#it'll have around 20 chapters

[thepatchycat]

hellooo! 👋

i hope it as okay to tag you in the WIP game!!! 😅😅 you have so many cool projects underway!!

I would love to hear more about your Defiance series! Side stories and spin offs?! What a world you must be creating! 🤩

thanks and have a lovely day !!☀️

Certainly! :D I don't always respond to tag games, but I do always appreciate being tagged in them. This one especially makes for a nice excuse to ramble about projects, and I'm delighted to talk about Defiance~

I'm pretty sure Defiance (the main fic) is the second fanfiction I've ever worked on in earnest and also my first and only longfic (not counting some sort of journal thing for Pokemon X I think I started many years ago, as I quickly lost interest in that project; otherwise, I hadn't really tried my hand at writing fic until 2020, despite reading it for much longer). Back in early 2021, with far too much time on my hands and having recently finished binge-watching all of The Clone Wars TV show, I felt very strongly that Fives needed to live and everyone deserved a happier ending, so I started planning a fix-it (actually the idea may have begun cooking back even before I finished the show, but February 2021 is apparently when I created the first doc).

It, uh, spiraled a little.

The planning/notes document is currently sitting at 102 pages (~46k words) of loose outline, worldbuilding notes, character notes, media notes, etc. The fic document itself is at 127 pages (~49k words) of stuff ranging from rough outline to fully written chapters and outtakes. There is also a Sheets file with timelines so I can track who is where, and when. The Sidestories doc is for ideas that would probably take place during Defiance but not be part of the more central plot, like bonus side chapters, and the Spin-offs doc is for other fic ideas that would take place in the same universe—some of which have graduated to their own documents. Though I've not been making consistent progress in the actual writing and have a very long way to go, I am lost in this sauce.

Anyway, the general plot of Defiance is as follows: unbeknownst to Palpatine and the general public, a timely intervention saves Fives' life. This allows him to actually explain himself to the Jedi, who along with the clones investigate the chips further and work behind the scenes to prevent Order 66 from happening while trying to figure out how to take down who's behind it. Critically, despite their suspicions they do not have hard evidence of Palpatine's involvement, so most events parallel canon up through ROTS with the investigation/preparation taking place discreetly, until the train hops off the rails to avoid sailing off the cliff.

If you'd like a sneak peak snippet, here's the first page or so of the main fic below the cut!

Something is wrong. The Force is muddled with a constant and indistinct unease, as it has been for years now—moreso on Coruscant than anywhere else, to Shaak Ti's perceptions. Its warnings are difficult to discern with any specificity. Even so, it murmurs them now. And Shaak possesses her own instincts, enhanced by the Force but extant outside her connection to it; these, too, whisper to her that something is wrong, as she watches Knight Skywalker leave the Jedi Temple conference room to find Captain Rex and investigate the situation with Fives. They are the best fit to track him down and the most likely to confront the rogue clone without further violence. Shaak warned Skywalker that Fives has been acting differently without his chip, that he may not be the man they knew—though she herself is reluctant to believe it—and the Knight and Captain are plenty capable of handling themselves. They will be all right. Still, something is wrong in a way she cannot yet define, and so Shaak Ti decides to join the hunt. Since the Jedi have not been asked to search for Fives, she does not contact the Coruscant Guard when she leaves the Temple. Instead she steps out of the building, pulls up the hood of her cloak, and makes for one of the speeder bikes kept at the Temple for general use. It whirs to life under her hands, and she rides to the nearest transportation portal leading down into the undercity. As she descends, passing speeders of all makes and sizes, Shaak Ti considers what she knows. She is well aware of her own struggles in becoming emotionally attached to the clones; her role on Kamino requires her to balance her care for them as people with the need to defend the galaxy. But many of them, such as Domino Squad, inevitably leave an impression. She watched Echo and Fives grow from bickering cadets to determined protectors, some of the best of their brothers. Her belief in their character during their final tests had not been misplaced. And yet, over these past few days Fives repeatedly defied the Kaminoan doctors, removed his chip, claimed something about a conspiracy, then attacked the Chancellor and fled. Shaak cannot deny these facts, and she must not allow personal feelings to cloud the truth. Then there are the Kaminoans. Shaak clashes frequently with their attitudes toward the clones, the way they view them as products rather than sentients. Nala Se’s arguments for terminating Tup and assurance that the chips are not a problem fall in line with her position as a manufacturer. And Shaak is well aware that the Kaminoans have not shared all of their secrets with her, as she is not owed them. But the medical scientist's resistance had been… spirited. None of this paints a clear picture. As they concluded in the meeting back at the Temple, the Jedi need more information. The familiar sound of a military engine hums past, and Shaak turns her head to watch a pair of gunships heading down the portal through one of the military lanes. She swerves out of the civilian traffic and dives after them, further and further below the surface of the city.

[novemberheart]

{overview} you and the boys decide where to go on leave. You sit in on a training session and Simon attempts to make further amends

{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, poly 141, mentions of being horny, slight sexual innuendos

Chapter 18 <- Chapter 19 -> Chapter 20

“Beach?”

“Nah, not too fond of it.”

“Who doesn't like the beach, mate?”

“I’ll go for you peaches.”

“I don't want to go if you don't want to go,” you sighed.

“The beaches here aren't even nice, Bon. Could save a beach trip for the Bahamas or the Mediterranean or something. How about mountains?”

“That's boring.”

“Not asking you city boy.”

“It's almost summer. It'll probably be pretty,” you commented.

“See, our girl likes it. That's all that matters.”

“Lovie, I mean this in the nicest way possible. You don't know what's good for you when it comes to vacation.”

You rolled your eyes as Johnny and Kyle continued to bicker. You still weren't clear if they were putting this much thought into it because they wanted to make it special for you or because they wanted to make it special for them. Either way, you would be a recipient.

“I know!” an idea suddenly popped into your head. They stopped immediately turning their attention to you. John had pointed that out to you a few weeks ago. They had been arguing over some weird fact about koalas when you sniffled. They stopped immediately thinking they had upset you, not taking into account that you were still trying to adjust to the spring air. Ever since then, it's been your little superpower. “What if all of you pick a place, write it down on a piece of paper and we put it into a hat and shake it?” you beamed.

“Not bad, Bonnie.”

“Just can't use Caps hat, it'll ruin the paper.”

“Like yours is any better.”

“You been avoiding me?” you jumped. Simon grunted, skidding his back against the wall so he was sitting on the floor, next to you. He had too much leg for his own good.

“Not purposefully,” you assured, scooting back. “We just haven’t had much luck with our conversations lately.

“Meaning”……

“We’ve been fighting Simon,” you reminded.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours. For being moody.”

“I think you're the moody one.”

“You know”- you cut yourself off. “See,” you grumbled. He chuckled and you quickly caught that he had been pushing your buttons.

“I think you're still a bit upset over what I said that night- the night you overheard me and Johnny talking,” he suggested. “I wouldn't blame you if you were, pup. I still think about it too.”

You hadn’t thought about it like that. His words have been in the back of your mind since it happened. It made the other things he had done or said to you since then seem……fake.

“Do you think I'm useless? Really not worth the trouble all of you are putting in?” You thought about the most recent fight with Simon. He had gotten onto you about causing trouble, again. Maybe he was right. It wasn't like you had improved their life drastically. Sure, they reaped the benefits of your healing, but they could get that with any omega. One that was easy. One that didn't seem to be constantly fucking up.

“Easy, pup,” Simon brought you back down to earth. Even outside the smell of bitter lemons seeped through his mask. “Want the truth?”

You quickly shook your head.

“I want what won't make me cry,” you pleaded.

“You are a lot of work,” Simon admitted. You turned your head away from him. “But good things never come easy to me.”

You gasped your head whipping around.

“Oh, Simon,” you nearly whimpered. You leaned closer to him and wrapped your arms around him as best you could, your head resting against his thigh. “That's the most romantic thing”-

“Let's stop right there.”

You reached your hand into one of John’s beanies, gripping on to a tiny piece of paper and pulling it out.

Scotland

“Johnny, you can't just write Scotland,” you whined. “That's a whole country.”

The others rolled their eyes a little disappointed that their paper hadn't been picked- but the sparkle in Johnny's eyes quickly changed that.

“It's a surprise, Hen. Can't have you lookin’ it up before we get there,” he smiled. Every time he smiled at you like that you just wanted to kiss him. It wasn't fair. You pulled the rest of the papers out taking a peek at each of them.

Cornwall

York

London

You knew Gaz was London, but you couldn't figure out who was who for the other two.

“Where’s Cornwall?” you questioned.

“It's on the beach,” Simon explained. “Said you've never been and it's one of the nicer ones.”

“Well now I feel bad,” Johnny huffed. You giggled, wrapping your arms around his bicep.

“I can't wait to see Scotland,” you assured, making the glint reappear in his eyes. He bent down planting a quick kiss against your lips. “Thank you, Simon. I still want to go one day. And to London and to York,” you added quickly.

“No reason we can't get to all of them,” John smiled, running a hand down your back. “Time to get back to business,” John commanded. They all moved from the stools, grabbing some drinks, snacks and using the bathroom one last time. You smiled, pulling his beanie on your head. It was too stretched out but you didn't care. “Now that's a sight,” John grumbled, rolling the edges up so he could see your eyes. “We have one of the gyms to ourselves today. There's a yoga ball,” he hinted, causing your eyes to go wide.

“I can come?” you beamed.

“Course, only if you keep the hat on,” he whispered, pressing a kiss against your neck. You erupted in a purr before you could stop yourself, jumping at the noise. “Go put some comfy clothes on,” he chuckled at your reaction but found it challenging to pull himself away from you. Especially after you purred so pretty for him.

You had been occupying yourself on the high-tech bicycle when Johnny and Kyle sparring on the mat caught your attention. Now it was all you could focus on. John had called it sparring, but it looked like grinding to you.

You could take a guess as to why they got this room to themselves.

Johnny hissed suddenly, pulling his hand away.

“Bastard bit me,” he growled.

“You stuck your hand in my mouth, mate. That's not in any handbook anywhere,” Kyle smirked. You loved when Kyle was cocky. His normally melted eyes transformed into sharp ones, his lips pursed ever so slightly like he already knew he had won. Johnny sprang forward slamming the other beta onto the mat, the sound making you jump. It didn't seem to have the slightest effect on Kyle, who quickly gripped Johnny's shirt, and used his leg to switch the position so he was on top.

This continued for a few turns neither one of them able to get complete control over the other.

“Think they need someone to show them how it's done?” Simon asked, eyeing John up and down.

“What do you think, pretty girl?” John hummed. Your mouth went dry at the thought.

“That's a good idea…I think I could benefit from a demonstration too,” you faltered, making both of them chuckle.

“Can’t say no to that, ay?” John smiled, clapping his hands. Johnny and Kyle rolled away from each other, low growls still rumbling in their chest. “Cool it. Like feral dogs chasin’ their tails. I know both of you wanted to win to look good to our girl. So next time, win,” he said, patting both of them on the shoulder.

Kyle and Johnny hid their smiles bounding over to where you were. Johnny grabbed you off the bike, sitting down with you so you were between his legs.

“This’ll be good, babygirl,” Kyle chuckled, knowing something you definitely didn't. Johnny squeezed you with his legs, resting back on his hands. You weren't sure how much more you could handle, your mind still reeling from John’s “our girl” comment.

Holy shit.

Your hands gripped onto Johnny’s shorts, the only thing keeping you from floating off into the atmosphere. You had to move to sit on your knees, hoping to catch some distance so you wouldn't leave a wet spot on the floor. It felt cruel actually, making you watch something like this.

Four hundred plus pounds of raw muscle and experience going at it. Arms and legs tangled, the floor practically shaking as they threw each other to the ground. It was violent not in the way Johnny and Kyles had been. If you didn't know any better you would think they were trying to kill each other. Simon groaned as a particularly hard jab was thrown at him. You put a hand against your lips to keep from whimpering at the sound.

God, you were pathetic.

You didn't hide it very well, the sound spurring both of them on. They grunted and growled things in each other's ears, too quiet for you to hear.

“Smell that?” John taunted, his beard scratching against Simon’s mask.

“Don't get too excited, old man. She's all warm for me,” Simon growled. The smell of melted peaches and vanilla in the air was mouth-watering, it vibrated through their bodies as the prehistoric parts of their brains roll over. Their mate was in the room, one that needed providing and protecting. What better way to prove they could be that for you than to beat each other?

Besides it making you needy, it was impressive to watch. Simon’s moves were calculating, he put a lot of thought behind them. John’s moves seemed natural, like this was just a warm-up for him. It also didn't help that they seemed to know what the other was going to do before they did it.

“They’re showing off for you,” Johnny whispered, his nose tickling you behind your ear. The thought made you clench. You weren't sure who was winning, every time one pulled ahead the other one quickly caught up and beat them.

“Does it normally last this long?” You hummed, looking over at Kyle.

“Oh, lovie,” Kyle sighed. “These two can go all night.”

You didn't bother holding back a whimper that time.

John had Simon right where he wanted him. They had thrown each other off the mat, John sandwiching Simon between him and the wall, his arm bent backward in a headlock. Simon tried to get out of it but there was no place to move. The experienced alpha reminding him of his mastery. John knew Simon would never tap out, especially with you there, but all four men knew who won.

“Nice work, Cap!” Kyle and Johnny cheered, clapping. You quickly joined in, although you were too busy watching their chest heave up and down to really care who won.

“Rematch, later?” Simon questioned, patting his alpha on the back. There was only one person in the world he wouldn't mind losing to.

“How about next month,” John chuckled.

“Alright, let's get the pup peeled off the floor and get some food in her,” Simon chuckled, taking in your flushed appearance.

“I don't think she's here with us,” John whispered, looking at your spaced-out eyes.

“I am. Just trying to commit everything to memory,” you whispered, eyes still trained on their twitching muscles.

You yawned your eyes coming up to rub at your eye.

“My turn,” Kyle said, tossing a look at Johnny. The other beta huffed, sliding even further down the couch. Kyle put his arms under your tired frame, carrying you bridal style towards your bedroom.

“I can walk,” you murmured, cuddling your head into his neck.

“What's the fun in that?” He smiled. You thought he was going to your room but he went past it into John’s room. A happy rumble leaves you as the smell of campfire and tobacco hits you. John had been careful to preserve your nest, hoping it would encourage you to wander into his bed. He was lying in bed already, your eyes widening once you realized he was without a shirt. The wide expansion of his chest was covered in dark curly hair that trailed all the way down below the sheets. His body was bulky and strong in his chest and arms but narrowed down around his waist. He was covered in a layer of fat but one slightest movement had his muscles peeking through his skin. Your nails itched to dig into his strong shoulders. His arms flexed as he took you from Kyle, resting you against the part of him you were just drooling over.

You purred gently, pressing yourself against him. The hair was a bit coarser than you thought it would be, but you didn't mind. John matched your purr, his hands smoothing up and down your sides, carefully sliding under your shirt.

“So soft,” he murmured, against your head. His large hands took up your whole back, one resting on your upper the other resting on your lower. You couldn't help but shiver at the callous’ on his fingertips. His palms were a bit smoother- he must wear gloves- but not by much. That was a theme with all of them. Kyle moved one of the walls of your nest, hoping you wouldn't be too upset, and crawled right in next to John. You smiled, your hand already darting out to grip his shirt. One of John's hands left you, to worm its way under Kyle, tugging him even closer. Kyle rested his head on the alpha's shoulder, his hand taking a place on your back as well. Kyle had been fortunate enough to feel your softness many times, but it always made his chest rumble.

Your warming scent reminded John of something he had been meaning to ask you.

“Sweetheart,” he started. “Your heats comin’ up in a few weeks.” around two to be exact. He faltered when he felt you and Kyle stiffen. “Don’t need to discuss it, just wanted you to know I hadn't forgotten. It's all your choice,” he assured, causing you to relax. You said nothing but planted a kiss against his cheek, curling back up against him.

“You take anymore time, we'll leave you here,” Simon shouted from the couch.

“Could help her pack, mate,” Kyle shot him a look, heading towards your room to help.

“Am I always the asshole?” Simon grunted, kicking his feet on the coffee table.

“That's very good self-awareness, Simon,” John chuckled, moving so he was standing in your doorway. John whistled at you causing Simon's head to snap to your door. “You’ll be breakin’ necks, sweetheart,” the alpha chuckled.

Johnny heard from the kitchen weaseling his way into your room. He could hear the Scotsman swallow harshly.

“Deadly, Bonnie, deadly,” he tsked his eyes wracking over your form. You weren’t sure what the big deal was, it was just a skirt with a sweater. Maybe it was the tights you had on underneath? You rolled your eyes beginning to pick up your bag, and all three of them quickly swooped in to grab it. Kyle won, smirking as he flung the duffel over his shoulder.

“See you in the car,” Kyle brushed the two members of his pack off, heading out the door.

“Are you sure no one is going to come here while we’re away?” you asked hesitantly.

“I’m sure, pretty girl. Besides, things like that are for me and Simon to worry about, not you.”

“I would recommend bringing all your undies though, Bon. Wouldn't want anything happening to those,” Johnny said- a little too seriously.

“I think my boring white undies will be fine Johnny. Besides I feel like they’re more at risk if they come with us,” you chuckled.

Hello everyone! Hope you enjoyed this next installment! Chapter 20 (omg) will be posted tomorrow!!!! 🧡

[animasola86]

LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH12

You wake up in bed with Mommy and Daddy, witnessing something very special and ultimately very overwhelming...

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. NSFW! Mommy/Daddy kink. Dd/Md/lg dynamics. Dom/sub undertones. Pet names. Shared bed. Accidental voyeurism. Vaginal sex. Fluff. Frottage. Face-sitting. Cunnilingus. Overstimulation. Anxiety attack. Hurt/comfort. Little girl treatment. More fluff. (More notes under the cut!)

WORDS: 7.5k 🔷️ READ ON AO3 🔷️1–2–3–4–5–6 7–8–9–10–11–12

A/N: ADDITIONAL WARNING: There will be a heavy dose of Angst after the smut of the first half of the chapter. Beware. But don't worry, it'll end in comfort. This is a fluffy story after all. RECAP: Reader (we call her Pumpkin) is in her 20s, has hair and female genitalia, suffers from depression and anxiety, and has agreed to become the little girl/submissive to a couple she's supposed to call Mommy and Daddy, who are in their early/late thirties.

Chapter 11 🔷️ Chapter 12 🔷️

You woke up to a slight bounce to the bed, soft breaths in your ear, and a rhythmic slapping of some sort. Blinking your eyes open, you realized you were curled up, snuggled against a warm torso, a big hand resting on your hip, and the first thing you saw was Mommy.

She was straddling Daddy, sitting upright, her body arched and undulating, head tilted up, long hair cascading down her back, her breasts jiggling sensually with every up and down motion. For a moment you were mesmerized, wondering if you were dreaming.

“She's beautiful, isn't she?” you then heard Daddy's soft voice, and you uncurled a little to raise your head. He was smiling at you when you met his gaze, the dim light of the bedside table lamp casting deep shadows onto his face. “Hey pumpkin. Slept well?”

Why was he so casual while Mommy was riding him? Then again, she looked so relaxed while doing so, eyes closed, lips parted slightly, the way she moved on top of him looked almost like a dance. Lascivious waves to her body, her hips grinding into him, arms propped up behind her, holding onto his knees. You stared at her, at her smooth mound swallowing up Daddy's cock with every downward slam of her pelvis.

You felt your own cunt clenching at the sight, it might have been the most erotic thing you'd ever seen. After whatever happened in the shower last night.

Daddy's hand rubbed over your side, a gentle pressure, warmth, a soothing touch, and you snuggled closer to him until he pulled you up and against him even more, so your breasts were squished against his shoulder, your face almost in line with his. You turned your head to him, finding him watching you instead of the woman riding his cock.

“You okay?” he whispered. You nodded, biting your bottom lip as you looked back at Mommy, your eyes raking along Daddy's body as you did so. He just lay there, relaxed, unmoving, letting her do her thing, there was just the tiniest twitch to his abdomen every time Mommy's hips slammed into his.

The longer you watched Mommy the more the frown on your face deepened. “Is she asleep?” you murmured quietly.

A little chuckle rolled through Daddy's chest. “No, well, not really. She can fuck herself into a trance sometimes. Where she's completely lost in the pleasure of it. She does that sometimes, mostly at night. It's a nice view though, isn't it? And a nice thing to wake up to...”

His arm curled around your shoulders, his hand gently caressing your cheek as he looked at you. You pried your eyes away from Mommy's undulating body to look into his handsome face. Heat flooded your own at the sight. He nudged your chin, and you leaned in more, brushing your nose against his beard, inhaling deeply. Your hand snaked up his chest when you shifted against him.

He hummed softly when your lips met his, then gave a hungry little growl when he pulled you closer, grabbing your chin, guiding the kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed as you let his tongue into your mouth, your own movements still sleepier than you anticipated. His other hand came forth and grabbed your arm, pulling you up a little to allow his lips to wander along your jaw, down your neck, teasing at your pulse before he started sucking at your collarbone.

You squirmed a little, breathing harder, your lips tingling, your body waking up more and more under his ministrations. He was still mostly flat on his back, head lifted by a pillow (while Mommy was still grinding against him, her movements slower, a sensual dance on top of his cock), and when he pulled you closer, you were almost kneeling by his side, bending over, your breasts in line with his face. Your hand found his shoulder to steady yourself as you looked down at him, your chest rising and falling faster.

Before you could do or say anything, you felt his warm lips brushing between your soft mounds, peppering the small slopes with kisses, his beard tickling your skin, an unfamiliar sensation that sent shivers down your spine, a gentle tension building up in your core. You watched him with your cheeks burning up, how he closed his eyes and focused solely on your breasts, lips rubbing, teeth teasing, tongue licking, and when he eventually sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, you keened quietly, arching your back to press your chest firmer into his face.

He held you tighter, his tongue flicking against your pert bud, as he kept suckling softly, little groans slipping past his lips. It was a mesmerizing sight and an even more intriguing feeling, made even better when he moved one of his big hands to pay attention to your other breast, gentle gropes and deep kneading, his palm scraping over your hard nipple before he rolled it between his fingers, pinching it slightly.

