone make a deal with god and swap places for someone they love yet and how it perfectly fits into the theory that Mike is gonna be targeted at the start of s5, after they open the season re-contextualizing Will’s connection to vecna from the beginning, leading up to now where Will is going to sacrifice himself to save Mike, essentially giving Vecna what he wants aka Will, with him going back to his Zombie Boy era (kinda like what happens in the comics with Will the Wise) and his sacrifice initiating the time jump we see, with a year passed and them still trying to find him, living the s1 era all over again, with the town convinced Will’s disappearance in 83’ started this towns curse and how full circle it will feel compared to s1 and with everything that’s happened over the seasons that is going to be addressed.