You shivered under the ministrations, leaning into him, your eyes getting heavy even though you wanted to keep watching him, as well as Mommy undulating against his hips, her breasts swaying so tantalizingly with every movement. You couldn't even describe how you felt about this unusual scene, it was like nothing you'd ever experienced before. It was warm and comforting, Daddy's mouth on your breast, Mommy's trance-like show, three bodies melting into one. Your head was completely empty, and it felt so, so good.

Inhaling deeply, you pushed your chest into Daddy's face, and he let go of your nipple with a wet pop, looking up at you with a soft smile, licking his lips. You smiled back shyly, one of your hands moving up to brush a stray lock of his hair out of his forehead. He was so handsome, so gentle looking, so warm. His eyes remained on you as he leaned in to close his lips around the other breast, giving it the same treatment, tongue swirling around your nipple, teeth grazing your soft skin, your flesh sucked into his mouth.

You moaned softly, holding his gaze, your fingers slipping deeper into his hair. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer. It felt like a dream. So soft, relaxing, but at the same time it fueled the fire burning low in your guts, making your unattended core clench. Suddenly you had the idea to move your hand down between your legs and take care of it yourself, but that little ounce of shame still lingering in the back of your mind kept you from doing so.

It was one thing to let things happen, let Daddy suckle on your boobs, to have Mommy put her fingers into your cunt, to curl your hand around Daddy's cock guided by his own, but to do something all by yourself, with yourself, it didn't feel right. And like Daddy said, it was his and Mommy's job to bring you pleasure, and you were okay with that. It got easier and easier to turn your brain off and focus on them.

And luckily, they focused on you just the same, reading you and your emotions as if they'd known you for way longer. You only had to meet Daddy's gaze as he teased your pert nipple with his tongue before he leaned back, hooking his hand under your thigh.

“Come sit on me, pumpkin,” he whispered, nudging your leg. You blinked at him, a little dazed, then looked back to Mommy, only to find her sitting still on Daddy's cock, watching you with a soft smile.

You weren't completely sure what they wanted to do, and you were confused by the set-up, but you still moved one of your legs over Daddy's torso and gingerly sat down on his stomach, leaning more on your knees to keep your weight off him. Mommy moved behind you, her hands snaking around your sides until she grabbed your breasts, continuing what Daddy had started.

His fingers inched up your thighs, rubbing gentle circles, his large hands spanning over your legs, until he grabbed your waist and pushed you down more, so you sat fully on his hard body, your legs spread wide, and naked as you were, your cunt was on full display to him.

But somehow you didn't mind, didn't feel the usual sting of shame. You were mesmerized by his dark eyes, by how gentle Mommy was massaging your breasts, how his warmth seeped into your body, making your clit tingle and your core clench.

He held you tightly, making it impossible to move away, but you didn't want to anyway. Behind you, Mommy started grinding into Daddy again, her hands on your breasts used as leverage as you felt her bouncing up and down, her body arched into yours, her legs bracketed around your own, her hard nipples brushing along your back, sending cold shivers down your spine. You let them move you, Mommy rubbing against you, Daddy guiding your hips to make you rub against him.

You felt his shifting muscles against your labia, your clit catching on the ridges of his abdomen with every backwards push. Your head was spinning, Mommy's moans loud in your ear, those lewd sounds of slapping skin and squelching wetness surrounding you like a warm cloud that slowly seeped into your skin, silencing anything else.

“Go... sit on... Daddy's face... mi amor,” Mommy breathed behind you, her rough bouncing and grinding getting to her, her fingers now really digging into your breasts. Her words didn't make sense to you, so you looked at Daddy, who had shifted beneath you slightly, watching you with an intensity in his eyes that made you even more dizzy.

“You heard her, pumpkin,” he said quietly. “Come on, it's okay, come closer.” With his hands still on your waist, he pulled you towards him, up on his chest. Mommy let go of you, her fingers brushing against your back, giving you a gentle nudge.

“I... I don't know...” you murmured, awkwardly hovering over him, your cunt already so close to his face the shame simmering inside you burnt up after all.

“It's okay,” he soothed, his hands moving around your rear. “Sit up, place your knees on either side of my head and sit down. I want to taste you, pumpkin, make you feel good.”

“But... I... I don't want to... hurt you...” you gasped as you nonetheless followed his instructions. “Can you... still breathe... when I do this?”

He laughed softly, arranging you on top of him, his arms curling around your legs, hands holding you open. “I will, don't worry. You won't hurt me.”

And then he pulled you down, your cunt pressing right against his mouth, his nose prodding your clit, and his beard... You moaned softly as the tickling sensation crashed over you like a wave of ice-cold water, pebbling your skin, your entire body shivering under the experience. For a moment he leaned into it, rubbing his facial hair along your inner thighs, left and right, then back against your labia, those soft scratching sounds only adding to the tension in your lower body.

You braced your hands on the metal headboard of the bed, looking down at what he was doing, trying to keep it together with your heart racing and pleasure fighting with embarrassment. But as soon as his tongue dipped between your lower lips, you lost it, the warmth of his breath and touch sending shock waves straight into your core, drowning out anything else.

“Oh God,” you gasped out, unconsciously bucking your hips into his face. He groaned against you, his low voice a deep vibration through your body that enhanced the overall feeling of beautiful weightlessness.

“Call me Daddy,” he muttered against you, and you were sure you could feel him smirking as he pressed his face firmer against your cunt.

Somewhere behind you, you heard an exasperated snicker. You had no idea what Mommy was doing at this point, and frankly, you didn't care, as long as Daddy kept his attention on sucking and licking and nibbling at your center. That was all you could focus on, how his tongue moved along your slit, lapping up your wetness, his lips brushing against your soft skin, his nose poking at your clit, and the constant prickle of his beard an added bonus to it all.

You felt your arms shaking from how you clenched your hands around the metal frame, your thighs twitching against his face, the need to close them growing stronger, but his hands kept them wide open, a bruising grip, but without it you probably would have suffocated him by now.

Little whines and mewls escaped you as you threw your head back, lips parted, eyes rolling back, your body aflame with tingling sensations that made it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to function. Whatever he was doing, he was doing so well, you never wanted him to stop. It felt like nothing you'd felt before, different from that random girl eating your cunt in the cafe, different from Mommy burying her face between your legs in the shower, it might have been the beard, but also the way he moved his tongue.

You had no idea that muscle could even do whatever he was doing, but you felt it, somehow, dipping deep between your clenching walls, licking as far as he could reach, his mouth practically suctioned to your weeping hole. And while you should have been mortified at the notion, you weren't, you were enjoying it, leaning into it, bucking more and more desperately against his face, wanting more.

And he gave you more, quickening the swipes of his tongue, nudging his nose harder into your clit, turning his head slightly to rub his beard against your skin. You were writhing, panting on top of him, humping his face like you'd humped his groin before. His hands dug into your legs, battling the increasingly wilder twitching of your thighs, but it all exploded when he tilted his head and focused all his attention on your throbbing clit.

Suddenly his mouth was on it, tongue flicking, licking, prodding, and he was sucking, hard, harder, and you wailed, convulsing against him, barely able to stay upright. Only a few seconds later and you came, spasming, crying out, hips stuttering, lights dancing behind your eyelids. It was like a punch to the gut, a sudden shock, a scorching wave that slowly spread through your entire body, tingling and thrumming all the way into your curling toes.

He held you and kept lapping at your slit, slowly easing you down. And you were boneless, a heap of limbs on top of him, eyes closed, mouth open, not caring about the bit of drool dripping down your chin. Somehow he moved you away from his face, made you lie down on his chest, your head nestled against his, his hand on your cheek, turning it, his lips, covered in your juices, brushing against yours.

“My good girl,” he cooed, wrapping his arms around your shivering body. “So sweet, so beautiful...”

With how you slid down his torso, your rear was bumping into where Mommy was still sitting on Daddy's cock. You'd think (if you could) she would be annoyed by how you snaked your way into her special time with Daddy (though it had been her idea, hadn't it?), but she had waited, seemingly, watching you come undone, for now she was moving again, her hands holding onto your waist, as she started grinding once more.

Daddy groaned into your ear, cuddling you as Mommy rode him, and her rhythmic bounces and the steady snaps of her hips made you feel as if you were being fucked as well. But you were just a pile of flesh and bones, wild hair all around you, unable to move, your core still throbbing from the orgasm Daddy had licked out of you.

As Mommy's noises grew louder, you felt him bucking his hips up, moving with her, a wild dance on the bed, a tango of limbs, bucking, bouncing, grinding, slamming, up and down, back and forth, their movements faster and harder, and you felt them all, like echoes undulating through your body. You wished you could watch them from a better angle, see their bodies shift against each other, see how Daddy's cock pummeled Mommy's cunt, see his muscles shifting and her boobs bounce.

But you could imagine it, and it was enough to make you whimper softly as they finally reached their climaxes, Mommy first, moaning out loudly, her last slam down onto Daddy's hips making him spasm and grunt, and he held you tighter as he shivered, his pelvis jerking up against you and Mommy as he emptied his balls into her.

One day, you hoped, he'd do the same to you.

Mommy eased her death grip on your waist and leaned in, shifting on top of Daddy before she lay down on your back, fully sandwiching you between her soft breasts and Daddy's hard body. He opened his arms and invited her in too, holding you both, a pile of warm bodies, all of you breathing harder, hearts beating rapidly against each other.

Inhaling deeply, filling your nostrils with the scent of sex, you snuggled against them, a soft smile grazing your lips as you felt yourself drifting into the pleasant void of sleep, a last half-baked thought in your empty mind:

This is your life now. Days and weeks and months of this with Mommy and Daddy and you. And it will be a good life.

That thought didn't quite make it through the depths of your dreams, though. When you woke up, you felt heavy, and cold. You were alone in the large bed, you could tell. Snuggled into the covers, but it was still cold. And then, as sudden as a lightning bolt hitting a tree with all of its destructive force, the doubts came crashing back as you remembered what happened last night. The days before. Ever since you agreed to live here.

It had been too much.

You knew you were supposed to be distracted by it all, but your mind was never fully empty, maybe in the moment, but as soon as you got back into the clear thinking stage, the darkness crept up again. Between wanting things you shouldn't want and the crippling inability to ask for anything and knowing you didn't deserve any of it anyway, you found yourself spiraling deeper and deeper, and in the end the biggest emotion was shame.

The things you did, the things you saw, the things that happened. It was wrong (it felt right), no, it was wrong! You barely knew these people but they'd seen parts of you, sides of you, moments of you, that you would have never shared with anyone like this, hadn't shared with anyone in a very long time. Why would anyone want to see that? What was wrong with them for accepting you so easily? What did they really want from you?

You were probably just a body to them, a means to get off, to fulfill their sick little dreams with sick little games. They didn't care about you. You were a toy to play with, a doll to dress, a puppet to manipulate. Nothing more. You couldn't be. And why would you deserve to be treated like anything more? You were a failure, deep down you knew that, and your mind kept reminding you as well, whenever it got the chance, and no hug, no kiss, no gentle word could change that.

There was no comfort in letting it happen.

You were deep in thought, sniffling pathetically under the covers, curled up into a ball, shivering under the weight of your anxiety, when you felt a warm hand on your hip, a soft voice following the touch.

“Wake up, pumpkin,” you heard Daddy say. No. Noah. The man's name was Noah, you shouldn't call him Daddy. He was just another man that slipped through your life, only to leave again, like all those men your mother dragged into your home. Like your own father who left you when things got too stressful.

You held your breath, pretending to be asleep. He only shook you more, gentle but firm, until he dug a hand into the covers and tried to pull them away. You whined out when he did, and he stopped, the mattress dipping when he sat down beside you.

“What's wrong, baby girl?” he whispered, his hand still on your side, warm and somewhat comforting, but also burning and teetering on the edge of irritating. You couldn't decide. It was too much. “Are you in pain?” he asked, and you swallowed hard, burying your wet face in the pillow.

You couldn't even describe how you felt, it was as if you were caught in a dark room and somehow the walls kept closing in on you, making it harder and harder to breathe.

“Baby, talk to me,” he kept going, his voice a low drone at the edge of your hearing, present but also not. “Pumpkin...” His hands tried again to reach you in your cocoon of blankets. You felt them warm and strong, as they slipped around your arms, slowly pulling you up and out.

But you curled up more, trying to get away from him, not even feeling the hot tears as they spilled over your lashes. Your heart was racing, your entire body shivering, feeling cold and tingly, your face was particularly numb.

“You gotta tell me what's wrong, baby, or I can't make it better...” He didn't give up, kept his hands on you, rubbed over your arms, your sides, your legs, but the touch couldn't get rid of the chill settling under your skin.

You couldn't tell him what was wrong, you had no words for it, and the worst thing: you couldn't look at him. Not into the face that had been between your legs, so intimate, so close. It had felt good, but looking back you were so embarrassed, how could you ever look at him again? At this handsome man who for some reason wouldn't leave you alone...

And then he pulled you up and into his arms, you were just a bundle of limbs and hair, covered in tears and cold sweat, but as soon as he pressed you to his chest, settled you on his lap, his arms tight around you, you could breathe a bit better again, only just, but more than before.

You rasped against him, unable to fight, at least not him, but you did try to push those clouds away, more and more, the longer you felt his warmth and strength, his breath on your neck as he curled in with you, holding you, one hand on the back of your head, the other heavy on your lower back, arms crossed over your shaking body.

He hummed against you, shushing your stifled sobs, gently rocking you back and forth, and the motion calmed you, his closeness eased the shudders, your mind turned the volume of those nagging thoughts down; they didn't disappear, but they were pushed into the back again, slowly, bit by bit. And you could breathe, in and out, a deep inhale, his scent filling your nostrils, a familiar and relaxing scent, then a long exhale, letting out all the darkness, breathing it right into his shirt.

You didn't know how long he sat with you like that, but eventually you had calmed down enough to tilt your head and sneak a peek at his face, through your blurry vision, but you could still see the soft smile on his face, the gentle twinkle in his dark eyes, the hint of a dimple on his bearded cheek. You snuggled into him, leaning your cheek against his shoulder, looking up, forcing yourself to find solace in the way he looked at you.

He rubbed his hand up and down your back. “You're alright, pumpkin,” he whispered, his low voice a gentle hum through your head. “Everything will be just fine. Daddy's got you.”

His soothing words should have done just that, soothe you, but instead you felt another wave of dread. Daddy. The name echoed through your head, bounced around like something pointy, poking painfully at your mushy brain. It was wrong.

And you wondered how you could have called him that before, how easy it had been to repeat. It shouldn't have been. You had been overwhelmed and confused, in a different way than you were now, you had clung to that name as if it had been a lifesaving anchor, but now the same anchor weighed you down more and more, and with another sob, you buried your face in his chest, hiding away.

“Oh baby girl,” he cooed softly, a sigh leaving his lips. He waited another moment, just holding you, letting you sob and cry into his shirt, your body trembling against his, wrecked by anxiety-fueled twitches that made your toes and fingers tingle, in the bad way. And in the midst of your struggles, he stood up, lifting you effortlessly, cradling you in his arms as he carried you away.

You didn't know where to, you couldn't see anything with how you had pressed your face to his chest, and somehow you didn't care either, you just... let it happen. He walked for quite a bit, before he finally set you down, his hands holding you, shifting your hips, moving along your sides, making you sit up straighter, before they cupped your face and tilted your head up, urging you to look at him.

You blinked your eyes into focus, feeling cold and numb and lifeless, a wobble to your lips that he tried to rub away with his thumbs. “Come back to me, pumpkin,” he whispered, bringing his face closer to yours, his warm breath ghosting your wet skin. “I know you can. Focus on me, okay? Look at me,” he added as your eyes wandered to the side, only to snap back to his when he asked for it (demanded it). You blinked, more tears rolling down your cheeks, caught by his large hands.

You inhaled deeply, watching him, slowly getting lost in his dark eyes, worry etched around them, deep creases lining his forehead. You focused on him, noticing the short dark lashes, the thick eyebrows, the slant of them, the straight nose, his lips (warm lips, brushing against yours, kissing you softly), the way his beard filled out the rest of his face, spanning over his strong jaw, thick but trimmed, a few lighter hairs between the dark ones, thicker above his upper lip, not as thick and filled out under his bottom lip, letting his tanned skin shine through, smoother down his neck, shaved (the scratch of it against your inner thighs, the roughness under your fingertips, the tingles it created).

You took another deep breath, looking back up into his eyes, your tears drying under your own the longer you stared at him, unblinking. The creases on his face shifted, forehead relaxing, little crow's feet appearing in the corners of his eyes as his lips morphed into a smile. You felt your own twitching, numb as they were, but the blood pooled back into them, into your cheeks, slowly fighting the chills under your skin.

One more long inhale, filling out the last inches of your lungs, your chest rising, until the tingles vanished. Your fingers itched, curling and straightening on your legs (naked legs, naked everything, completely bare in front of him). He stood before you (fully clothed), your knees pointed to the side, thighs clenched together, stomach fluttering. His hands moved from your warm face down your shoulders, along your arms, before they rested beside you, the hint of them, warmth radiating off them, next to your hips.

You closed your eyes, breathed in and out, in and out, then opened them again. He was still smiling at you. So warm, gentle, caring. He cared. He had to. Why else would he take his precious time and spend it trying to calm you down? He cared about you. It didn't matter that you barely knew him, that he barely knew you. He cared, and you wanted him to care. Wanted him to touch you, hug you, hold you, kiss you, fuck you...

You almost choked on your own spit as you looked away quickly, blinking the last tears away. You were tempted to roll your eyes at yourself, at the way your mind went from EVERYTHING IS BAD AND NOBODY LIKES YOU to OMG I NEED HIM TO FUCK MY BRAINS OUT. It was ridiculous. But it was better than sulking and sobbing and drowning in your own darkness. You heaved a deep sigh, cleared your throat, looked back at him.

Amusement curled his lips, twinkled in his eyes. He reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You're back,” he simply said, and you were glad he didn't ask you if you were okay or what happened, you couldn't have answered him. But you could make the corner of your lips rise a little, and it was enough for him to lean down and press his lips to your smirk.

Then he moved back and opened the cabinet behind the mirror. You realized that you were sitting on the vanity of a bathroom, your bathroom, because he was pulling out your toothbrush, the pink one they had given you on your first day. You watched him put it under the running water of the faucet, then put toothpaste on it and put it under the water again. Turning it off, he braced his arm next to you and held the toothbrush closer.

“Open up,” he said, tilting his head.

You frowned, but opened your mouth. And then he started brushing your teeth, holding your jaw to move your head, applying a little too much pressure, but that wasn't what irked you.

“Ca' do'it 'yself,” you tried to voice past the foamy stick in your mouth.

He paused, raising an eyebrow. “Can you?” he asked.

You felt your cheeks burning up badly. A few remaining doubts came back. Of course you can't, you're useless, let him do it if he wants to. But then you nodded, staring at him, ignoring the voices.

And he smiled, nodded as well, and pulled your hand up to let you grab the toothbrush. You continued moving it over your teeth, watching him as he watched you.

“Good girl, of course you can,” he said, rubbing your warm cheek before he stepped away. He left the bathroom then, left you to your own devices, and you focused on brushing your teeth, a mundane task but it helped you in pushing those thoughts away again.

Once you were done, you hopped off the vanity, spit into the sink and cleaned the brush and your mouth with water. Putting it back (having to lean on your toes to reach the cabinet), you then turned to the open door, watching him rummage through your closet. Before you could follow him into your bedroom, he came back with a bunch of clothes draped over his arm.

He put them onto a towel rack next to the vanity, giving you a long look. You felt warm, a few cold shivers crashing down your limbs, exposed as you were. He grinned at you, then stepped in and grabbed your waist, easily putting you back on the counter. You didn't protest.

But you started squirming after he'd put these white frilly socks on your feet (the ones you'd never have worn on your own, too girly, too childish almost, but he seemed to like them). It was when he pulled a pair of white panties up your legs (cute ones, with pink bows and ribbons on them), and you had to lift your hips to allow him to pull them on fully, that you froze up, stiffened, parted your lips to say something to make him stop.

He did stop, in a way, grabbed your waist again, set you down on the cold tiles. Pulling your panties up all the way, he paused again, his large hands on your hips as he leaned over you.

“Listen to me, pumpkin,” he said, his voice a little bit more serious, lower, darker. “I am well aware that you are a grown woman, a young woman who is able to do this all by herself. You are not a helpless little girl who can't do anything, but you are my little girl. You agreed to this, remember? It may feel weird at times, but it really isn't, it's all natural, baby girl, okay? I'm not doing this to humiliate you, to belittle you, I want to do this to help you, I want to pamper you, treat you like the princess you are for me. So let me dress you, let me brush your hair, let me handle you and carry you and move you around. Let me touch you and kiss you and... let me make you feel good. Let it happen,” he added, stressing the words by leaning even closer, his eyes boring into yours. “Let me help you turn those doubts off, focus on me. It'll make me happy too, pumpkin, when you allow me this one thing. It will help you, I promise. Just let it happen.”

You listened intently, focusing on him, soaking up every word, his deep voice vibrating through you, easing the shivers, fighting the darkness. A shuddering breath escaped you, your heart beating faster, your mind unusually quiet. “Okay,” you whispered, licking your lips, another word resting heavy on your tongue. You swallowed around it, then added: “Daddy.”

He smiled at you, his hands back on your cheeks before he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, inhaling sharply. “My good girl,” he rasped, peppering your face with quick kisses then returned to your mouth. You parted your lips in anticipation, and he took the chance, his tongue meeting yours in a desperate little dance that you sank into with fervor, wanting nothing more than to dissipate into his touches, his warmth, his strength, letting go completely.

After the kiss, he pulled his arms around you and hugged you tightly, squeezing the remnants of your anxiety right out of you. You breathed freer now, easier, and there was only him. You let him dress you (he put a soft white cotton bra on you, pulled a black shirt with a large white fuzzy cat on it over your head, struggled to wiggle you into a pair of comfy shorts), then he guided you out of the bathroom and down into the kitchen. You followed, squeezing his hand, focused on breathing and on him.

There was a plate set up on the kitchen island, knife, fork, a tall glass full of orange juice next to a large stack of pancakes kept warm by one of those fancy glass domes. Daddy slipped onto one of the high stools lining one side of the island, shifting back enough to allow you to find a place on his lap.

For him it seemed second nature to simply grab your waist and pull you up, arranging you on his leg, one arm around you, the other focused on lifting the dome and putting a pancake onto the plate. For you it still felt a little weird, but you started to accept it again. Because it made him happy, and if he was happy, you were happy, right?

And his thigh was surprisingly comfortable, hard but warm, and you could snuggle into him, your shoulder pressed to his chest, his big hand curled around your side. You turned your head to look at him, smiling shyly, and he grinned wider, and then, he was feeding you. And you let it happen.

It was fluffy and sweet, the pancake and the gesture. Your mind gave a few more stabs but you ignored it, focused on Daddy, on his crinkling eyes when he put the fork to your lips and you opened your mouth and took the piece he was offering. He watched you chew, then prepared another bite, until you had finished at least two whole pancakes. In between he'd feed you the loose blueberries strewn about the plate, and sometimes he'd tilt his head down and snatch one of them right out of your mouth with a deep kiss.

Then he handed you the juice and you drank almost half of it in one go, parched as you were. He rubbed his hand along your hip, his eyes always on you. And you felt warm, safe, taken care of. It felt right again. You put the glass down and watched him, licking your lips.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you whispered in the end, and he smiled at you.

“Of course, pumpkin. Always. I am here for you. Even if you can't find the words. I am always here for you, and if you need me and can't ask for it, you just come to me and hug me, okay? And we'll figure it out together, yeah?”

You nodded, smiling back before bowing your head and burying your face in his shoulder, one arm snaking around him. He kissed the top of your head and held you a bit tighter. For a long moment you sat like that, snuggled against him, the smells of pancakes and him mixing in your nostrils.

“Did you make these pancakes, Daddy?” you whispered after a while, turning your head to look at the still steaming stack.

He gave a short laugh. “No, our chef, Greta, made them. She told me how to keep them warm though. I can do a lot, pumpkin, but I cannot cook, or bake.”

“Hmm,” you hummed softly, your hand gliding down his arm until you closed your fingers around his wrist and pulled his hand into your lap. “Maybe we could learn together?”

He tilted his head, watching you as you slipped your small fingers between his long ones. “We could, if you'd like that.”

“I'd like that,” you murmured, before you blinked and looked up, meeting his gaze. “Daddy, I want to... uh... do something too, like, give back, do something to – Well, you and Mommy let me stay here, you give me food, and clothes, and all these... other things, and I just... I need to give back, maybe I can do something that's useful... like clean or... try to cook... or –”

“Pumpkin,” he stopped you, pulling his hand away from yours to grab your chin. “You don't have to do anything to justify your stay here. Besides, you are doing so much already. Just sitting here with me, spending time with me, letting me feed you and do all those things, that is enough. And we already have someone who cleans and cooks, but if you like to feel useful, maybe you can ask them if you could help them, but it really isn't necessary, baby girl. That's not part of our arrangement, hm?”

Your arrangement. To be their submissive, their little girl. To be theirs... to use? No, to pamper. To guide. To take care of. To make you feel good and to make them feel good. It was unusual, very much so, but maybe you could get used to it.

“And if you ever get bored of us or just want to do something if we're not here, we can turn one of our spare rooms into your hobby room, how does that sound?” he offered, rubbing his thumb along your chin. Your lips parted, something warm and bubbly settling in your stomach.

“That sounds great, Daddy,” you breathed excitedly. “A whole room for myself?”

He laughed. “Another room for yourself. One to sleep and one to pass the time. Whatever you like. Any hobby you can think of. Just ask, okay? We want you to feel comfortable here, to find yourself again. This is your new home, remember?” he added, cupping your face and bringing his lips to your temple.

You nodded, smiling at him, a real happy smile that warmed your entire body and ached in your cheeks. He smiled back, pulling you against him. “Thank you,” you murmured into him, your arms tight around his waist.

“You're welcome, pumpkin, anything for my little girl,” he whispered, resting his chin on top of your head.

“Daddy?” you asked after another comfortable moment in his arms.

“Hmm?” he hummed in response.

“Can I... uh... can I ask you something and you won't get mad?”

He leaned you back, looking at you with a frown. “You can ask me anything, I will never get mad at you, baby girl. What makes you say that?”

“Well, I... I asked Mommy once where you were, and she... she reacted a little weirdly, and I thought... I shouldn't ask about you when I'm with her, and maybe you don't like it either if I ask about her when I am with you, and so –”

He heaved a deep sigh while you were still rambling. “Oh pumpkin,” he said with a smirk before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips to shut you up. “Mommy is... well, a complex person, if you want to call it that. As I said, it was her idea to look for a little girl, you know? She really wanted to be a caregiver, but I think she is still getting to terms with properly sharing you. That hasn't been in her nature before, not like this, she is used to getting what she wants, and she wants you, baby, but she has to learn to share you with me, that's part of our agreement. And she will, I'm sure, we'll just have to give her time. This is new to all of us.

“So, maybe she was a little irritated, but that's nothing you should worry about, okay? You should always be able to ask anything you want, either of us, no matter if you think it's weird or if it might make the other mad or whatever. There are no stupid questions,” he stressed, playfully booping the tip of your nose. “And if you want to ask me about Mommy, you ask me about Mommy, understood?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you whispered, biting your lip.

“So?”

You scrunched your nose. “Well, I was wondering where she is...” you started quietly, before quickly adding: “And that doesn't mean I don't want to be with you, I'm just curious and –”

He shook his head with another laugh, kissing your cheek. “She's at the office, pumpkin. She'll be back for dinner. And you know, she asked me to tell you that she really enjoyed our time together last night, me too, by the way. It was a great idea, to make sure she was fine, hm? Did you like it too?”

Heat crashed into your cheeks when you nodded. “It was... something,” you whispered, giving him a shy smirk before looking away. “Nothing I've ever experienced...”

“And it's just the beginning, baby girl,” he rasped as he leaned closer, nuzzling your jaw. “Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathed softly, snuggling into him. He hugged you closer, his lips brushing against yours.

“Are you comfortable with me, pumpkin?”

No hesitation. “Yes.”

“And with Mommy?”

“Yes.” Quick again.

And you were. It was all new to you, but you still felt safe with them. They might nudge you out of your comfort zone more often than you were accustomed to, but they never forced you, never made you do anything you didn't want. You wanted them, to hold you, to kiss you, to touch you, to...

You were sure you'd still have the occasional anxiety attack, wondering why these gorgeous people would do these things with someone like you, but you also knew that Daddy was there for you, and Mommy too. You believed them in wanting to help you. They did it in their own way, but it was help nonetheless.

“I'm glad, baby,” he whispered softly, his arms tight around you, his beard scratching against your cheek. “You really are the perfect little girl for us...”

You shifted on his lap, tucking your feet under his thigh and wrapping your arms around his neck, facing him for a moment before you tilted your head and pressed your lips to his. He gave a soft chuckle and quickly deepened the kiss, his hands roaming over your back.

“And you're the perfect Daddy,” you whispered in one of the rare moments where you came up for air. You felt his smile against your lips, saw the twinkle in his eyes, how the creases deepened around them.

“I'm the only Daddy you'll ever need, pumpkin.”

Chapter 11 🔷️ Chapter 12 🔷️

End notes: BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE!

Well, there will be, in the near future! I am not done with Daddy, Mommy and Pumpkin yet. I still have so many things I want Pumpkin to experience (like her first time with Daddy, or how Mommy teaches her the joys of toys, and so many more depraved little instances she'll absolutely love I'm sure XD), also I finally want to show the real Mommy and Daddy energy, more than we've seen in the last chapters, the real deal, you know what I mean.

So, please, stay tuned, follow along if you like, and keep your eyes open for new updates soon!

While you wait, remember that I have more (smut) stories:

INFATUATED (tumblr/AO3)

ABANDONED (tumblr/AO3)

FORGETFUL (tumblr/AO3)

Thank you for reading! It's been a bumpy ride so far, but I appreciate every single one of you who read and liked and supported my little original fiction! See you soon!

MASTERLIST 🔷️ AO3 🔷️ ORIGINAL WORKS

[pbaz7]

It'll Always Be Her Chapter 10

AN: Here's the next chapter of the series! It's looking like the series will probably be about 19 or 20 chapters depending on how much detail I decide to add in the end. As always leave a comment or live reaction if you can as it helps me with little details to add to make the story more detailed. I also might do a double post today if enough people see this in time.

TW: Uncomfortable fan encounters, boundary-crossing behavior

Word Count: 3.8k

Paige was always sexy, Azzi couldn’t deny that, but tonight? Tonight, she was downright irresistible. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose bun, stray strands framing her face, and her clear glasses perched on her nose in that effortlessly casual way that somehow made her look even better. The grey sweats she wore sat low on her hips, just enough to tease, and the hoodie she’d thrown on only added to her laid-back charm.

The team had decided to catch one of UConn’s football games, but Paige’s presence alone was enough to steal the show. As soon as they arrived, fans swarmed her. Being the sweet, down-to-earth person she was, Paige smiled patiently, taking selfies, signing autographs, and chatting with everyone who approached.

Azzi stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching the whole thing unfold. She’d gotten her fair share of attention from fans too, but it was nothing compared to the mob around Paige. It wasn’t just her talent that drew people in; it was her warmth, her openness. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride—and a whole lot of possessiveness. However, Azzi’s irritation flared when she noticed a group of girls who had been tailing Paige all night, giggling and snapping pictures. They lingered far too long, invading her space, their hands brushing against Paige in ways Azzi didn’t appreciate

Azzi’s jaw clenched as she watched one girl, in particular, sidle up to Paige. She was dressed far too skimpy for the chilly weather, her intentions clear as she pushed her chest out. “Can you sign here?” the girl asked, pointing to her exposed collarbone with a sultry smile.

Paige’s eyes widened, clearly caught off guard. She glanced quickly at Azzi, seemingly pleading for help. “Uh… I don’t think—”

Azzi knew she should step in, but instead of her usual confident approach, she decided on a different tactic. She pushed off the bleachers and with a dramatic pout, she made her way over, throwing herself against Paige like a damsel in distress. She tugged on the hem of Paige’s hoodie, her bottom lip sticking out just enough to be endearing. “Baby,” she whined softly, her eyes big and pleading. “I’m freezing.”

Paige turned her attention to Azzi, her face instantly softening. The fan’s request was forgotten as Paige focused entirely on the girl draped against her. “You’re cold?” Paige asked, her voice warm with concern, though her lips curled into a knowing smile.

Azzi nodded pitifully, leaning closer, practically molding herself to Paige’s side. “It’s freezing out here, and you’re all warm in this hoodie,” she murmured, giving the fabric a gentle tug. “Can I have it?”

Paige chuckled softly, her eyes trailing over Azzi with undisguised affection. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she teased, already pulling the hoodie over her head. Beneath it, her fitted tank top clung to her toned frame, and Azzi’s eyes briefly flicked down, her breath catching.

Paige noticed, and a slow smirk spread across her lips. She licked her lips deliberately, her gaze locking onto Azzi. “Better?” she asked as she handed the hoodie over.

Azzi didn’t even try to hide the way she eagerly slipped it on, inhaling deeply as the warmth and Paige’s scent enveloped her. She gave a satisfied hum, looking up at Paige with a contented smile. “Perfect,” she murmured, stepping even closer. “You’re the best, you know that?”

Paige’s arm slid around Azzi’s waist without hesitation, pulling her flush against her side. “I know,” she said, her voice low and teasing. Her eyes roamed over Azzi’s face, lingering on her lips for a beat too long wishing she could kiss her. “But you’re such a handful sometimes.”

Azzi leaned into Paige, letting out a dramatic sigh. “You love it,” she said, her voice soft but full of playful confidence.

Paige’s smirk widened, her fingers lightly brushing against Azzi’s hip. “You’re right,” she murmured. “I really do.”

Paige went back to taking a few more pictures, her hands now firmly tucked in her pockets to avoid any more overly friendly encounters. She smiled politely and kept the conversations light, but her body language was noticeably more reserved. Her usual ease with fans was still there, but her stance made it clear that there were boundaries. Whenever someone got a little too close, Paige would subtly shift, maintaining a polite distance without breaking her friendly facade.

Azzi leaned against a nearby wall, still wrapped in Paige’s hoodie, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched. A smug smile played on her lips as her eyes followed Paige’s every move. She knew exactly why Paige had changed her demeanor, and it warmed her to know that Paige was being mindful of her feelings. It wasn’t often that Azzi got to see this protective side of her, and she couldn’t deny how much she loved it.

When Paige glanced her way between photos, Azzi caught her eye and raised a playful eyebrow, silently teasing. Paige gave her a small, almost shy smile in return before quickly looking back at the fan in front of her. The subtle exchange sent a thrill through Azzi, a possessive spark flickering in her chest.

Just as Azzi was basking in the moment, she noticed the girl from earlier making her way over, her confidence seemingly undeterred. The girl stopped a few feet away, her flirty smile back in place. “Hey,” she said, her tone light and playful. “Since Paige won’t sign, maybe you will?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly. “Sign what exactly?” she asked, her voice cool but with an undercurrent of amusement.

The girl shrugged, playing coy as she ran a hand down her exposed collarbone. “Whatever you want,” she said, her tone dripping with suggestion.

Azzi smirked, her eyes flicking briefly to Paige, who was now watching the interaction with a mix of curiosity and quiet amusement. Turning her attention back to the girl “Yeah, I’m gonna have to pass on signing body parts,” she said, her voice light but firm. “Not really my thing.”

The girl blinked, clearly not expecting the rejection, but she recovered quickly, forcing a smile. “Oh… well, no harm in asking.”

Azzi gave a soft, dismissive chuckle. “None at all,” she replied smoothly, her tone making it clear the conversation was over.

As the girl walked away, probably looking for someone else on the team to bother, Azzi leaned back against the wall, her smile returning. She caught Paige’s eye and gave her a wink, earning a soft laugh in return. Paige shook her head, clearly entertained by the exchange.

Once the crowd finally dispersed and the team returned to campus, Paige and Azzi ended up in Paige’s room. Azzi immediately threw herself onto the bed, stretching out with a satisfied groan. She peeled off Paige’s hoodie and tossed it onto the chair, but her eyes never left the blonde. Paige busied herself by checking her phone, standing near the dresser, her sweats still riding low on her hips.

Azzi’s gaze lingered, a playful smirk forming on her lips. “You know,” she said, propping herself up on one elbow, “you were definitely giving BDB tonight.”

Paige glanced over, one eyebrow arching. “Oh, really?” she asked, a smirk playing at her lips as she walked toward the bed, her steps slow and deliberate.

Azzi nodded, her smirk widening. “Yup. Walking around with your sweats hanging off your hips like that, shutting down certain fans without even saying a word. It was kind of hot.” She gave a dramatic shiver. “Made me kind of warm just watching.”

Paige chuckled, but her eyes softened as she sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over Azzi. “Oh, it kind of made you warm?” she teased, but there was a knowing glint in her eyes. She could tell Azzi wasn’t entirely joking.

Azzi grinned, but there was a flicker of seriousness beneath her playful demeanor. “Okay, maybe more than kind of,” she admitted, her voice dropping slightly. She reached out, her fingers tugging lightly on the waistband of Paige’s sweats. “You were giving them a little show, though. Low enough that the whole crowd probably got an eyeful.”

Paige caught Azzi’s hand, gently lacing their fingers together. “Maybe,” she said, her tone low and teasing. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “But they can look all they want, but only you get to do anything about it.”

The tension in the room shifted, thickening as Paige’s eyes locked onto Azzi’s. She licked her lips slowly, watching as Azzi’s playful expression faltered, replaced by something deeper, more possessive.

Azzi’s heart raced, her grin returning as she pulled Paige closer. “Damn right,” she murmured, her voice soft but full of conviction. “They can look all day, but you’re mine.”

Paige’s lips curled into a smirk. “Always,” she whispered, her thumb brushing gently along Azzi’s jaw. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Azzi’s grin widened, her possessive side fully satisfied. She tugged Paige down beside her, their legs tangling together as they settled into the bed. “Good,” Azzi said, her voice light again. “Because I’m not sharing.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Paige replied, her voice dripping with affection as she pressed a soft kiss to Azzi’s temple, both of them basking in the comfort of each other’s presence.

…

The next time something like this happened the team was gathered in front of the pavilion, the energy buzzing as they engaged with the crowd for the charity event. Everyone was in high spirits, laughing and chatting as they signed posters and posed for pictures.

Paige had just wrapped up her latest autograph when her gaze drifted toward Azzi. Instantly, her stomach tightened. A guy was standing a little too close to her girlfriend, leaning in as he talked with a grin that bordered on smug. Azzi’s usual relaxed demeanor had shifted—her smile was polite but strained, her body angled slightly away from him. She kept up her usual charm, but there was a subtle tension in her posture that Paige knew all too well.

Azzi had perfected the art of handling fans, but this was different. The guy was leaning in just a little too close, and his voice was loud, almost overly charming, as though he was trying too hard to impress. She gave him a polite smile, but her gaze kept flicking around, hoping for a distraction, a reason to shift the focus elsewhere. Every time he moved a fraction closer, she instinctively pulled back, though he seemed to be oblivious to the subtle signs she was giving him.

“So, Azzi,” the guy said, his grin widening as he leaned even closer, his arm brushing against the table where she sat. “You’re, like, the star of the team, right? Bet you’ve got a ton of people lining up to take you out.”

Azzi chuckled, but the sound didn’t reach her eyes. “Something like that,” she replied, her voice light but tinged with a hint of discomfort. She shifted in her seat, reaching for her water bottle, hoping that the simple motion would give her some space. But he didn’t take the hint. Instead, he only leaned in more, his body crowding hers.

“That’s cool, I get it,” he continued, completely unaware—or unwilling to acknowledge—her unease. “But you gotta make time for some fun, right? We could grab a drink—just you and me. Casual.”

Azzi forced a smile, trying to keep things civil but feeling her patience starting to wear thin. She didn’t mind the attention in moderation, but this was starting to feel like an invasion. God, not this again, she thought.

Her hand tightened around the water bottle, and she glanced around again, hoping someone from the team would come to her rescue. It wasn’t just that she was uncomfortable with the guy’s advances; it was the way he was acting as if she owed him her time. As if he were entitled to her company.

Before she could respond, he moved closer, sliding his phone out of his pocket and holding it up. “Come on,” he said, grinning like he had her in the bag. “Let’s get a picture. Then you can think about that drink.”

Azzi’s heart sank as his arm snaked around her waist. She stiffened as his hand slid lower, hovering just above her hip, his touch too intimate, too forward. She could feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of her shirt. A jolt of irritation shot through her, and she took a deep breath, trying to remain polite but firm. She was about to politely pull away when she heard a familiar voice break through the noise.

“Hey, Az, everything good over here?” Paige’s voice was calm but commanding, cutting through the chatter.

Azzi’s body instantly relaxed at the sound, her shoulders dropping as Paige slid up beside her, slipping her arm around Azzi’s shoulders and pulling her close. There was a quiet relief that washed over her. The guy, clearly caught off guard, blinked and looked at Paige, momentarily thrown off by her sudden appearance. His smile faltered, but he quickly masked it with a nervous laugh.

“Oh, hey. Didn’t mean to interrupt anything, we’re just taking a quick picture” he said, though his tone suggested he had definitely meant to. His eyes flicked between the two women, quickly trying to reassess the situation.

Paige raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking pointedly down to where his hand was still lingering just a little too close to Azzi’s waist. “A picture, huh?” Paige said coolly, her voice smooth but firm. “Looks like you got it.”

The guy immediately pulled his arm back, stumbling over his words. “Right, yeah. Uh, listen…” he trailed off, glancing between the two women before his gaze landed back on Azzi. “How about that drink? Maybe you could give me your number, and we’ll figure it out.”

Azzi opened her mouth to respond, but Paige was quicker.

“She’s not really the ‘giving her number out’ type,” Paige said smoothly, her tone dismissive yet controlled. She gave the guy a pointed look, daring him to push further. “You understand.”

The guy hesitated, his grin faltering as he looked between them again, his expression flickering with confusion and curiosity. “Oh... so you’re taken then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced back at Azzi.

Azzi hesitated for a moment, her eyes briefly meeting Paige’s before she turned back to the guy. She didn’t want to get into another ong discussion with this guy So, she just shrugged and smiled, though there was a hint of coolness to her expression.

“I’m a private person,” she said simply, her tone firm but not unkind.

The guy blinked at her response, clearly thrown off. His grin faltered, and he looked between the two women again, no longer sure of how to navigate the situation. With an awkward laugh, he backed away.

“Ah, got it,” he said, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “Didn’t mean to overstep. You two have a good one.” And with that, he quickly turned and walked off, muttering to himself.

As he walked off, Paige watched him for a moment before turning her attention fully to Azzi. “You good?” she asked softly, her arm still securely around her.

Azzi nodded, her smile finally genuine as she looked up at Paige. “Yeah,” she said, her voice warm with gratitude. “Thanks for the save.”

Paige smirked, leaning in slightly. “What can I say? You’re a magnet,” she teased. “I had to make sure he knew you weren’t available.”

Azzi chuckled, her fingers lightly brushing against Paige’s side. “I won’t lie—it was kind of sexy.”

Paige grinned, her possessiveness flickering just beneath the surface. “Someone’s gotta keep them in check,” she murmured, her tone low. “And besides, you’re mine.”

Azzi’s cheeks warmed, her eyes sparkling pulling Paige closer. “And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Paige looked around before pressing a quick kiss to Azzi’s temple before stepping back slightly, her hand lingering on Azzi’s back. The rest of the team had barely noticed the exchange, but Paige felt a quiet satisfaction knowing she’d made her point—without having to say it outright.

Azzi gave her a knowing smile, and the two of them returned to the event, fully in sync.

…

Later that evening, after the charity event had wrapped up and they’d escaped the bustling crowd, Paige and Azzi found themselves sprawled across the floor of Paige’s dorm. A notepad sat between them, its pages already filled with a mix of serious and absurd bullet points. Azzi was lying on her back, legs propped up against the side of Paige’s bed, while Paige sat cross-legged, twirling a pen between her fingers.

“Alright,” Paige said, tapping the notepad. “Rule number one: no signing anyone’s chest. Ever.”

Azzi snorted, her head lolling to the side to look at Paige. “You don’t have to tell me twice. That girl at the football game was bold.”

“Bold? She was one step away from asking me to write my number under it,” Paige said with a laugh, shaking her head. “Not happening.”

Azzi rolled her eyes playfully. “Good. Because I might’ve had to take a different approach.”

Paige chuckled, writing it down: No signing questionable body parts.

“Alright, my turn,” Azzi said, sitting up slightly. She tapped her chin thoughtfully before grinning. “Rule number two: no flirting back with fans. Even if it’s harmless.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Flirting? When have I ever flirted with a fan?”

Azzi gave her a pointed look. “You don’t realize you’re doing it, but that smile of yours? Lethal. It makes people think they have a shot. You also have a natural charm that they cling to.”

Paige smirked, leaning back on her hands. “You jealous?”

“Absolutely,” Azzi said without hesitation, leaning forward to snatch the pen from Paige’s hand. She scribbled down No unintentionally charming fans with a flourish.

Paige laughed. “Fine, fine. But in that case, rule number three: no giving out hugs to random guys who can’t keep their hands to themselves.”

Azzi groaned, throwing herself back onto the floor. “Ugh, don’t remind me. That guy today was relentless. I told him no like three times.”

Paige’s playful expression softened. “You handled it well,” she said, her voice more serious. “But if anything like that happens again, just say the word, and I’ll be there.”

Azzi smiled up at her. “Thanks. But same goes for you. If anyone crosses a line, I’ve got your back.”

Paige nodded, jotting down No giving hugs to random guys who can’t respect personal space.

Azzi hummed thoughtfully, then shot a wicked grin at Paige. “Alright, rule number four: No texting exes, even if it’s about something as innocent as ‘Hey, how are you?’”

Paige raised an eyebrow, pretending to look offended. “I don’t text my exes.”

Azzi smirked. “Sure you don’t. But the rule’s there in case I ever get suspicious.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head as she wrote it down. “Okay, fine. No texting exes. But rule number five: You can’t steal my snacks.”

Azzi’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “I steal your snacks? Never.”

“Oh, please,” Paige teased. “You’ve been caught red-handed more than once.”

Azzi laughed and leaned over, stealing a chip from Paige’s snack bowl. “I’m just making sure you’re not overeating.”

Paige rolled her eyes but added to the list: No stealing snacks.

Azzi raised her hand dramatically. “I’ve got one: Rule number six: If we’re on a date, no phones. No distractions. No fans. Just us.”

“That’s a good one,” Paige agreed, giving her a warm smile. “I can get behind that.”

Azzi grinned, scribbling it down. “Okay, okay. Rule number seven: If you’re gonna wear that shirt that makes you look like a snack, you better expect some stares.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Are you telling me I can’t wear what I want?”

Azzi winked. “You can wear whatever you want. I’m just telling you to be prepared for the consequences. I’ll handle the fans, though.”

Paige laughed, jotting down No wearing “snack-worthy” shirts without expecting consequences.

“Alright, rule number eight: No loud music during my film sessions,” Paige said, raising a finger. “You’re perfect but I need silence to concentrate.”

Azzi feigned a dramatic gasp. “You wound me. But I’ll accept it. I’ll play my jams when you’re not working. Deal?”

Paige nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Deal. But you can’t complain when I put on my guilty pleasure playlist.”

Azzi grinned, nudging Paige playfully. “You can put on whatever you want. But I’m judging you for the amount of sex songs in your rotation.”

Paige gave her a mock glare. “It’s not that bad.”

Azzi chuckled. “Rule number nine: no judging me for my obsession with rom-coms.”

Paige smirked. “I’ll allow it. As long as you don’t cry when the couple breaks up for the first time.”

Azzi pouted. “I’m not crying. I’m just emotionally invested.”

Paige rolled her eyes but wrote it down. No crying over rom-coms unless absolutely necessary.

Then Azzi cleared her throat and sat up. “Alright, we’ve got the fun rules covered, but let’s get serious for a second.”

Paige’s expression softened, and she set the pen down. “You’re right. What do you have in mind?”

Azzi looked at her with a little more intensity. “We’re private about this, Paige. I know the world wants to know everything, but no one gets to pressure us into making this public. We do it on our terms.”

Paige nodded, her eyes meeting Azzi’s. “I get it. This is us. Not for anyone else.”

Azzi smiled and grabbed the pen again. “So, rule number ten: We keep our relationship low-key. We don’t owe anyone explanations. It’s not a secret, but it’s ours.”

Paige’s lips curved into a small smile as she wrote it down. Keep the relationship private, not a secret.

“And if fans get too pushy?” Paige asked, raising an eyebrow.

Azzi grinned. “We handle it together. I’ll make sure people understand boundaries. But we don’t let the pressure of being in the spotlight mess with what we’ve got.”

Paige’s voice softened. “I want this, Azzi. I want us. But I don’t want to feel like I have to explain myself all the time.”

Azzi leaned over, brushing a strand of hair from Paige’s face. “We don’t have to. This is our space, and it’s sacred. We share what we want and keep the other things private. No one gets to take that away from us.”

Paige looked down at the list of rules. Most of them were lighthearted, but this last one? This one was different. It was a commitment to protect what they had, no matter how much the world tried to pry.

She met Azzi’s gaze again. “And rule number eleven?” she asked softly.

Azzi smirked. “No letting other people come between us. Not fans, not the media, no one.”

Paige smiled, feeling the weight of the moment. “Agreed.”

Azzi took a deep breath, then leaned forward to kiss her, the rules of the night hanging between them like a promise. A promise that whatever came next, they’d face it together.

[cheriesbucky]

SECRETS AND INTRODUCTIONS • S. REID

PART I

Pairing: Fem!OC x Spencer Reid

Summary : Rumors swirl about the incoming team member. Anticipation dances, whispering promises of change

A/N : Surprise ! So yes, i’m so sorry if you prefer reader insert stories but I just couldn’t do it so I hope you’ll like the character I created. This chapter took me forever to finish, I spent so much time on google making sure everything I said was correct. If it’s not, please don’t make a big deal out of it. I try to make it as realistic as possible but there might be some stuff that aren’t (especially when Reid is talking). I spent way too much time on google maps calculating distance in between areas, it’s not perfectly accurate so if you know LA, forgive me ! Otherwise I’ve got nothing more to say besides I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you’ll love it!

Wc: 5.2k

tysm to my bestie @cerisereids for helping me with this chapter ilysm<3

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The BAU team was unwinding in the cozy break room, the air filled with the aftermath of shared jokes and light-hearted banter after a long stretch of work. Rossi and Hotch had just stepped out to pick up lunch, leaving everyone to relax.

Garcia's image flickered on the laptop screen, her eyes darting around the room and a faint, mischievous smile playing on her lips. Her fingers fidgeted with a glittery pink pen, a sure sign she was up to something.

Emily leaned forward, a curious glint in her eye. "Sooo, what do you guys think about our new teammate? Any guesses on who she might be?"

JJ set her coffee cup down and considered. "Well if Rossi's vouching for her, she must have some serious skills. He’s pretty selective about who he recommends."

Morgan rubbed his hands together with a playful grin. "All I know is that if she’s as easy on the eyes as she's supposed to be sharp, this place is about to get a whole lot more interesting."

JJ shot Morgan a look of exasperation. "I’m sure she’ll bring more than just good looks to the table."

Emily rolled her eyes and pointed towards Morgan. "See that right there ? That’s why I’m glad we’re getting another woman on the team even if it’s just for one case. Maybe it'll help balance out all the testosterone around here."

Morgan grinned, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, come on, Emily, don't be hating on the fellas. You know we keep things interesting!" he said, playfully nudging her shoulder with his fist.

Then, turning to Reid, Morgan added, "What about you, Pretty Boy? Got any thoughts bouncing around that big brain of yours? Where do you think he met her ?"

Reid blinked, looking up. "Honestly, I'm not sure," he confessed, pondering. "But considering Rossi's extensive history, he could have crossed paths with her anywhere. Since she's in her mid-20s, it probably wasn't that long ago. Maybe during one of his recent consulting gigs or at one of his guest lectures at a law enforcement training program.” He spoke quickly, his hands moving as he mapped out the possibilities.

Emily nodded, intrigued. "Right, or maybe they met through mutual contact in law enforcement. I mean Rossi's always been involved in so many things."

Morgan then glanced at the laptop screen and noticed Garcia's playful demeanor. With a teasing, yet accusatory tone, he said, "Now, now, wait a minute, don’t think I missed that cheeky little grin of yours Miss Penelope Garcia. What kind of trouble are you stirring up this time?"

Garcia’s voice came through, slightly sheepish. "Okay, okay, I have to admit something. I might have... kind of looked into her past."

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. "What did I tell you about sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, babygirl? You know snooping like that could get you into serious trouble."

Garcia sighed dramatically, her voice crackling through the speaker. "I know, I know, I shouldn’t be poking around, but you have to understand! I mean, you know that change freaks me out, and I need to make sure my family—you guys—are safe. It’s just who I am, the keeper of order, the one who needs all the puzzle pieces in place. You’re my people, and surprises just aren’t my thing, okay?"

Morgan's voice came through the speaker, calm and reassuring. "Hey, it's alright, Garcia. We get it. You’re just looking out for us, like always. Now spill—what did you find out?"

Reid frowned, adjusting his posture. "Guys, isn’t it a bit invasive? I don’t think we should be prying into her life like that."

JJ grinned, her tone light and teasing. "Well, I personally wouldn’t mind knowing more. A little curiosity never hurts anyone, right?"

Emily shrugged with a wry smile. “Curiosity might have killed the cat, but with nine lives, I think we can definitely take the risk."

Morgan clapped Reid on the shoulder, giving him a playful shake. "Hear that, Pretty Boy? Looks like you're outnumbered. Now tell us what you got, mama."

Garcia leaned in, her eyes sparkling with a mix of challenge and triumph. "Okay, first of all, guys, this isn’t some walk in the park. Her files are locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Seriously, it's like trying to crack the Enigma code. But because I'm super awesome—and let's be honest, who else could pull this off?—I've managed to get into some of them."

Emily chuckled, "You're a rock star, Garcia!"

Garcia smirked, sending Emily a playful look through the screen. "Oh, Emily, keep those compliments coming—they'll get you absolutely everywhere! Alright now, let's spill some secrets ! Drumroll, please..." She paused, her fingers dancing dramatically across the keyboard. “Isabelle Lombardi was born on December 21st, 1981, in the heart of Brooklyn, New York. She was a top-grade student, always at the head of her class. Not only did she dominate the gymnastics scene with her gravity-defying routines during her high school career, but she was involved in a bunch of extracurriculars, debate team, student council."

JJ tilted her head, clearly impressed by the revelation. "Wow, she was quite the overachiever. I can only imagine the stories she must have from those days."

Garcia nodded with enthusiasm. "Oh, absolutely. She didn't just coast through; she even managed to graduate ahead of schedule, which is no small feat."

Emily raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her face. "Graduate early, huh? Sounds like she could give Reid a serious run for his money."

Reid shifted slightly, clearly intrigued yet a bit hesitant. "Garcia, do you know what academic path she followed after high school?"

Garcia glanced up with a playful grin. "Boy genius is diving into the details, huh? Hold on, I'm getting to that," she replied, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

"Alright, so she got accepted at Stanford with a double major in Psychology and Criminal Justice—joined Psi Chi, which, might I add, is seriously impressive. Then, she transferred to NYU, completely out of the blue. I've got zero breadcrumbs on this mystery!" Garcia leaned in closer to her screen.

"Garcia," Morgan's voice cut through, a hint of amusement in his tone, "not every transfer has a conspiracy behind it. Let's focus on what we know."

"Conspiracy? Please!" Garcia scoffed. "I'm just curious, Derek. Curious professionals gather information!"

She cleared her throat, refocusing. "Anyway, where was I? Oh right - so she finished her double major there and knocked it out of the park with a killer thesis on criminal psychology. Seriously impressive work that caught her professors' attention. She graduated with the highest honors," Garcia said, her fingers dancing across the keyboard with excitement

Without missing a beat, she carried on seamlessly, her eyes never leaving the screen. "Then she went all in and trained to be a cop in New York. She was a total standout at the police academy, acing both the academic stuff and the physical training. Graduated at the top of her class. She climbed the ranks like nobody's business and moved to the Special Victims Unit. During her time there, she became a key player in a highly successful undercover operation that took down a major human trafficking ring. The whole thing was like a total game-changer for the division," Garcia added, clearly amazed.

JJ leaned back, absorbing the details, “Well, it looks like we hit the jackpot having her on board for this case.”

Morgan nodded, "You don’t say, she sounds like she's the real deal. Garcia, you got any more intel on our Wonder Woman ?"

The sound of furious typing filled the air as Garcia confronted a particularly stubborn file. "Ugh, I’m trying my sweet but this thing's like trying to crack the Da Vinci Code with a toothpick," she muttered, a hint of frustration coloring her tone. "Come on, computer, work your magic!”

A satisfied grin spread across her face as she broke through the last barrier. "Alright, victory dance time! I've cracked a little piece of this cyber fortress. From what I can see, last year she got selected to join an international task force, Operation Shield, stationed somewhere in the Middle East. She just got back, and the mission? It was highly classified and seems to have been of significant global importance. We're talking about a serious operation here."

Morgan shook his head in disbelief and said, "I can’t believe Rossi’s been keeping her hidden from us, I mean we could’ve used her help on a few cases."

Emily added, "Yeah, she's definitely the kind of person you'd want in your corner when things go south”

Reid, with a thoughtful expression, remarked, "It's interesting she chose law enforcement with her academic background. You'd think someone with degrees in psychology and criminal justice might pursue clinical work, counseling, or maybe even teaching..." He let the thought hang, still contemplating the surprising career path.

The team absorbed the information, a mix of admiration and curiosity hanging in the air. Garcia's voice suddenly turned somber, her fingers pausing on the keyboard. "Oh God.. I think I might know why," she murmured, her voice softening. "Her dad was a cop. He was there on 9/11, and he didn't make it out," she explained, letting the gravity of the moment sink in. "It's just... it’s so sad.

JJ’s expression softened, her voice gentle. "That's a lot for anyone to carry. She's been through a lot and still manages to come out on top."

Morgan leaned forward, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding, "You know, it makes sense she went into law enforcement. Maybe it was her way of honoring him. Being a cop, protecting people—it’s probably how she keeps his spirit alive. And transferring back to NYU, that’s got to be part of it too" The team nodded in understanding, recognizing how deeply personal her career path must be.

Silence fell over the room as the weight of Garcia's discovery settled, leaving the team awkwardly shifting in their seats.

Garcia, ever the empath, let her emotions spill out. "Poor thing, can you even imagine what she’s been through ? I mean she’s had such a rough ride, and yet here she is, turning all that heartache into something good. It’s like she's carrying this giant boulder of sadness around, but she’s somehow using it to build a fortress. I mean, how does she even do it?"

As she poured her heart out, the team’s eyes flicked to the door where Rossi and Hotch had appeared, unnoticed by Garcia.

Noticing the sudden quiet, Garcia glanced at her screen and froze. "Okay, why did it suddenly get all crickets around here? Did Rossi walk in and hear me spill the beans? Oh no, he did, didn't he? Sir, I'm so sorry !”

Rossi's voice cut through the silence, steady and composed. "It’s okay Garcia, and while you know how I feel about snooping around, you’re right about something, she is a tough kid. Resilient and sharp, and I believe if you all give her some time she'll quickly prove herself as someone we can all rely on."

Garcia felt a mix of embarrassment and guilt. "I’m really sorry Sir, I just... I just wanted to make sure everyone’s in good hands."

Rossi nodded, his tone reassuring. "You’ve got nothing to worry about Penelope. She’s as solid as they come."

Hotch, maintaining his focus on the details, asked, "Garcia, can you check the ETA on her flight arrival?"

Garcia responded with enthusiastic professionalism, "Yes sir, of course, I can absolutely do that!" Her fingers flew across the keyboard, quickly pulling up the flight information. After a moment of careful investigation, she looked back up and reported, "Her flight is scheduled to land in 40 minutes."

Rossi checked his watch and said, "Alright, I’ll go pick her up. Now, I trust you all to try and behave while I’m gone. I’d like to return to my team, not a knitting circle."

Reid jumped in with precision, "If you take Sunset to the 101 south, then get on the 405, you should avoid the worst of the traffic. Plus, the 405 tends to have a steadier flow this time of day due to its higher capacity. It should save you about 10 minutes, especially given the current traffic patterns."

Rossi gave a nod of appreciation. "Thanks, kid. I'll take your word for it." As he stepped out, Hotch set the takeout bags on the table. "Alright, let's get back to work," he said, his voice steady and commanding. The team shifted back into focus, ready to tackle the tasks ahead with renewed determination.

══════════════════

Her feet finally touched solid ground as she emerged into the terminal, the drone of announcements and the rhythmic clatter of suitcases creating a symphony of travel around her. The flight had been long, and fatigue clung to her like an unwelcome companion. Her muscles were stiff from the confined space, and she craved the stretch of her limbs and the comfort of fresh air.

As Isabelle navigated the sea of travelers, a buzz from her phone caught her attention. Glancing down, she saw it was a message from Rossi, letting her know he was nearby. Her heart quickened, a subtle tremor of excitement running through her. Rossi was here, ready to whisk her away from the bustle of arrivals, and although she was nervous about seeing him, she was also very eager to see a friendly face.

Her eyes swept over the bustling terminal, seeking out a familiar silhouette. Even in the midst of the crowd, Rossi was impossible to miss. There he was, the embodiment of Italian elegance, radiating a charisma that seemed to make the world slow down around him.

Their eyes met from across the room, sparking a moment of warm recognition. With a subtle smile, she adjusted the strap of her bag and made her way toward him, moving through the crowd with ease.

As she reached him, Rossi's face broke into a genuine smile. They embraced with a hug that was both spontaneous and heartwarming. "Well, look who's finally decided to grace us with her presence," he exclaimed, his voice alive with warmth and enthusiasm.

"Couldn't let you have all the fun now, could I?" she quipped with a playful grin. "I see you haven't changed a bit. Still the best-dressed man in the room."

Rossi chuckled, adjusting his suit. "What can I say? Some habits are hard to break," he replied with a wink. "Come on, the car is this way," he said, gesturing for her to follow.

As they walked toward the exit, Rossi inquired with genuine interest,“So how did the flight go? Any interesting tales from the journey?"

"Not too bad," she replied with a shrug. "Just the usual chaos of air travel—though my neighbor on the flight was quite the conversationalist."

Rossi nodded knowingly. "I would've sent the jet, but let's just say the higher-ups are keeping a close eye on expenses."

She laughed, shaking her head. "It's alright. I managed without the VIP treatment. But how have you been Dave?"

Rossi sighed, a hint of weariness in his voice. "I'll be better once we crack this case. It's been a tough one."

They stepped out of the airport and into the fresh air, the SUV waiting nearby. As they approached the vehicle, Rossi opened the door for her, and they both settled into the car, ready to embark on the journey ahead.

Rossi started the engine, and the car purred softly as it came to life. She turned to him, a playful smile on her face. "Alright so what's the deal?" she asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice. "I still can't wrap my head around you coming back from retirement. Trust me, If I had your kind of wealth, I'd be living the dream somewhere very far, far away."

Rossi watched her with a thoughtful look, curiosity etched in his features. "And where exactly would that dream take you, if I may ask?"

“A farm," she continued, her eyes lighting up at the thought as she gazed out the window. "Just a small place with a bunch of animals, they’re much easier to deal with than most humans."

Rossi raised an eyebrow, "So you're trading city life for a goat as a best friend?"

"Oh, 100 percent!" she said, leaning forward. "Animals are better than humans. They're straightforward, no hidden agendas. They don't judge or hold grudges, and they give you their loyalty without question. Honestly, with everything going on in the world, it's a relief to know some things are still pure."

Rossi gave her a sidelong glance, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "I guess you've seen more than your share of the worst types of people these past few years."

Isabelle nodded, her expression softening as she continued to look out the window. "Yeah, more than I'd like to count. But hey, that's the job, right?"

Rossi nodded in agreement. "That it is, kiddo, that it is."

"You didn't answer my question though," she teased, raising an eyebrow. "Why trade in your freedom for all this chaos?"

Rossi smiled, a touch of nostalgia in his eyes. "Retirement has its perks," he admitted, "but there's something about being in the thick of things that I just can't resist. Besides, I missed the thrill."

The road stretched ahead of them, the city lights gleaming as they drove on. For a few moments, they allowed the silence to settle between them, a comfortable pause filled with the hum of the engine and the rhythm of the tires on the pavement. It was a silence that spoke of understanding and mutual respect, a bond forged over years of shared experiences.

Rossi broke the quiet, his voice warm and sincere. "You know, I'm really glad you‘re here Isabelle. I trust you with this mission. There's no one else I'd rather have by my side."

She turned to him, her expression softening. "Of course, Rossi. You know I'd follow you anywhere. I just hope we can catch the bastard and put an end to this once and for all."

He nodded, his eyes focused on the road ahead. "We will. Together, we'll make sure of it."

After another pause, she glanced at him, curiosity piqued. "So, tell me about the BAU. What's your team like? I hear stories, but I want to know from you."

Rossi nodded thoughtfully, his expression warm with a hint of pride. "The team?" he murmured, a fondness in his voice. "They're a unique bunch. Each one has their own demons, their own pasts that shape who they are. But when it comes to the job, they're the best there is."

Her interest deepened, sensing there was more beneath the surface. "Sounds like there's a lot more than meets the eye."

"Indeed," Rossi replied with a subtle nod, his eyes reflecting years of wisdom. "They have their own ways, their own strengths. It's not always what you'd expect, but it works. It's like solving a puzzle, piece by piece."

She nodded, intrigued by the mystery. "Must be something to see them in action."

As Rossi guided the car into a tight parking spot near the precinct entrance, the tires softly crunching against the asphalt, he glanced at her with a knowing smile. "Well kid, it looks like you're about to find out."

She grinned, a shadow of wonder crossing her face. "Let's see what surprises await."

With that, they stepped out of the car and made their way into the bustling precinct. The air was filled with the hum of activity — phones ringing, conversations buzzing, the occasional clatter of a keyboard.

As they navigated through the maze of desks and officers, she noticed a tall, imposing figure approaching them. He moved with a quiet authority, his presence commanding yet composed. His sharp features and dark, assessing eyes gave him an air of intelligence and control. His neatly cropped hair and tailored suit complemented his no-nonsense demeanor.

Beside him stood a man wearing a sheriff's badge, his demeanor friendly and approachable. He had a weathered look, with lines etched into his face, hinting at years of experience.

Rossi halted in front of them and gestured toward Isabelle. "Aaron, Sheriff Harris, I'd like you to meet Miss Isabelle Lombardi," he said, his tone carrying a hint of pride. "She's known for her work on undercover missions with the Special Victims Unit in New York among other classified missions. Her skills in handling complex situations are a great asset."

Turning to Isabelle, he completed the introductions, "Isabelle, this is Agent Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU, and Sheriff Tom Harris, who's been leading our local investigation."

Hotch extended his hand with a firm, confident grip. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. We're grateful to have your expertise on board."

She met his handshake with professional courtesy. "Pleasure to be here, sir."

Sheriff Harris nodded with a warm smile. "Welcome to the team. We're lucky to have you."

She reached out and shook his hand, meeting his eyes. "I appreciate the welcome, Sheriff. I’m looking forward to working together."

Hotch stepped forward, his tone crisp and professional. "We've got a lot to cover. The team's waiting in the conference room."

He led them through the bustling corridor, the air thick with purpose and urgency. As they reached the room at the end, the sounds of conversation and shuffling papers greeted them. Hotch opened the door, revealing the team gathered around a table, each face focused and intent.

"Everyone, meet Miss Isabelle Lombardi," Hotch announced, his voice cutting through the room with an authoritative calm. "She’ll be working with us as our undercover agent for the case."

The first person to step forward was a tall, athletically built man whose presence exuded strength and reliability. He offered a bright, infectious smile as he extended his hand. "Derek Morgan, it’s nice to meet you."

She shook his hand firmly, matching his enthusiasm. "Likewise, though I wish it was under better circumstances."

Next, a woman with striking dark hair and sharp, intelligent eyes approached, her expression reflecting both curiosity and warmth. She offered her hand with a friendly nod. "Emily Prentiss. Welcome to the team. We're glad to have you."

Isabelle reached out and shook Emily's hand firmly, smiling warmly at her. "Thank you, Emily. I'm looking forward to working with all of you."

Then came another woman, her blonde hair pulled back neatly, giving her a professional yet approachable demeanor. She reached out with a friendly handshake. "Jennifer Jareau, but everyone calls me JJ. I'm the team's liaison, so I handle media relations and coordinate with other agencies. If you need anything please just let me know."

She returned JJ's handshake with a grateful smile. "It's great to meet you JJ. I'll definitely reach out if I need help."

Finally, a youthful man stepped forward, his hair slightly untamed and falling just above his eyes. As she extended her hand to greet him, he waved awkwardly instead. "Hi, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid," he began, a touch of nervousness in his voice. "I, um, don't usually do handshakes. It's not personal, just—germs, you know."

She withdrew her hand with an understanding smile, feeling an unexpected warmth toward him. "That's alright, Dr. Reid," she replied softly, her eyes meeting his. "I appreciate the heads-up. I guess I'll have to brush up on my fist-bumping skills then.”

His cheeks flushed slightly as he nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. There was a gentle sincerity in his demeanor that resonated with her, sparking a genuine interest. She sensed a unique depth in him that she was curious to explore further.

As the introductions wrapped up, a voice of authority yet calmness cut through the room. "Alright, everyone, let's take a seat," Hotch said, his presence commanding and assured. "We need to get you up to speed with what we're working on."

As everyone took their seats, the room buzzed with a subtle energy, the kind that comes from a team ready to tackle whatever challenge lay ahead. She glanced around, taking in the focused expressions and the shared sense of purpose. With a deep breath, she straightened in her chair, ready to contribute and learn.

“Reid," Hotch's measured voice cut through the silence, "walk us through your geographical analysis."

Reid stood up, clearing his throat. "Right, so, looking at these abduction sites," he began, walking towards the map, "each location was a strip club situated in different regions of Los Angeles, revealing a complex geographical pattern."

He traced his finger methodically across the map. "The first abduction occurred in West Hollywood, the second in Culver City which was at 8.2 miles from the initial point, and the third in the Inglewood area at 8.9 miles from the previous location."

His finger hovered over the map, tracing an invisible logarithmic spiral. "Applying a 0.92 probability matrix and temporal progression analysis, I can predict with about 85% confidence that the next target will be in Carson- approximately 9.5 from the Inglewood site, maintaining the unsub's consistent spatial deviation 2.2 miles from the mean progression."

Isabelle watched him, chin propped on her hand. She'd never seen anyone break down complex data like this before — it was like watching a genius decode an impossible puzzle in real-time. Her eyes, wide and intent, tracked every gesture.

"So we need to identify which nightclub in Carson he's gonna target," Morgan said, his voice breaking through her thoughts. "We'll need to pull security footage, see if he's been scoping the places out. If he follows his pattern, he's already been checking these clubs." He leaned back, a determined glint in his eye. "Time to narrow down our kill zone."

Sheriff Harris responded immediately, his tone clipped and professional.” I'll get my team on it right away," he said, his voice gruff and matter-of-fact. He stood up, grabbing his worn leather jacket from the back of his chair. "We'll have those security tapes pulled and analyzed by morning." Without waiting for a response, he strode out of the room, the door closing behind him with a sharp, decisive click.

"Garcia," Hotch called out, "are you there?"

Her face suddenly popped up on the screen, her rainbow-framed glasses sparkling. "Ready to work my magic, my fearless leader!"

Hotch's voice was calm but commanding, "I need you to run a deep dive on Carson. We're looking for hotel check-ins over the past week. Narrow down your research to white male, late 30s to early 40s. Cash payments only. Cross-reference with any criminal records, no matter how minor."

Emily leaned in. "Garcia, can you also check for any missing vehicles reports in the area? We're looking at older model sedans - maybe a Toyota or a Honda from the late 90s or early 2000s. Something reliable, not too flashy. If he's stealing a vehicle, he'll want something that blends in." She paused. "We might be able to track his movements by cross-referencing missing vehicle reports with security footage from the strip clubs."

"On it my crime-fighting kittens!” Garcia's voice chirped through the speakers. "Cash-only hotel bookings and missing vehicles are my absolute jam. I'll cross-reference everything faster than you can say 'database magic'. One sec while I unleash my inner search wizard!"

Isabelle caught Rossi's eye, a bemused smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Her eyebrow arched slightly, a silent question dancing in her expression. How does someone like that end up in the FBI? With her bubbly personality, colorful glasses, and digital references, Garcia seemed more suited to a Silicon Valley startup than a serious federal investigative unit.

"Penelope Garcia, our technical analyst," Rossi explained with a warm chuckle. "You get used to her after a while. Beneath all that energy is probably the most brilliant mind in digital forensics. She can find anything – and I mean anything – if it exists in a database."

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Not how you imagined the BAU, huh?"

She glanced briefly at Rossi, a hint of amusement in her eyes, before turning back to Morgan. "Not even close," she replied.

Hotch studied the team, his voice steady. "We have to operate under the assumption that traditional investigative methods will yield no leads. This unsub is calculated, meticulous."

JJ sighed, dropping the files she was reading on the table. "We need to look somewhere no one else is looking."

The room hummed with a familiar intensity. Each team member was locked in their own world of analysis, yet somehow connected. Emily's sharp gaze scanned reports, Reid's fingers tapped a restless rhythm, Morgan's posture coiled with barely contained energy. They were a machine, each part working in precise, unspoken coordination.

In that collaborative silence, her focus drifted to the scattered crime scene photos. The crime scene photos seemed to blur before her eyes. Each image told a story, but something was nagging at her. The locations, the positioning - there was a pattern she couldn't quite grasp. Her mind raced, connecting invisible dots, searching for that elusive thread that might unravel the entire case

Rossi noticed her contemplative state. "What is it, kiddo? Something on your mind?"

She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. The team was looking at her now, waiting. Her eyes locked with Reid's, sensing his silent comprehension. He gave her a small, understanding nod - a subtle encouragement that seemed to say, "Go ahead."

She cleared her throat. "When I was reviewing the crime scene photos in the plane, something caught my eye," she said. "The industrial zones near each crime scene were positioned almost identically. It's like our unsub has a specific type of landscape he's comfortable operating in." She leaned forward. "We should investigate those abandoned lots," she suggested. "Secluded parking areas where a vehicle could remain unnoticed would align with his need to stay off the grid."

Hotch studied the map. "Good observation, Lombardi," he said, standing up. "I'll have Garcia pull satellite imagery of those zones." He walked toward the door, already pulling out his phone.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, studying her for a moment. "That's a solid catch," he said. "Those industrial zones could be the key to understanding our unsub's pattern. Nice work tracking that detail."

Rossi turned directly to Isabelle, his eyes warm. "Sharp thinking, kid. That's exactly the kind of detail that breaks cases wide open." Then he looked around the room, a smug grin spreading across his face. "What did I tell you about her?"

Isabelle felt a mix of pride and slight embarrassment. She wasn't used to this much attention, especially from a team she was still getting to know. She shifted slightly in her seat, trying to appear casual, but inside, she was still processing their words.

Feeling the weight of eyes on her, she glanced up. Reid was already watching her, his gaze sharp and analytical—not judgmental, but deeply curious. As if he was trying to decode something complex and intriguing. In that moment, something clicked—a recognition that went beyond words. He gave her a small, reassuring smile. It was a silent promise of support, an acknowledgment that she was now part of something bigger.

══════════════════

tags request : @yourallaround-simp @written-in-the-stars06 @kore-of-the-underworld

[pienhime]

my ten manga/game/anime/etc recs for jirai

hiii long time no long ass recs post! i wanna recommend media that is popular w landmine types for newbies to the subculture, and recommendations for those who might have been here long enough to know the most popular media within jirai subculture and want some recommendations beyond that!

so without further ado...

1. Tomorrow, I Will Become Someone's Girlfriend

TW: unsafe sex work, abusive relationships, body dysmorphia, self harm, substance use, misogyny, and parental death

Okay you knew this was coming. It's probably the most popular manga amongst jirai girls as it literally is about Kabukicho, sex work, trauma, and jirai culture. Everyone's seen Yua at this point, and she is a jiraicon, but the other characters are interesting and may be relatable to jirai girls too!

2. Mahou Shoujo Site

TW: sexual assault, r@pe, abusive family dynamics, transphobia, self-harm, suicide, murder, gore, bullying, human sacrifice

This is probably also familiar to people in the jirai community and yandereblr. Super mega fucked-up parody of magical girl animes with a cast of memorable but mentally unhinged and often morally gray-to-terrible characters with a hopeful message at the end. The most unfortunate girls around Japan get given magical girl items to improve their lives, but using them drains their life force- and someone's on the hunt for magical girls, all while the countdown to the apocalypse ticks down on the mysterious magical girl site. DO NOT BOTHER WITH THE ANIME, JUST READ THE MANGA!!

3. Needy Girl Overdose/Needy Streamer Overload

TW: substance abuse, self-harm, murder (potentially), suicide, non-graphic sexual content, abuse (player is being abused by the main character), unreality, internet addiction

Duh. I can't not have this game on here! Created by a renowned menhera subculture artist and featuring Jirai icons Ame-chan and KAngel, this game has blown up unexpectedly since its release, getting art exhibits and collabs with brands like DearMyLove. You play as P-chan, Ame/KAngel's boyfriend and producer, while you try to help her achieve her goals of becoming an influencer and prevent her from killing herself or going insane along the way. If you've been in a relationship like this as the P-chan, I'm sorry we relate but this game was super therapeutic to me so maybe it'll help you process too!! Also the soundtrack fucks. Hard.

4. Neeko wa Tsurai Yo!

TW: agoraphobia, existentialism, substance use (kind of), ecchi (of both adult and high schooler characters), suicidal ideation, internet addiction

This is a super underrated personal favorite I've posted about a few times before. It follows hikki-NEET gacha gamer Niiko, as she faces jealousy of her little sister for being farther in life than her as a high-schooler, the trauma of a particularly horrific job rejection keeping her from going outside or trying for another job, and being totally fed up with her life. It's a pretty depressing read for the first half, but becomes a realistic story about recovery by the end.

5. Wristcut Warriors: Menherachan

TW: suicide attempts, self-harm (duh), parental abuse, parental death, parental neglect, attempted sexual assault, mild gore, societal ableism/sanism

Much more popular in the menhera subculture than anywhere else, but still popular enough with landmine types to be included, and a personal comfort series of mine. This is a satire manga about three teenage magical girls who have to self-harm to transform, meant as an allegory for how suffering and self-sacrifice for the sake of upholding societal norms is seen as more noble in Japan than speaking out etc. It's pretty short with only 20 chapters and some supplemental material, and tons of merch collabs but due to Ezaki being the actual fucking worst i encourage you to only but fanmerch and second-hand.

6. Danganronpa

TW: murder, suicide, ableist depiction of DID, misgendering (kind of, im not getting into ******* discourse so ill put it jic), SA, addiction,and general violence and blood

I'm biased as a Danganronpa multi-kin and selfshipper but I personally think every jirai should play Danganronpa, read the supplemental materials and watch DR3 if they can. Quirky teens with mental issues locked in a school and forced to kill each other or themselves? Prime insanity and mindbreaking ensues, with some really cool characters coming out of the franchise. Despite the premise, theres a pretty hopeful message.

7. Oshi no Ko

TW: stalking, teen pregnancy, exploitation of minors, suicide attempts, murder, terminal illness, age gap relationships, bullying, abortion, parasocial relationships, and... sigh... pseudo-incest is apparently in the manga as well

If you are into idol anime and expect your standard cinderella story about passionate girls and guys hitting it big... Oshi no Ko isn't the idol anime you're used to. This doesn't even follow the hit idol herself- rather, her two children who are reincarnated fans. They have to find their way in the exploitative and often dark showbiz world while trying to solve their mother's murder.

8. Bocchi the Rock!

TW: agoraphobia, alcohol abuse

I only watched this one recently, but it's already an all-time fav. It follows agoraphobic and severly socially anxious Hitori (aka Bocchi), and her newfound friends as they do their best to become a successful local band! They make odd friends along the way and Bocchi starts to try to recover and better herself, with often comedic failures along the way.

9. TUYU's interconnected songs

TW: abuse, substance abuse, unsafe SW, dysmorphia, suicide, self harm, parasocialism

Okay so... ik the timing is bad but I meant to make this list ages ago and this was on it so... a lot of the TUYU songs and MVs are interconnected! Some specifically cover jirai kei and ryousangata otaku topics! My favorite songs and MVs are the ones involving my favorite characters, Anhiro and Anzu, who are heavily featured in the Under Mentality album.

10. School-Live!

MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!!! I RECOMMEND GOING IN BLIND FOR THIS ANIME SPECIFICALLY!!

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TW: unreality, major character death, parental death, self-harm, animal death, graphic depictions of delusions and hallucinations

I loved the anime, so I picked up the manga recently. I'm only a little ways in, but I want to complete it since the anime didn't cover it all! You don't even know the plot until the final seconds of the first episode, where it's revealed that Yuki is the only member of the squad who doesn't realize what's going on- she's not in school for class, she's living there for shelter in a zombie apocalypse. Oh, and she sees dead people. She has moments of clarity, and the story often follows other characters' memories and POVs, so you still get to have a clear look into what happened and what's going on for real.

That was my list of my current top ten media recommendations for jirai kei! Please lmk if you decide to give any of these a try! Remember that I also regularly post music recs under #music too! Bye-bye!!

[alizayildiz]

Heyyy! I was thinking about how he will react after losing a match? Like yesterday against portugal. And how does the reader treat him? I think it'll be a good fics well it's up too you wanna make it smut or no... Have a great day!!

I’m sorry for the long wait girl but I’ve had a dozen requests to write!! Anyways have fun readying lovely ;). I had to keep it short because I didn’t knew if you’d like it as a chapter is just as an preference 😭

You looked at the game that was playing in front of you. Portugal VS. Turkey. For some it was clear from the beginning that Portugal will win.

Still your boyfriend Kenan hoped that Turkey would win, but he soon realised, and that was after their own goal against themselves, that Turkey will loose.

You sat in the VIP Box Kenan arranged for you, and even up from there you could see his depressed face. Arda, who sat next to him, didn’t look happy either.

During halftime you heard lots of Turkish fans shouting at Montella, cussing at him.

“HOW COULD HE PUT THIS 11 AGAINST PORTUGAL”

“Why didn’t Kenan and Arda play from the beginning”

“Their own coach is against them”

“If Kenan and Arda had played from the beginning we would have won”

“The score would have been different if Montella had a fucking brain and put Kenan in from minute one on”

And lots of other comments you don’t wanna rewind. As the referee called the game over you immediately got up walking down on the pitch to Kenan.

The thing about Kenan is that he is determined to win, he gives his best and everyone knows and sees that. But if his team won’t cooperate that it gets worse for him. He gets mad at his colleagues and at his Coach, who for once didn’t put him into the first 11 starting lineup.

Although Kenan is a very optimistic person who life lightens up your moods he is the complete opposite when he looses.

As you passed soßen or fans who try to take pictures with you or your Autogramm, some even grab you by your arm, you continue ignoring them all. Knowing very well that if you’re not next to Kenan he will loose it at some point.

Jumping over the fence Kenan immediately walked up to you, the who of you walking faster and faster to reach each other more quickly.

As your arms wrapped around his neck he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Picking you up slightly as his arm wrapped around your waist he took in your scent.

You’re wearing his favourite perfume of yours. The two of you didn’t talk, just stood there.

You noticed that his grip around your waist got harder whether Portugal fans laughed at the Turkish national team. “Booing” them on, and making fun of the team.

Everyone in that stadium knew that if Kenan and Arda had played from the beginning the score would have looked different.

“Deep breaths” You whisper at Kenan.

Trying your best to calm him down you signalled to his Coach that the security should get the stadium cleaned out.

It’s not that Kenan is a weak person who stars crying when he losses it’s rather that he losses his temper when he looses.

He doesn’t allow himself to lose or fail at anything and when opponent fans get on his nerves he quickly jumps at them.

It happens once during a game of Juventus, media still suspects when Kenan will loose it again like a maniac.

After five more minutes standing like that the Stadium was quiet, no fans, no referees, no other players and no coaches in sight.

Kenan’s ears were covered by your arms because of the way you two hugged each other.

You slowly let go of him looking deep into his eyes.

“You did your best Kenan” you say, giving him a lovely smile.

He played just 30 minutes and that with Arda just playing 20 minutes beside him. What is he supposed to do 1 VS. 11 ?

“If I had played better during practice Coach would have put me in from the beginning” he walks towards the bench for substitute players, sitting down on it.

“You know that’s not true, it wasn’t your fault that you hurt yourself during practice even that shows how passionate you are about your sport” You stood on the pitch walking towards a football.

“EM 2024” was written on it.

Kenan looks up at you, smiling for the first time ever that day.

“Common 1 VS. 1” you say before passing the ball to Kenan.

Instantly getting up from the bench he throws you his jersey, you didn’t care if it was covered with sweat you still wore it.

A topless Kenan stood in front of you, abs showing perfectly.

The two of you started playing together. And although Kenan hates losing he loves losing to you.

The evening continues with Kenan teaching you football tricks.

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART SIX

previous chapters | again, thank you so much for all the love on this fic. it's so beyond overwhelming and wonderful to know that people are enjoying this story. i hope you enjoy this chapter, let me know! and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave me a tip 💕 chapter summary: it's time for your first official "lesson" with joel. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, mentions of religion, catholic guilt, fingering, oral (f receiving), lap-sitting, grinding word count: 8.7k ao3

You feel ridiculous.

You stare in your bedroom mirror at yourself with a look of pure mortification, assessing the beige dress you're currently wearing that your mother picked out from her own closet, falling to your ankles and bagging off your hips in the most unflattering way imaginable. It looks like a potato sack with long sleeves, long and floppy and absolutely horrendous.

You slowly shake your head at your reflection as she comes up behind you with attentive eyes, assessing the same trainwreck you are. You can see in her expression that she's similarly disappointed in the way it looks.

"I'm not wearing this," you say quietly, trying not to sound too harsh, "Please, Mom, this doesn't fit me right."

She bites her lip, eyes still scanning you up and down, "You're probably right," she sighs.

She wants you to dress modestly for your first lesson with Joel. You'd settled on Saturdays as your official "lesson" day, a perfect choice in your opinion as you now have an excuse to go to his house on the weekend without having to lie to your parents about where you are. You want to appease them in some way, your mom in particular; you've felt so bad about all the lying you've been doing, you feel you owe her something. And that something is apparently agreeing to let her pick your outfit, a decision you're already regretting immensely.

"The navy blue one was nice," you say, gesturing toward one of the other options she's laid out on your bed - one that's actually from your own closet and not hers, "I know I've grown out of it but it's not that short."

She walks over to your bed and picks up the dress in question with an exasperated sigh, eyeing the clock on your night stand, "I guess it'll have to do, we're running out of time. You don't want to be late," she hands it to you quickly, "You'll have to wear stockings with it though."

You nod - that's a compromise you can deal with.

She gives you some privacy to change, leaving you to fight your way out of the oddly shaped beige atrocity on your own. It crumples into a pile at your feet and you kick it to the side with a little too much aggression. Imagine if she'd actually made you wear that - Joel would never want to touch you again.

The thought of Joel sends a rush of warmth throughout your body as you slip into the other dress, velvet and modest but nowhere near as awful as the previous one. You'd talked to him on the phone last night after he'd finished work, cuddled in bed against an extra pillow in place of him - you'd slept so well on Thursday night when you'd slept in his bed, felt so safe and warm in his arms, you're now doing anything you can to replicate it. You'd wrapped his flannel shirt around it, coating it in his scent.

"I miss you," you'd whispered through the phone, the insecurities from the previous night almost nonexistent as you nuzzled your cheek into the fabric of his shirt, "I know I saw you this morning but I can't help it."

He'd laughed lightly, soft and familiar in your ear, "I miss you too, babygirl. Miss havin' you in my bed."

You'd taken only one deep breath before admitting softly, "I miss your cock."

He'd groaned, low and deep, "I know, darlin'. I know you do."

You'd both had simultaneous orgasms about ten minutes later, your name on his lips as he came into his fist and you buried your face in the pillow you wished was him, fingers scissoring inside you. You walk over to your bed now and pull up the mattress a bit, tugging his shirt out from underneath while you have a spare moment alone. You bring it to your face and inhale deeply, eyes closing and heart fluttering; you're obsessed.

"Ready to go?" your mom calls from downstairs, and you quickly shove the flannel back under the mattress, making sure it's hidden before you dash to your dresser to grab a pair of stockings. They're black and stop at your thigh, the edges hidden beneath the dress; you already know Joel will take them off soon enough.

You immediately notice the grimace on your mother's face when you appear at the bottom of the stairs and you wonder what you've done wrong already. She assesses you again without saying anything, gnawing on her lip and circling you a bit.

"Can I go?" you ask quietly, unsure what she's going to say, "I don't wanna be late."

"Where's your crucifix?" she finally says, tilting her head slightly, "I don't think I've seen you wear it all summer."

Astute observation - you haven't worn it all summer. It's still upstairs in your jewelry box, exactly where you'd left it when you went off to college several years ago. You'd begun to resent everything it represented and no longer felt like parading around with it on your neck like you'd done your whole life. The thought of wearing it now after so many years of forgetting it even existed... well, it certainly doesn't appeal to you whatsoever.

But you are trying to make up for all the lying, even if she doesn't necessarily know it.

You plaster a forced smile on your face, "I'll go get it." She mirrors it and nods as you turn around and head back up to your bedroom. Do it for the lessons, you think to yourself calmly.

Looking in the mirror after clasping the gold cross around your neck is a trip to the say the least. You suddenly feel ten years younger, standing in your bedroom preparing for an early service, Sunday School homework crumpled in your backpack and an immense weight of pressure on your shoulders to be perfect. You stare at the crucifix and feel that familiar sense of guilt begin to creep in, surrounding you in a quiet but palpable void of judgement that you've spent years trying to escape.

Why the fuck are you doing this? Why are you so hellbent on following the rules, after everything you've done? Why does the approval of your parents still mean so much to you? How is any of this even worth it?

You swallow back the pain you feel, the guilt, the anger, the resentment, all of it. Now is not the time to have an existential crisis; you have a "lesson" to go to - something you are not going to feel guilty about, no matter how bad your former Catholic brain may want you to.

As if by some ironic miracle, your phone buzzes and you unlock it to see a sudden surge of text messages in your college group chat:

have fun at your lesson 😘

don't do anything we wouldn't do!!!

pls give us all the details later 🥵

ITS ENTIRELY POSSIBLE TO SUCK DICK ON ACCIDENT JUST FYI

A breathless laugh escapes you, relief flooding your body at the sudden sense of normalcy, the reminder that what you're doing is not wrong. You're so glad you told your friends about what's been going on - you can't imagine keeping this secret all to yourself any longer. Knowing that they're there, that they support you and care about you and want you to have these experiences... it's enough for you to turn from the mirror without a second glance.

It's just a fucking necklace.

--

You arrive on Joel's doorstep at exactly ten o'clock, smoothing down your dress a bit and taking a deep breath before knocking. You're not sure how he's going to react to you standing there in all your Catholic glory, hair down and parted through the middle, crucifix dangling from your neck, hymn book weighing heavily in your purse. You still feel like that past version of yourself, shifting nervously from right foot to left as you stand there waiting for him to open the door.

The knob finally twists and there he stands, tall and broad in front of you. Your eyes widen when you see him, lips parting in surprise - the exact same reaction he has when he sees you.

He's dressed up. No band t-shirt or jeans to be seen, no bare feet or messy hair or disheveled beard. His grey curls are gelled back, demure and handsome, scruff trimmed up to shape his jaw. He's wearing a grey button down tucked into a pair of black dress pants, shoes that look freshly shined. For all intents and purposes, he looks like he's about to go to a church service.

You both stand there staring at each other without saying anything, both pairs of eyes scanning up and down your bodies with almost no regard for politeness. You're speechless, completely in awe of his sudden transformation, a transformation you certainly had not been expecting.

"I thought, uh-" he chokes out, breaking the silence between the two of you as his hand reaches up to awkwardly touch the back of his neck, "I thought your mother might bring you."

You continue to stare at him, a ball of emotion suddenly growing heavy in your throat, "Y-you wore this in case my mom came with me?"

He slowly nods, suddenly looking a bit sheepish as his eyes scan the road behind you for any onlookers, "I wanted to make a good impression."

With a shaky inhale full of a feeling you can't describe, you take a step toward him, unable to stop yourself from reaching forward to grab his hand, "Joel," you whisper, barely audible and almost alien in your mouth - you're so used to calling him Mr. Miller, "That's... that's..." you don't even know what to say, words completely failing you.

"It's no big deal," he says with a small smile, tugging on your hand and urging you to follow him inside, "C'mere."

As soon as the door closes behind you he's grabbing both your hands and pulling back to look at you again, eyes still awestruck. You can't help but feel embarrassed when his gaze freezes on your crucifix.

"My mom made me dress up," you mumble, "I know, it's a lot."

He nods and clears his throat, taking a long exhale through his mouth as he continues to peer at you, "I'm a bad man." Your brow furrows, confused for a moment before he laughs breathlessly and shakes his head, "I am, I must be, 'cause I shouldn't find you wearin' all this so damn sexy."

A giggle slips past your lips, skin warming as he entwines his fingers with yours and moves forward a bit to tower over you, eyes trailing to your lips.

"I mean it, darlin'," he whispers with a tender smile, "You look... fuck, you look pretty."

"Thank you," you whisper back, tilting your head up a bit more, waiting for him to kiss you - and he does. It's soft and sweet, not the type you'd been expecting after a comment like that. He seems slightly reserved as he kisses you, squeezing your hands in his and pulling away far too quickly, "What is it?" you ask quietly, raising an eyebrow, "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head again with a chuckle, "Nothin' at all, babygirl. I'm just... I'm tryin' to keep at least some of these next two hours focused on learnin' guitar."

You make a face, "Oh. Right."

"Remember what I said the other night?" he looks down at you with a playful smirk.

We'll make it sexy.

A smile spreads slowly across your face, "I remember."

--

He sits you between his legs on the couch, just like the first time he'd touched you. He noses your shoulder and breathes you in, pulls you close as he carefully places the guitar into your lap. His arms are warm and comforting, thighs strong and safe. You lean back into his touch immediately with a sigh of contentment, closing your eyes.

"Now, how am I supposed to teach you if you've got your eyes shut?" he asks with a laugh. You pout and open your eyes again, turning your face a bit to catch a glimpse of his relaxed expression.

"Sorry, it's just - you're distracting."

He snorts and redirects your attention to the task at hand, reaching down to capture your fingers in his and bring them up to the neck of the guitar. It's already distracting having him so close, but you can feel the shape of his cock against your lower back; it's not even hard -not yet, anyway - and your heart is already pounding.

"I mean it," you mutter softly, "I can't think when you're so close to me. Not after..." you trail off, feeling your cheeks warm at the thought, "Not after what we did the other night."

You feel him smile against your jaw, lips ghosting your skin, "I know, it's overwhelmin' isn't it?" His fingers trace the shape of yours, pressing gently against the guitar, "That's normal, sweetheart. We took a big step."

You can't help but lean back into him as he speaks, head coming to rest gently on his shoulder, forehead brushing his neck, "It felt so good," you whisper, secretive and shy, "When you were on top of me like that. When you had your mouth..."

He hums softly in understanding without you having to finish the thought, turns a bit to nose your hairline, "You want my mouth on you again, huh?"

"Yes."

He kisses your skin softly, lingering for a moment before moving his face downward, "How 'bout this?" he murmurs, pressing another soft kiss to the bare skin at your neck, "How 'bout I teach you three chords? Just three," another kiss, this time to the spot above your collarbone, near your crucifix, "and when you can play them for me without my help, I'll give you a reward."

"What kind of reward?" you breathe, eyes closing again as his lips graze your neck back and forth.

"Somethin' that feels really good," he whispers, and you swear you feel the tip of his tongue flutter against you for a brief moment, warm and wet, "Somethin' new I wanna show you, if you'll let me."

"I'll let you do anything," you admit, voice shaky, "You know that."

He smiles against you, then slowly licks a long stripe up from your neck to your cheek, an act that probably would have disgusted a previous version of yourself but now sends you reeling, skin going hot beneath his mouth. You turn your head toward his and he captures your lips in a searing kiss, the kind you'd expected at the door, full of arousal and sex and the promise of more. You're already wet and throbbing when he pulls back to peer at you.

"I know," he murmurs, hand that's not on the guitar coming up to hold your chin between his thumb and index finger, "You'd do anything I asked, huh?" You nod, eyelashes fluttering as he thumbs your chin and whispers, "Such a good girl."

Your mind is empty as he releases your chin and takes your other hand in his, bringing it down to the strings. You let him move you the way he wants to, adjusting you a bit between his legs so you're pressed more firmly against him, his broad chest tight against your back. You can't help but let out a breathless noise, almost a whimper.

"I know," he repeats, voice calm and soothing as he pushes his groin forward so his clothed cock makes even more contact with your lower back, "I know, babygirl, it's so much, isn't it? Feelin' so many different things," he carefully adjusts your fingers on the neck of the guitar, places them on the correct strings and murmurs, "You can do this, I know you can. And then you'll get your reward, I promise."

His words are smooth as butter and have almost no meaning at this point, thoughts foggy as you press down on the strings and try your best to focus on what he's asking of you. You're suddenly completely pliant under his touch - he could pick you up and bend you over the kitchen counter and you'd let him, wouldn't even have a thought in your mind as he did it.

But he won't - that's not why you're here.

Learning guitar chords with a half-hard cock digging into your back and warm breath at your neck is much easier said than done. You don't know how you manage to get through the fifteen minutes it takes you to learn the C chord, and the ten minutes it takes to learn what you think is the D chord - you can't even remember now, you're so distracted by his body against yours. He's teaching you G when you feel yourself slipping, thighs rubbing together to seek some kind of relief. It's never felt like this before; usually you'd be touching yourself at this point or he'd be touching you. The lack of contact almost hurts, your pussy throbbing around absolutely nothing and dampening your underwear, begging silently to be relieved in some way.

"What's wrong?" he whispers, big fingers still pinning yours to the neck of the guitar, stubble scratching against your skin as he presses a feather-light kiss to your ear, "Tell me, darlin'. Why're you wigglin' around like that, huh?"

He knows why; you can feel the smirk on his face, sense the teasing edge to his voice. He's enjoying this, having you completely under his spell while you try your hardest to learn and remember. His cock is getting harder by the second, the movement of your hips and ass certainly not helping the situation by any means. You know what it looks like now, what it feels like, can picture it in your mind growing stiffer and stiffer, leaking from the tip through his pants.

"Feels f-funny," you manage to whimper, forcing yourself to strum out your first G with shaky results. You try again, pushing your fingers more firmly against the strings with Joel's help, feeling his nose trailing gently across your temple.

"What feels funny, sweetheart?" he murmurs, and part of you wants to rip yourself from between his legs, toss the guitar to the floor, and straddle his lap, grind yourself down on him. You've never done it before but you can suddenly see it in your mind plain as day, an obvious solution to the problem in your panties that's growing worse by the second.

"My pussy," you moan, closing your eyes and tilting your head against his shoulder again, hands loosening on the guitar, "It hurts."

He pulls you in closer, inhales your perfume and releases a low groan, "Poor baby," he murmurs, "I know, honey, you're just achin' to be touched, huh?" He tightens your fingers against the strings again, eyelashes fluttering against your neck, "Come on, sweet girl, you almost got it, you're so close."

You're not sure he intends for that to have a double meaning but it makes you groan nonetheless, a weak sound that makes him chuckle. He removes his fingers from yours and waits for you to show him the chord without help - you can feel his eyes on you as you shakily strum. You wince when it comes out sounding wrong.

"Gotta push down harder," he murmurs, "You almost got it, babygirl, show me."

"I can't," you whimper, shaking your head, "I can't, Mr. Miller, it's too much, please."

"Shhh," he soothes, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck, "You can, darlin'. You're doin' so good." You feel him pull your dress up in the back as he speaks, and then he's suddenly pulling you up and into his lap, sitting you directly on his clothed cock. "You just gotta push a little bit harder." He grinds against you at the word, firm and purposeful, pinning you to the solid length of him.

"Oh my god," you gasp out, awestruck by the feeling of him, so big and thick and warm beneath you. Your pussy continues to pulse and throb and you know you're already starting to soak the nice pair of dress pants he'd worn for you, covering his crotch in your slick.

It's somehow still not enough. You find yourself grinding down onto him, matching his own movements as your hands squeeze the guitar and your thighs push together. You whimper pitifully in his lap, squirming and making a mess but too horny to care about how ridiculous you probably look.

"You feel my cock against your pussy, baby?" he asks, voice low and deep, and all you can do is nod frantically, a moan tearing from your throat, "That feel better? Think you can play now?"

You truly don't think you can, but he's clearly still waiting for you to show him. Your whole body is on fire, hands trembling as you push your fingers against the strings as hard as you can, strumming out the G chord with more success this time. You sigh in relief, loosening your grip on the guitar and leaning back into his touch.

"Now show me all three," he whispers.

"Mr. Miller," you groan, frustration and arousal starting to fully overtake you, "Please."

"Shhh," he repeats, "Shh, baby, it's okay. It's okay, I'll touch you this time. Just play those three chords while I play with your pussy, alright? Can you do that for me?"

You nod again, swallowing tightly as you reposition your fingers on the neck of the guitar and try to remember where they're supposed to go for the C chord. It's impossible to focus as Joel snakes his arm up around your belly, slips his hand down beneath your dress to where you're aching.

"Lemme feel," he murmurs, fingertips tickling over the wet spot of your panties and pressing down gently against you, "Oh, she's throbbin', babygirl." You moan again, borderline hysterical as he uses two fingers to circle your hole through the fabric, callused tips prodding your folds. "Shhh, I know, baby, I know. Keep goin honey, keep playin'."

You don't know how you do it, have absolutely no idea how you manage to actually strum out the chords while he's touching you like this, but you do. You shakily play the C as he slips his index finger inside your panties and places it against your hole, feels how much you're dripping for him and groans into your neck.

"Always so fuckin' wet for me," he murmurs, "Never even had a cock inside you and your pussy's so ready for it every time, babygirl, just beggin' to be filled up."

He pushes both his index and middle fingers inside as you play the D chord, slipping them in with barely any resistance as you grip the guitar and try your hardest to keep going, to not give up - you're so close, in more ways than one. You whimper when the tips of his fingers brush gently against that spongey part inside you that you can't reach yourself.

"That's it," he encourages you softly, slowly beginning to fuck you with them, pulling them out and pushing them back in as he noses your neck and breathes you in as you tremble, "I know, sweetheart, feels so good, doesn't it? One more, baby, one more."

Tears are stinging in your eyes as you strum out the G chord, the last one you need to play in order to get your reward, to end Joel's teasing and finally get what you were promised. You push your fingers down as hard as you can and play it with a finality that makes him smile against your skin.

"All done," he murmurs, taking the guitar from you with one hand and tossing it to the other end of the couch. You moan out a sound of relief and he pulls you in close, holds you firm against his lap and speeds up his fingers, fucking you harder and smiling wider when you cry out in pleasure, "Good girl, angel, good girl."

You can't speak, jaw going lax and eyes hooded as his fingers plunge in and out, his other hand spread on your belly as he pushes you down onto his cock. You turn your head slightly to bury your face in his neck, biting down on your lip and letting the sensations overwhelm you, whimpering when you feel his cock twitch and pulse through the material.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks huskily, "Didn't even wanna learn guitar today, did you? Just wanted to come over and be my good little girl, get fucked by my fingers and grind against my cock, that right?"

You're unable to answer any of his questions, letting your body do all the talking for itself as you become completely loose and pliant under his touch, a ragdoll in his lap as whimpers continue to escape your mouth.

"Wearin' this little dress," he murmurs, "And these fuckin' socks," the hand that's not on your pussy comes down to rest on your thigh, squeezes the bare spot between your dress and your stocking, "Just beggin' to be touched, babygirl."

You should've seen what I had on before I left the house, you think to yourself, remembering the beige potato sack and thanking the heavens that your mother hadn't made you wear it. You watch as Joel pulls up your dress in the front, exposing both of you to the pornographic image of his hand inside your panties, fingers fucking you relentlessly while you drip and soak everything within reach.

"You want your reward now, baby?" he asks you softly, pulling your hair back and pressing a wet kiss to your temple, fingers beginning to slow, "Huh? You wanna try somethin' new?"

"Y-yes," you manage to finally speak, voice faint and weak, "W-want it so bad." And it's true - you don't even know what it is but you're dying for him to do it already, teach you something else that's not just chords on the guitar.

At your words he pulls his fingers out of you and you whine, petulant and frustrated as your hips buck in his lap. Without a word he pulls you off of him and carefully slips off the couch, placing you back against the cushions where he was sitting. You watch with wide eyes as he kneels on the floor in front of you, hands coming up to rest on your knees as he slowly pushes your legs apart.

"W-what are you doing?" you whisper, but a small voice in the back of your mind tells you that you already know, recalling past discussions from your friends that you'd listened to with curiosity. Is he...? Is he really going to?

"Gonna kiss it better, baby," he breathes, hands trailing up to the edges of your stockings and carefully thumbing your bare skin, shuffling closer and looking up at you with those big brown eyes, "Gonna make you feel so good."

"Isn't it..." you feel yourself frowning, thoughts muddled, "Don't guys not like..." you're not sure how to word it, grimacing, "Aren't you supposed to hate doing that?"

His brow furrows, "And where'd you hear that from?"

"My friends at college," you breathe, "They say guys hate doing it. Or... or they don't know how to do it right or something like that."

He surprises you when he smirks, eyes going devilish and sexy in that rugged way you love, "That's 'cause college girls usually sleep with college boys, babygirl," he says softly, "And college boys are dumb as rocks."

You giggle at his words, thinking back to that freshman party you'd attended where the handsome college boy had rejected you, gone for your friend instead. Joel's words are validating, comforting.

He pushes up your dress a bit more, then drags your panties down your legs, completely soaked. He smirks again at the sight of them, squeezes them in his palm before dropping them to the floor and picking your legs up to place them on his shoulders, pulling you toward him. You let out a gasp, eyes going hooded again as he scoots you forward and then dips his head down, presses a kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh.

"This," he murmurs against your skin, "is one of my favorite things to do in the whole world." He kisses your other thigh, the hint of his tongue just barely flicking out to wet your skin, "And I wanted to do it to you," another kiss, "since the first day," and another, "you showed up on my doorstep."

You're losing your breath again, lips parting as he finally brings his lips to where you're aching for him, soaking the couch with your arousal. He presses a small and tender kiss to one of your outer lips, then the other, then carefully moves his hands up to thumb them apart, holding you open for him. You don't dare make a sound, biting down hard on your lip as you watch him look at you, take you in.

"Prettiest pussy I ever saw," he says quietly, breath fanning out over your wet skin, "I mean it, sweetheart. Ain't never gotten to kiss a pussy like this," he leans forward then and presses a small kiss to your clit, feather light. Your hips buck immediately, an odd sound coming from the back of your throat as you try to keep yourself together, "I know," he murmurs, "Just let go, honey. Don't hold back, want you to come all over my mouth."

And then he's licking a stripe up your folds, just like he'd done to your neck, long and languid and wet. Your eyes roll back, head hitting the back of the couch as he tastes you. The feeling of his mouth on such a sensitive part of you is indescribable; your head is suddenly empty again, no thoughts to be found other than feels so good, feels so good, feels so good. You don't even realize you're saying it out loud until he laughs, mouth vibrating against your pussy in the most perfect way.

"Love this cute little clit," he murmurs, kissing it again and then tugging it into his mouth with his tongue, sucking on it and making you writhe on the couch, fingernails digging into the cushions. He hums around it, pulls off it relatively quickly, then drags his mouth downward and pushes his tongue inside your hole, fucks you with it as your head lolls atop your shoulders.

College boys really are dumb as rocks.

"Your tongue," you moan out, eyes scrunching together as gasps continuously rip from your throat, "Oh fuck, oh my god." He licks inside you, pulls his tongue out to suck your labia, nose bumping against your clit. You shriek, hands coming up to cover your face as you bite down so hard on your lip you fear you might draw blood.

"Tastes so fuckin' sweet, babygirl" he says gruffly, pulling away for only a few seconds to peer up at you, chin glistening with your juices, "Just like I knew you would." He drops back down to suckle on your clit again, the tip of his tongue circling it over and over until you're on the verge of completely falling apart, a fire burning inside your belly that's growing stronger and stronger by the second.

The only thought that comes into your mind before you come is how sinful you must look right now, wearing your Sunday best, crucifix around your neck, hymn book strewn to the side as your fifty-six year old neighbor eats your pussy, coaxes noises out of you that you didn't even know you could make. You should feel ashamed, should feel sorry, but you don't. In fact, it's probably the hottest thing you've ever experienced in your life.

You have no time to give him any sort of warning, not that he needs one anyway. With one final suck to your clit you're gone, hips bucking upward as you cry out into Joel's living room pathetically, eyes shut tight as you flail beneath him. He puts his hands on your hips, pins you to the couch so you don't fall off as you come all over his mouth, just like he asked.

You lay there for what feels like a long time, body like jelly as you sink further and further into his couch. He peppers tiny kisses all over your pussy, avoiding your clit as not to cause you too much overstimulation, then very slowly pulls back to look at you, dropping your thighs from his shoulders.

"Good reward?" he asks softly, and all you can do is nod.

You listen as he gets up and busies himself in the kitchen for a moment, running the tap. He returns with a wet cloth and a glass of cold water, handing it to you before dropping back to his knees to wipe you clean. You hiss a bit when he touches your clit, hips stuttering.

"Shh, it's okay," he murmurs, "Just cleanin' you up, sweetheart."

When he's done he scoots in beside you on the couch, lets you curl up against him and lay there for a few quiet moments, breath evening out as you come back down to Earth. He strokes your hair, kisses your forehead, thumbs your cheek.

"That felt really good," you finally whisper softly, eyes hazy as you open them to look at him, "Thank you."

He smiles, charming and gentle, "You're welcome, babygirl."

"What time is it?"

He looks at his watch, "Ten after eleven, still got some time to spare," he brushes his nose against yours, "You wanna keep practicin' or do you wanna relax?"

"Relax," you hum, "Definitely relax."

He chuckles, "I'll put this away then," he extricates himself from you and reaches for the guitar, turning around to lean it back against the wall. He picks up your hymn book and goes to slip it back inside your purse before you sit up, shaking your head.

"I told my mom I loaned that to you," you smile sheepishly, "You should probably, um, keep it for a little bit."

"Ah, so that's my reward," he says with a laugh, thumbing the pages gently, "I'll take good care of it, promise."

Your eyes go wide at his words, "Oh my god."

He raises an eyebrow, puzzled by your reaction, "What?"

"You never came," you sit up on the couch, shaking your head frantically, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, come here, let me help," you reach toward his belt and he just laughs again, taking a step back.

"You don't need to do that, sweetheart," he says softly, kindly, but you're not having it.

"No, I want to, please," you stand up from the couch and step toward him, gripping his belt buckle, "Please let me."

He shakes his head; suddenly he's the one looking sheepish. You halt your movements, staring at him in confusion.

"I came, darlin'," he says with a breathless sort of laugh, smiling at you, "I came in my pants like one of your college boys. Haven't done it in years, actually. I'm surprised I still could." He pulls your hand off his belt and brings it to his lips, presses a kiss to your knuckles, "You're not the only one who learned somethin' new today."

You feel a proud warmth flood your cheeks, smiling softly to yourself as you take his words in.

"That bein' said, I'm gonna need to change," he winces a bit as he adjusts his pants, "I'm a bit of a mess right now." His eyes suddenly light up with some kind of realization, and he quickly puts his finger up before walking over to one of his bookshelves and pulling a little gift bag off the bottom shelf, "Which reminds me," he says with a smile, heading back over to you, "This is for you."

You stare at the bag, confused, "For me?"

"For you."

You take it from him, feeling beyond touched despite not having any idea what's inside. Your heart is beating fast as you reach in the bag, push past the tissue paper and pull out something lightweight, soft under your touch. You stare at it for a few seconds, looking at the pastel pink material and thumbing it gently, brow slowly beginning to furrow.

"You said you needed a new swimsuit," he says softly, "You wanted a bikini, remember? I picked this up for you."

"Yeah, I... I remember," you're still staring at it; it's cute and ruffled, nothing too crazy like the things you'd worried he might get for you. However there's an odd feeling in the pit of your stomach as you look at it, dropping the bag at your feet and holding up the top half in front of your face, staring at it like it could attack you at any second.

It's quiet for a moment, then, "I can take it back if you don't like it, darlin'. No worries."

"No, no, I...I like it," you say quickly, "I just..." you can't really explain how you're feeling, unsure how exactly to word it, "If my parents ever saw me in this..." you suddenly feel like you're going to cry, shaking your head and dropping the top back into the bag, "I'm sorry, I know I told you to get it but... now that I'm actually looking at it... there's no way I can wear this in my pool. Not without my mother having a conniption. I don't know what I was thinking."

You feel his eyes on you as you reach down to pick the bag back up, pushing it back toward him, waiting for him to take it from you - he doesn't.

"It's yours, angel," he says softly, "You don't have to wear it but I want you to have it."

You shake your head, pushing it toward him again, "No, you don't need to waste your money on something I'll never wear."

"I don't care, I want you to have it," he repeats, voice kind yet firm, "I bought it for you, it's a present, and I think you deserve to have somethin' nice for yourself."

"I have plenty of nice things," you snap, letting go of the bag and watching as it cascades to the floor, "I don't need it."

You can't bring yourself to look at him, crossing your arms against your chest and biting down on your lip to keep the tears at bay. He stands there for a few seconds silently, probably waiting for you to say something else, but you don't.

"Well, I'm gonna go change outta these clothes," he says quietly, "I'll meet you out on the back deck, alright? It's real private out there, don't gotta worry about anyone seein' you."

You nod slowly, staring at a spot on the floor. He turns away from you and heads upstairs, leaving you standing there feeling like a complete asshole. What is wrong with you? He just gave you a fucking present, not to mention the best orgasm of your life, and this is how you treat him? You take a deep breath and force the tears away, sighing to yourself and bringing your gaze back to the little bag on the floor.

You hate this. Why does every single thought you have need to be somehow policed by your parents despite them not even being in the room? Why is every decision, every move you make, always influenced by that guilty part of you, the part of you that wants to be their perfect girl, their star student, their obedient God fearing daughter? How has it gotten this deep? Why are they so ingrained in you to the point where something you literally asked for is tainted by thoughts of their disapproval?

You stand there staring at the bag, arms still crossed, thoughts going a mile a minute. Get over yourself. You just had a man's mouth on your pussy and you're suddenly worried about wearing a bikini? You make a grumbling sound in your throat, exhaling and shaking your head. Stop letting them control you. Stop giving them power.

You slip inside the downstairs bathroom, little bag in tow.

--

The sun is hot against your skin as you step out onto Joel's back patio, clad in your brand new bikini and surprisingly less self conscious than you thought you'd be. He was right; the backyard is very private, shielded by trees and a tall white fence similar to your own. You briefly wonder why he'd choose to play guitar on his front step when he has such a nice atmosphere back here, but the thought fades quickly when you see him sitting there in front of you in a lounge chair, wearing a pair of shorts and nothing else.

You feel your heart pound as you walk forward, shutting the door behind you with eyes glued to the hair on his chest, the sweat clinging to his skin, dipping into his tummy. You're still a bit embarrassed by your initial reaction to your gift but it's seemingly water under Joel's bridge when he turns around at the sound of the door to see you standing there.

He whistles when he sees you, low and cartoonish, "Phew. I think I made a good choice," he looks you up and down as you smile shyly, "Gimme a twirl."

You do as you're told, the thin ruffles tickling the tops of your thighs as you spin on the spot. You giggle when he whistles again.

"I really do like it," you say softly, walking over to him and settling into the other lounge chair, "It suits me. I'm sorry I got all weird."

He smiles at you tenderly, "That's alright, babygirl. I understand," he pauses then, looks thoughtful for a moment before saying, "You know... I know what it feels like to be worried about disappointin' your parents. To always be seekin' approval."

Your brow furrows at his words, "You do?"

He nods, leaning back a bit in the chair and sighing a bit, "I may be new to this neighborhood but I ain't new to Texas, darlin'. Born and raised here, went to church every Sunday just like you, had a curfew and rules and expectations and all those things you have." He closes his eyes against the rays of sun, "Difference is, I'm not an only child. I wasn't dealin' with it alone, thank God. Had my little brother Tommy with me every step of the way."

You smile at that, trying to picture a much younger version of Joel in his childhood, horsing around with another little boy. You'd always thought about what it would have been like to have a sibling, to not be the only one with all the pressure on your shoulders, but your parents had never given you any. Your mom had wanted to have more kids and simply couldn't, another layer of guilt added to your ever increasing pile. Her only daughter - a sinner. You shake the thought away and continue to listen to Joel.

"The thing about havin' a brother, in my experience anyway, is that people will always find ways to compare you. Tommy was always the smart one, the moral one, good head on his shoulders, always did well in school and knew his scripture back to front," he chuckles to himself, "I tried so hard to be like him but I just couldn't do it, wasn't built that way, never have been. I was the angry one, the problem child. Was always good with my hands but my parents never saw much value in that, always ended up askin' me the same shit: Why can't you be more like Tommy? Tommy's got straight A's, why don't you? When are you gonna start actin' more like Tommy?"

You frown, feeling a pang in your heart at the words.

"Was too much pressure to be like Tommy. He was their golden boy, you know? And I just couldn't compare. God knows I tried but..." he reaches over the side of his chair and picks up a bottle of beer you hadn't noticed before, bringing it to his lips and taking a sip, "I started messin' up a lot when I hit my teenage years," he continues, "Drinkin', breakin' curfew, sneakin' out to see girls. I had fun but my parents...phew, my father in particular, he was not happy, let me tell you. And then -" he cuts himself off suddenly, frozen for a moment before taking one last sip of beer and putting it down again.

"Then...?" you ask softly.

He shrugs to himself, hesitating a bit before answering, "Then... I got myself into some trouble. Won't go into it, not right now, but they kicked me out. That was that, didn't wanna have nothin' to do with me after that."

Your stomach twists at his words, "That's horrible."

He shrugs again, finally turning to look at you, "It ain't as bad as it sounds, trust me. I was better off, I didn't need any of their judgement in my life, any of that Catholic guilt. It was like a weight came off my shoulders. Sure, I had some bigger fish to fry after that, had to do a lot of things on my own, but I wouldn't change a thing."

"So, do you still talk?" you can't help but ask, feeling slightly selfish; it's for you, for your own conscious.

"Who, me and my parents?" he laughs lightly, "They're long gone now, sweetheart. But yeah, after my Dad died I spent some more time with my Momma, got to have her in my life again for a bit. That was nice." He ponders to himself for a moment, "I think, as cliché as it sounds, time really does heal most wounds. Nothin's ever perfect, nothin' can ever go back to the way it was, but people change. And while they're changin', you gotta focus on what's right for you, on livin' the life you want, not worryin' about what they'll think."

You nod thoughtfully, taking in his words. "So... this life, the one you're living right now... is it what you want?" you ask softly, brow furrowed, "Are you happy?"

He sighs then, leans further back into the chair and closes his eyes once more, "Now that's a complicated question."

You both lay there in silence for a little while, though it's neither awkward nor uncomfortable. It feels nice, to just sit with somebody with no pressure of making conversation or answering things about yourself. Every time you've interacted with anyone this summer, whether it be your parents or your mom's friends or people you used to know, there's always been an expectation to inform. To prove yourself, to show how good of a person you are, how much you've achieved. With Joel none of that pressure exists; it's so easy to just be with him and not have to be anyone but yourself.

Though he hadn't really answered your question, you have an answer of your own. Before you met Joel, almost two weeks ago now, you hadn't known where you stood in life, what you wanted, who you were. And now you're slowly beginning to realize that there's this whole other person inside of you, dying to get out, to be free. And you like that person, want to be her more than anything, want to live that life.

But just like Joel said - it's complicated.

"Do you ever..." you break the silence, trailing off slightly before continuing, "Do you ever feel like you're just kind of going through the motions? Like... wasting all your time doing things for other people instead of yourself?"

"Honey, you just summed up my whole life," he says with a laugh, deep and smooth, "You think I wanna be out workin' til ten every night, doin' construction and barkin' orders and layin' plans for shit I got no interest in? I'm fifty six, I should be thinkin' about retirin' by now." He winces at his own words and then sits up a bit, giving you an odd look, "Forget I said that."

You raise an eyebrow, confused, "Why?"

He grimaces, "I don't need to be remindin' you how old I am."

You can't help but laugh, smiling to yourself and shaking your head quickly, "I don't mind, Mr. Miller, really."

His expression softens at your words, but then his brow furrows. He's quiet for a moment, the cogs in his head seemingly turning until he finally says softly, "Call me Joel, darlin'."

You're a bit surprised by his words, eyes widening, "Oh, I'm sorry."

He smiles, "Don't be sorry, sweetheart. I... I do like you callin' me Mr. Miller, but you can call me by my name too, if you want. If it feels natural for you."

You nod slowly, "Joel," you say quietly and he chuckles, "Joel," you repeat, smiling to yourself, "Joel."

"Don't wear it out," he admonishes with a grin, reaching down to pick up his bottle of beer again, "Though I do like how you say it."

Your cheeks warm at his words and you settle back into the chair, closing your eyes and inhaling the fresh air. Your time is winding down now - you'd told your mom you'd be home around noon; the sun is almost at the highest point in the sky.

"So what would you be doing?" you ask suddenly, "If you had more freedom for yourself, if you weren't doing the whole contracting thing?"

He thinks to himself for a moment, then shrugs, "Playin' music, I guess. Always wanted to when I was young but my parents didn't like the idea, I'm sure you can imagine." You grimace at his words, understanding completely. "But yeah... doin' some gigs, playin' guitar, singin' a bit here and there... that'd be the dream." He smiles at you then, crinkly eyed and gorgeous, "What about you, darlin'? If you didn't have all these things with your parents to worry about, what would you do?"

You bite your lip, averting your eyes from his as you softly murmur, "I think I'd still be sitting right here with you."

He looks at you for a long time, thoughtful and soft. You can't help but feel shy under his gaze, toying with a ruffle on your bikini and wondering if maybe you've said too much. You've barely known him two weeks, you doubt he's feeling any ounce of the butterflies that have been fluttering in your belly since the day you met him, and yet you can't help but hope that maybe...just maybe... he's starting to.

"You want a beer or anything, sweetheart?" he interrupts your thoughts, standing up from his chair and gesturing toward the house, "I'm goin' in to get another one. I have some lemonade too."

"Lemonade sounds nice," you say with a smile, and he mirrors it, reaching down to push a strand of hair behind your ear.

"One lemonade comin' right up," he murmurs, then leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, sweet and quick. You melt under his touch, eyes closing as he strokes your cheek, realizing you could sit here forever just existing with him, being touched by him, being kissed by him.

Yup. Very complicated.

--

You arrive home to find your mother sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch; she looks up as soon as she sees you, eyes lighting up, "So? How'd it go?"

You're wearing the dress again, the stockings, the crucifix. The only difference is that the hymn book in your purse has been replaced with the pink bikini, wrapped in tissue paper. You sit down across the table from your mother, feeling a little lighter, like there's a little less weight on your shoulders.

"It was amazing," you tell her, unable to stop the genuine smile that spreads across your face, "I learned so much."

[radical-rigatoni1]

What the hell is in this fanfiction?? I fckin animated??? What the shell man what did you and alighterwood put in that @erinwantstowrite

Ramblings, 80% unimportant 20% abt the video

Remembered how fun lip synching in and remembered how frustrating lip synching is. Some words, one go bam bam. Some... not so much.

Also erin ignore the ask i sent you ignore itttt i needed that for this but then realized YOUR PROFILE PICTURE! 0 for me- 1 for noticing obvious things. Maybe more. Lost track 15 years ago

. Also i know i keep putting peter's little jacket on but i am having trouble with drawing arms without fabric and i know its technically he does have fabric but i mean LOSE fabric. If i take it off that would make me lose motivation way sooner if i was just like "UGH THIS DOESNT LOOK RIGHT!!!!" 24/7. I have learned to just go fck it, as long as i have fun the lip sync looks good and i get my main idea across... good enough but im still TRYING to hit myself w that mindset doesnt mean it'll switch immediately 😭👍 still thats gonna be my new mindset for the year....midway through. I would love to say im gonna shut up right now but at this point we both know im not really gonna.

ALSO, I HAVE SOMRTHING SLIGHTLY PLANNED for LOF again, so mayb possibly more fanart. No guarantee bcs im on the fence about how it'll look and how much I'll like it once i get that idea on paper. It's about the new chapter 😌 Dink and Peter are really sweet. I liked that they were both rly awkward on how to take the next step. Eager to, but not entirely sure in the other's stance. It's nice from both POVs ❤️❤️ once again. The writing in that fic is beautiful

Quadruple also!!!! I wanted to put more stuff around where peter was by the graves but then my titi's came by and i completely forgot the crazy idea i was grasping on to and had to scrap. I think it was super crazy though and my limited animation skills can only do so much before my brain turns to mush.

Quintuple also!!! YEAH!

[tonguetiedraven]

Rin was wrong about the Kyoto arc and most of you are too

But like Rin, you don't have to hold onto your assumptions.

With the slight resurgence in aoex popularity, I'm seeing a new rise in some fundamental misunderstandings about the characters and plot. I've been asked a lot of questions about a few certain characters over the years, and I've noticed that the base of the misunderstandings people tend to have with everyone originates in the Kyoto Arc.

What am I calling the Kyoto arc? Everything that happens in the second season of the anime and everything that happens after chapter 13 in the manga . (The point when the anime said let's go off and do our own wild thing and forget about the story and characters Kato is making! It'll be fun and totally not still be causing long lasting chaos over a decade later) and up to chapter 35. It's a 20 chapter arc, roughly. And honestly I think most of the manga exclusive Kraken arc should be included in the Kyoto arc because it is a direct continuation of Rin and Yukio's story line there, but I digress and we will get to that!

I am going to assume that you, the reader of this lengthy essay (I'm wordy and won't apologize for it, lol), are aware enough of the manga and Blue Exorcist to know that every episode in the first season of the anime after episode 16 is NOT CANON and does a poor job of depicting all the characters involved from Angel to Yukio. (There is no character with a Z, lol. So Yukio wins that role.) No one comes out looking correct in that. I know some people will argue that Rin is fine, but no. He is not similar to his canon hot headed, impulsive, loud, often violent/aggressive, and past avoiding self who would never have let his twin pull a gun on Kuro and would never have let Yukio leave after that without a fight. Sorry guys, they nuked him too. Just in a more pathetic victim way so people let it slide because he obviously needs to be protected from all the other meanies.

I am also going to assume you know character names. You can google them if you get confused  ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ )

Anyway, back on topic. I'm going to go heavily into the start of this arc and more broad as it goes on. The initial area is where most of the misconceptions start and they kind of carry through from then on meaning the entire rest of the arc and arcs there are a few flaws in the understanding of character motivations and reasons and some just basic plot stuff.

In chapter 13 of the manga, we get this tremendous clip

Just before this moment the exwires have found out that their classmate is not a human and is powerful.

You'll notice Shima leaning against the railing there. That's because he has a cracked rib and probably a concussion. Konekomaru is now sporting a broken arm, and Ryuuji got strangled out enough to be choking on blood. Shiemi was hypnotized and controlled and carried around like a possession by a demon king who tried to eat her eyes and kept taunting about making her his bride all while she was unable to move or do anything. There is not enough written about the truly terrifying kind of assault that is for the youngest member of their group, and that's without the tangle of a relationship Amaimon and Shiemi have in it.

It is vital that everyone take a second to think about that. Izumo and Takara were not there. They stayed in the camp. They didn't pursue Amaimon, Shiemi, or Rin. They chose not to fight or try to help. The Kyoto Trio did (because Ryuuji/Bon is impulsive and ran after Rin and Shiemi to help and the others followed him) and it took all of thirty seconds for the Demon King Amaimon to knock them all out without even really putting any effort into his attack.

They manage to get out of the forest and back to the pictured bridge with Yukio leading them out while the forest catches dramatically on blue fire. (Remember that the Kyoto trio grew up hearing about how much the blue flames of Satan destroyed their home and killed their family members. Their entire life was irrevocably changed because of blue flames.) And Rin and Amaimon are wildly fucking shit up. They even yeeted Mephisto who is a much higher ranking king.

All that leads to the Paladin appearing, Arthur Angel, who orders the exwires to be interrogated and checked by medics. (Honestly a step up for True Cross. They almost never remember medics.)

The Paladin appears and then Mephisto appears, and he has Rin in tow. Rin who is entirely feral and tries to lunge for the exwires. The traumatized exwires see Rin try and attack them with an entirely demonic face. They do not know anything about his story or Shirou or even ow he got here, but they can easily see that he's tied to Satan because of the flames and now he clearly wants to hurt. Hurt them.

Now in Rin's defense, he's not in his right mind. Mephisto sheaths the sword and the demonic part is forced to retreat and Rin passes out until he's slapped awake. At that point he's the Rin we know again (the exwires still have no idea what the hell is going on) and Angel takes him into custody. Rin looks over and sees his friends bloodied and bruised and sees Ryuuji with blood on his mouth staring with an unreadable expression.

It leads to this shot:

Question for the group: Who is Ryuuji asking this to?

Not Rin, that's for sure. It's Mephisto, in my opinion. Ryuuji is asking, quite understandably, why the hell the child of Satan was put in a class of ordinary students and why none of them were told about it. They just had a Demon King attack their class of exwires all of which were struggling against a simple moth and had to reseal it instead of exorcising it. A Demon King that attacked them because he wanted to do something to the son of Satan and they had no extra protection against that. Enough so that four of them are injured or traumatized.

(Also, if you get strangled do not yell and IMMEDIATELY seek medical help. There are a lot of terrible conditions and long lasting effects that can occur with strangulation.)

So at this point everyone is made to split ways. The exwires will get a small update from Yukio, and Rin will get put on trial for his life. Neither party knows what the other is aware of, and as far as we can tell, Rin does not remember that he tried very hard to lunge at and attack the exwires.

That does not mean that Rin did not lunge for and try to attack them. Not remembering trauma you caused someone else does not erase that trauma.

There is also this moment, and you best believe I am also here to defend Shiemi because she deserves it.

Go girl. You're so right. There's nothing funny about any of this. Not your abduction, not how assaulting that entire thing was, and not the fact that he was feral and that you're feeling like a lot of this is your fault. (And it was not her fault.)

Rin's defense in most bad situations is laughter and ignoring whatever the uncomfortable thing is. This rubs everyone around him the wrong way almost every time. And that's their right. I also truly think he doesn't know what he just did and doesn't remember much past drawing the sword and he's scared, and he's able to tell the vibes are bad and he's in trouble, but doesn't really get why/how. He is a bit (a lot) of an idiot and we love him for that.

Another vital thing to understand about Rin is that he sees the demonic and violent parts of himself as someone else. He is not that demon. He is not the guy that tore apart the forest, everyone is wrong. He didn't lunge after his friends, someone else did that. He isn't out of control of his flames, that isn't him. That demon with the flames and frightening strength and burning anger isn't him. They've got it all wrong. He's just Rin.

That is a big part of Rin's story. Rin accepting that he is all those things. He is the human and he is the demon and he is all the things that comes with both of those things. He is right and wrong and kind and cruel and caring and callous and gentle and dangerous. He is Yuri and Satan and Shirou's son, and he is complicated and trying his best and slowly learning to accept what he is and isn't.

Anyway, they split ways for a shitty night. Rin's is unquestionably shittier, but again, the rest of the exwires don't get told what the hell happened.

Anime only fans will already be noticing differences, but wait, there's a lot more that was missed/ skipped over.

The Kyoto trio are all at the hospital for the next few days and get a call about the temple having been attacked. Shima's dad and Ryuuji's dad were said to have been hurt in it.

This is the second hint we get that Ryuuji is not on good terms with his dad, and the mere mention of Kyoto visibly upsets him. That'll be important a little later.

Rin goes back to class with the girls but is pulled out by Yukio for his own individual classes with Shura before anyone can say anything. The cram teacher then explains the following:

The entirety of their school is giving them instructions on what to do if Rin goes wild because the exorcist and teachers all think he will go feral again.

Rin does not know they're getting this instruction.

We then see what Yukio told them is basically: Yeah, my twin has flames. I don't because I was too weak. I get tested daily for it. The koma (a nickname for Kurikara because you can't exactly go around calling a stolen sword by its name or people will catch on) sword sealed him. I don't know why we were allowed to live when True Cross has a very loud 'no Satan or Satan offspring allowed' policy. Kay, thanks, byyyeeeeee.

So no one is happy and no one really knows anything. Just Yukio who has always known everything and had the biggest emotional, responsible, and mental burden of everything about his brother. He was left holding the bag again. Responsible for a class he's the same age as, mourning his father whose death he doesn't know the full story of, responsible for killing his own brother if he goes feral, now ostracized even more by a community of exorcist he already didn't blend in with, and now made to bear all this. Yukio is a king for holding out for so damn many arcs without showing how bad his mental health was getting with all that stress.

At this point we see Ryuuji is placing the guilt for Konekomaru and Shima being injured on his own shoulders (Konekomaru tells him it was his fault that they were injured) and Shiemi is realizing that Rin became her friend as he was revealed and that she was never as much of a support or friend to either of them as she thought.

Meanwhile Izumo who, and I cannot stress this enough, did NOTHING in the fight and was not part of most of this and has at this point made NO effort to be friends with anyone past cleaning a shirt Rin loaned her, is judging all of them visibly.

A brief interlude of Toudou being a creep and Rin showing he cannot follow orders from absolutely anyone and making Yukio and Shura frustrated at how unpredictable and manageable he is, and we're now given the mission to go to Kyoto and help there.

Ryuuji is just so blatantly shocked and not okay with the assignment to his home. Like I genuinely don't think we have a shot of Ryuuji looking more shook and shit gets wild in this manga.

Ryuuji does not want to go back to Kyoto. He left on terrible terms with his parents and swore he would not return until he had his meisters and rank. He defied his parents in even going to the cram school and now he's being forced to return a bit busted up and long before he was ready. If you do not have a bad family dynamic, you can't really get how devastating this is, but try and imagine it. It's a tremendous source of stress and frustration for Ryuuji, and the main thing he's dealing with through this arc. He has a lot of history with his father ignoring and denying him and trying to control him, and it is not a healthy dynamic. THAT is what drives Ryuuji in this arc. Kyoto, the temple, and his father. It is NOT Rin. Rin is at the bottom of his list of things to be thinking about right now.

This is essentially Ryuuji's arc, and it is, quite simply, not about Rin for him. Rin becomes a part of it, but not until later. At the moment, it is Kyoto and the shame and frustration and resentment about that which is driving him forward.

Shiemi is melting under her own self loathing at this point. She is hating herself and has never been confident and always been prone to thinking poorly of herself, and shown she is unaware of when relationships are abusive with how severely Izumo bullied her and continues to bully her.

(And I could write another essay on how fucking misogynistic it is that everyone flocks to team Izumo when she's slightly nice to Rin and blatantly ignores the Shiemi abuse because well Shiemi is annoying anyway. Check yourself and ask why you feel that way if you do. Why is violence and cruelty okay against Shiemi? Why is it forgivable in her case but not in others?)

We all board a train to Kyoto and see each other for the first time. Rin has zero ability to ever read a room (we love him for it even if he will occasionally kill us with second hand embarrassment) and is acting like he didn't try to kill them on their last interaction and like everything is normal and there isn't a big and awkward elephant in the room taking up most of the train space.

THIS GOES DOWN DIFFERENTLY IN THE MANGA THAN THE ANIME. The manga stretches this scene out to give three characters very important breathing room while the anime cuts this far shorter and mixes up the dialogue some, muddying the motives.

Rin, not reading the room, sees Shiemi and calls out happily to her. Shiemi utterly freezes and can't decide how she should respond or what she should say. She has, as far as we know, never had a friend outside of her family and the twins. She doesn't know how to interact with them and she is drowning in guilt of failing them as a friend. A lot of that is because Rin said she wasn't his friend to the Kyoto Trio and because Izumo is always telling her she's failing as a friend and saying she doesn't like her. Izumo is a bully at this point. I will not back down on that point and will continue to reiterate it. You do her incredible arc a disservice to pretend otherwise.

That leads us to the confrontation:

Ryuuji does not show any sign of anger until Rin talks about Kyoto. Then it's instant grouchy face Grouchy face and grouchy boy until one of the other two interject and then he swallows all that Kyoto frustration right back down and stomps off to sit behind Rin with Konekomaru -- who has been given a talk by their superiors on what to do if their classmates loses his shit and goes feral on them and who lost his entire temple and family to the Blue Night -- voicing his worry about Rin losing control of his flames on a tiny train where there is no where to go.

Rin visibly deflates and sinks back on his chair Izumo, the drama queen who would deny being one, enters and sees. Now Izumo has conflicting reasons for her next act. She has been ostracized and bully quite a lot in her younger life, and that is part of why she is now an ice queen. She sees Rin and wants to help him feel better and is no more in the know of what the others are actually dealing with than Rin, and I dare say that was her first and primary motive.

However Izumo cannot allow herself to do something solely out of kindness to help someone. That is a weakness she will not allow herself and dangerous. Kindness and helping gets you hurt or killed by stronger parties and she has sworn off that in all cases but Paku. (No one quite knows what magic Noriko Paku possesses, but man does she, lol.)

So Izumo sits next to Rin and waits until after the debriefing about why they're here (meaning Ryuuji is now even more upset because yep, it's absolutely his temple and their miasma and their secrets and their weaknesses being discusses and revealed and flaunted) and they chat a little about the fact that lots of people have demon blood (*cough* FORESHADOWING *cough*) and then, after getting flustered about Rin complementing her and thanking her and getting buddy-buddy enough to use a nickname, she goes cruel and decisive and makes a pointed jab at Ryuuji, who takes it in stride for a moment, and then Shiemi, who visibly deflates thinking even less of herself and that Ryuuji does not take in stride.

Izumo did a kind thing in sitting with Rin, however, the others did not do a cruel thing by not sitting with him. They simply chose to give themselves a little space from a situation they were still struggling with. The cruelest one in the moment before she spoke was probably Konekomaru, and even he wasn't talking to Rin. He was nervous and scared and talking to his friends about Rin. None of them owed Rin anything. They did not owe him their time or space or attention. They are allowed to recover from their trauma and physical injuries while not having him constantly shove his over-excited puppy-energy self in their faces constantly and make everything all the more difficult for them while they try and reconcile that guy with the feral monster that wanted to take a chunk out of them and who was not in control of the flames they've grown up terrified of.

We see the story mainly through Rin's perspective, all the more so if you're an anime only, but that does not mean Rin is always an honest and reliable narrator. He is unaware he tried to hurt them and unaware of their own trauma. He can't imagine any of their actions and reactions aren't centering around him at this moment because Rin too is going through a lot of trauma and stress of his own that they don't know about.

What I find over and over again in this story is that people excuse any poor or selfish or cruel act of Rin's because of trauma and not being perfect, but they will not excuse it in any one else. This makes for a frustrating unfairness in expectations, and frankly, turns the story boring. If no one but Rin can make mistakes, or you choose only to see other's mistakes and not Rin's, you are robbing the characters and Rin of their complexity and growth.

Izumo was kind in sitting next to Rin, and she was purposefully cruel at the exact same time. This is who Izumo is. Kind and cruel for quite a long time. Brave and selfish. Confident and self conscious. Guarded while slowly falling in love and denying it every step of the way.

So the train ride immediately goes to shit and they get loud with Ryuuji calling her out (reminder, she can call them coward all day long but she did not leave the circle and didn't fight and has not stepped forward once in any of their missions to work as a group or fight until she had to)

And Shure (in the manga) wakes up and makes them sit in a different car of the train with bariyons on their laps as punishment. Konekomaru continues to stress, Ryuuji tells him to chill, Shiemi continues to hate herself, and Izumo continues to be purposefully cruel.

The bariyons get aggressive and one pins Shiemi to the ground. Rin does Rin and burns it without warning, freaking everyone out because wow! Blue flames are just suddenly everywhere. Ryuuji interferes because again, his temple was devastated by Blue flames and he has no reason to think they can behave differently and he is nothing if not determined to protect and help his team at all times.

Shiemi realizes Rin still has control of them and tells everyone to relax, and they do.

The flames are put out and Rin immediately attacks Ryuuji.

Rin demands trust and honestly, I could understand if he was unaware that he'd caused mayhem in the forest and tried to lunge for them, but if he was aware then he has to be smoking those flames of his because there is no reason to trust him at this point. He's lied (he didn't have a choice but they don't know that and reasons do not negate that a lie happened and we are now in the lies arc) and he has shown he is dangerous and that Demon Kings kind of follow him and will attack indiscriminatingly. (It's not like they know Amaimon is not allowed to kill them.)

Rin knows he won't hurt them and thinks that should be enough. No one else knows that they can believe this at this point. Ryuuji explains that Blue Flames have killed a lot of his people and that he can't trust someone who endanger his family. It is once again Kyoto he is thinking about and Kyoto he is worried about. They are on a train to Kyoto where Blue Flames destroyed a lot and now they're bringing the one guy with Blue Flames there and he keeps flaming up so it seems like what little he still has there is going to be devoured by flames.

Rin says basically, sorry that happened but it has NOTHING to do with me. This is a naïve thing to say and while technically right, is missing the point of what Ryuuji said. I can't trust you because you haven't shown me I can trust those deadly flames with you and they have absolutely devastated my home before.

The fight amps up more -- and again, Rin was the aggressor. They're both hot headed but he's the one that grabbed Ryuuji, not the other way around, and in a fairly close way to how Amaimon had grabbed Ryuuji and that can't be helping things. The fight gets louder and Konekomaru bravely intervenes and grabs both of their arms and tells them to stop. A bariyon choses that moment to cause chaos and try to kill Ryuuji and Shura has had enough and kills it but kindly doesn't kill the exwires for interrupting her nap twice over and the conversation is left entirely unresolved.

And for the next long stretch, they will not have that conversation resolved. They get back, Ryuuji is immediately accosted by his powerhouse of a mom, Torako Suguro who is pissed, and finds out that his dad has been absent and that things are going south fast in Kyoto.

From this moment on, Ryuuji will have one goal and that is to find his dad and save what few temple members he can. He wants to reunite his temple--that has always been his goal--and his dad's failure to lead and potential at being the traitor in their midst is causing what few of his sect are left to fracture even more. He is around Rin a few times in the next chapter, but his mind is never on Rin or their drama. He is wholly focused on Kyoto and the drama here.

This is where a lot of people misunderstand him. He is not avoiding Rin, he simply has a much bigger priority, as he should. This is his family and this temple is everything to him. We find out that Tatsuma has thrown their reputation in the mud and that he has caused a lot of their sect to abandon the temple, and that he has fought Ryuuji's hopes and goals every step of the way, and that he was the first to laugh at Ryuuji (which we know is an immensely traumatic memory for him) and that Tatsuma is actively working to avoid Ryuuji, and that he was at the Keep during the break in, and that several members of the Sect absolutely think Tatsuma is the traitor.

And if he isn't the traitor, then he is still failing them and running away from his duties. What's worse, we see a few of the sect (Mamushi specifically) even place some of the blame of the failure on Ryuuji.

Rin is seen working with the Kyoto trio on some kind of chore after they arrive, and actively being ignored and mistreated by the teachers. They absolutely deserve ire for the way they treat Rin like he's already gone feral and refuse to let him help.

Rin is being ostracized and thinks everything happening here is about him. He thinks the others are ignoring him and that they're upset about him. They're largely just... Not. Izumo and Shiemi are put on helping the large volume of patients and from what we see, Izumo doesn't chat with Rin again after the bus.

Shiemi sees this as a way to not let people down (she thinks she let everyone down in the forest. That it was her fault and she isn't good enough or strong enough or just enough to be their friends. Probably partly because the one friend she thinks she has is a bully.) and dives hard into work. She still doesn't know what to say to Rin and freezes up a lot.

That leads to a fantastic scene in chapter 18 with Izumo and Shiemi in the garden and Shiemi positively sobbing about being a useless friend and not being strong enough to help like she wants and Izumo telling her she's really strong and able to talk about friends and her emotions without getting embarrassed and that she's stubborn and strong as a weed and Shiemi, who has clearly not gotten enough praise in her life just glows and determines to be as strong and stubborn as a weed.

It's a vitally important moment for both these girls. Izumo is kind and doesn't turn it cruel and sees how strong Shiemi is and helps Shiemi see herself as strong too. Izumo has done a lot to break Shiemi down but she is also, arguably, the one that did the most to build her back up too.

She dives back into her work to the point she inspires Rin to try harder on his own training because he is lazy and she isn't, and he admires that.

At this point Shima has decided that to keep going on his own path in the laziest way he can manage that ignoring Rin was too much work so they're just going back to before and acting like nothing ever happened. Rin is drunk and insults him in this with the list.

Rin confronts Konekomaru later and finds out what happened to Konekomaru's family and Konekomaru begs Rin to leave Ryuuji alone because he is dealing with a lot of stress. Rin (correctly for once) realizes that Konekomaru will absolutely be his friend if he can show that his flames aren't a danger. If he puts in the work to get control of those, he can be friends. Rin goes off determined to do that.

Ryuuji and Shiemi are now the only two who haven't had their Rin moment, and they firmly busy in their own stuff. Rin still thinks they're avoiding him because they're mad at him and blaming him for the Blue Night stuff and they're simply not. At no point does he ever really seem to get that he's assuming stuff incorrectly about all this either.

Ryuuji does some not at all stealthy spying and follows Juuzou to the Keep to find most of the staff unconscious and gets himself in the middle of the theft of the Impure King's last eye. Mamushi betrays them to Toudou and states that it is because of Tatsuma that she is. That he has failed them as a leader and conspired with Mephisto by giving away the sacred relic of their temple (Kurikara) and letting the son of Satan have it.

She is not entirely wrong, and she is not entirely right. She is very wrong about Toudou, but they both escape to cause more havoc elsewhere and leave Ryuuji to finally catch up to Tatsuma.

We have been building for several chapters at this point that Ryuuji and Tatsuma do not have a great relationship. There is a lot of frustration and confusion and hurt in it. A lot of history and pain and Ryuuji is trying to get his dad to tell him anything. To deny the allegations if they're not true and do something to help with the fact that one of their members just left.

Tatsuma refuses to. We later learn why and it sucks, but it doesn't lesson the hurt in this moment. Being unable to explain something does not mean that your actions, justified or not, did not and do not hurt someone.

Ryuuji, seeing his dad turn his back on him without even a hint of an explanation to all the terrible accusations and all the pain and trauma around them, pleading for some kind of explanation to anything, plays the only card he has left.

His father has already all but disowned him for the cram school, so he returns that. He warns that if Tatsuma leaves now and like this, he might as well not bother to come back because Ryuuji will no longer (can no longer) consider him his father.

Rin, who has kind of snuck into this dramatic meeting, overhears this and has a violent trauma induced reaction.

Now, Rin has trauma and it is entirely understandable why hearing those words would make him react dramatically. That does not excuse the violence he reacts with. You enduring trauma and having triggers and painful emotions does not give you the right to inflict violence on someone else.

And inflict violence Rin very much does. Once again flaming up some too, not at all in control.

This was not Rin's fight to get in the middle of. I will die on the hill that others do not get to determine what a child can and cannot do in their own parent and child relationship. Others can offer opinions and advice, but they do not get to order or dictate the relationship. They are not part of it and cannot possibly know what it is actually like. This is the same sort of mentality that tells people who have had to make the immensely difficult choice to go no contact with a parent that they should try and make up because it's hard to be a parent like it's easy to be a child and under the parent's control and guidance. Ryuuji has a lot of reasons to have made that ultimatum, and while we will learn a lot more about why Tatsuma has failed as a parent and leader, the reason does not absolve or eliminate the failures. He has failed Ryuuji multiple times and at this moment, tied by a cruel fate, he has to fail and hurt him again.

He did not have to choose to do it this way though, and do not forget that.

And Rin knows nothing about their relationship. He is putting his own reactions and motivations on Ryuuji who does not have them.

Rin is in the wrong in this moment. I will not back down from that either. Rin hurt his friend and revealed himself, and in the next panels defied Shura and continued to try and fight Ryuuji and make him understand that you can't disown your father because you can't take that back--

And it is in this fight that Ryuuji is first made aware that when Rin talks about his dad, he has not been talking about Satan. Rin was raised by someone else. They still don't learn the real story yet, we're not really told when or if they do get the full story about Shirou, but you can see him realize something happened to whoever raised the twins, and it was bad.

Rin gets knocked out and arrested and Ryuuji is sent to ice his swollen face and he will have the injuries Rin inflicted on him here through the entire rest of the arc.

And I am now over 5k words so I'll try and wrap this up some. I'm going to have to post the Yukio half on another post xD

Rin gets a letter that tells him that Tatsuma and Shirou were in cahoots about the sword (look, Mamushi was partially correct) but that the sword did not have Karura in it like it was supposed to. He also finds out that Tatsuma wants him to kill the Impure King. Mephisto then shows up and locks him away giving him a death sentence. Yukio has to leave with that knowledge to try and stop the rising Impure King before he infects and kills all of Japan.

Tatsuma goes and shows that he had made a pact with Karura and that the Suguro line has always guarded the secret that the Impure King was kept sealed under the temple by Karura. That were he to be reunited with his eyes, he would rise again. Toudou wants to get Karura so he did all of this to get Tatsuma to reveal Karura.

Tatsuma is stabbed through the back of the throat and Karura mostly devoured, and the Impure King is rising and reforming and going to poison everyone.

Shura gives the letter to Ryuuji and Kurikara and offers the camouflage ponchos to go break Rin out if they want, and Ryuuji and Shiemi are the only two who do not hesitate for even a moment to go and rescue him.

The jail freezes them and gives nonviolent Shiemi a moment to shine. She confronts her own self doubts and goes to find Rin and coaxes him back out, showing she knows he won't be a danger to her by embracing him and his flames. She realizes that her fears and self loathing caused her to only think about her own emotions, and not how he was feeling (something Rin could also very much stand to do) and she immediately switches to comforting and encouraging him.

Rin busts the prison with style, Konekomaru says he's ready to be friends, Shima and Izumo state they're only here on Shura's orders, and

Rin still doesn't get it. He still has no idea what Ryuuji is dealing with or why he's upset about any of it. He has spent this entire arc trying to find his dad and trying to help the sect, and failing every step of the way. He has tried to help everyone around him in any way he can and show that he can be depended upon and trusted.

Rin has never opened up to any of them. Rin demands that they lean on him and listen to his advice and accept him entirely, and gives them nothing in return for that vulnerability and openness. He doesn't talk about his own life or emotions or thoughts. He keeps conversations light and easy and doesn't even tell them that he was raised by a guy that's now dead. He shoves himself in conversations and dynamics that don't concern him all the while demanding trust, and then will not let them in in return.

Ryuuji is seeing that so clearly now and it is hurting. How can you trust a guy who won't trust you back? How can you trust someone you thought was one thing who never showed you who they really are and still won't be open and real with you? Who has enough power at every moment to level half the world and is emotional and stupid and impulsive and won't be real with you?

Rin has been under a death sentence and told he had to keep his heritage a secret, but even outside of that, he really doesn't talk about himself. He doesn't open up to his friends like he expects them to open up to him. Neither brother is good at expressing themselves (and a lot of that is because they weren't raised to be that way. Shirou did his best but had a lot of limitations too.)

He demands they trust him wholeheartedly but will not trust them in return. Or he hasn't shown in any way that he does trust them.

This arc, at its core, is about lies and how those and trauma can and do make relationships messy. How even ancestral drama can go down the line and get us caught in cycles of it. But it also shows that we can do the work to get past them, and that it's messy and painful and loud and not always easy to see what's right and wrong while we do it, but we can get past it and move on together. We can make terrible mistakes and seek forgiveness and understanding and sympathy or empathy and try to do better. We can laugh in a field of disease and trust entirely on someone because we know we can even if the world is falling down around us and it doesn't make sense.

Neither Rin nor any of the exwires or Yukio are a villain in this arc. Even Mamushi and her cruel words and betrayal are not a villain in this arc. Everyone acts kindly and selfishly or in fright or confusion or in motives that are entirely misunderstood. They're all dragging their own emotional baggage with them and they're all getting tangled up and not listening, but they still strive on and strive to understand and talk it out when they can, because they care about each other and getting it right.

To act like it's as simple as "The exwires bullied Rin!" is naïve and robs Kato's story of so much richness and deprives the later arcs of so much character value she built starting here. Kato does a beautiful job of building all of her characters and giving them rich personalities and motivations and flaws and she shows us them through Rin sometimes, but she also gives them a lot of time without him at the forefront. She gives him flaws too, and a lot of wrongs, and that's why he's such a powerful and alive protagonist for our series.

You're free to dislike who you like and love who you like, but I do so encourage anyone who thinks the exwires were villains in this arc to really dive into the manga. Read through all the scenes and ask yourself why did Kato show that? Why is this character thinking that? Why did the character react that way? Kato gives us so much richness to dive into and to see so many people not do that and to take such quick and often incorrect or fragmented interpretations of the events is heart breaking and honestly robbing those people of a really good story.

Rin was wrong in assuming that everyone hated him and assuming that it was as simple as trust. He was wrong to try and force things and to try and force his own interpretations on others. It was only once he started to listen and hear what they themselves were saying that things got better. Now some of this is just the mess of the anime between season one and the start of season two, but a lot is just misinterpretation by the fandom. It can happen to anyone, but that does not mean it suddenly becomes factual because of that.

It's been at least six thousand words and I don't know if this came across as clearly as I wanted it to, but I hope it encourages those who haven't to dive in deeper. It's a rich arc with so many fascinating moving parts in it. I've barely brushed on Tatsuma, Juuzou, Mamushi, and Mephisto in this and their plots are all entirely interesting and add so much! Expect a Yukio and Izumo and possibly Shiemi follow up at some point, lol. Probably just as long though I'll try to be more concise.

If you read this far, thank you! You deserve to crash with the rest of the exwires in Toraya on a nice futon.

As always, look up my tag '#raven rambles' for more of my aoex meta and analysis.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Playing with Fire: The Book Store

Fandom: Marvel (Dad's Best Friend AU)

Pairing: DBF!Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: Your dad's coworker and best friend, Bucky, decides to tag along with you on your errands after your boyfriend bailed on you last minute.

A/N: Bucky is in his late 40s, reader in her mid to late 20s. inspo came from these recent pics of seb. ugh. also broke this up into parts cause i didn't want a long oneshot

You glance over your shoulder as Carol, the owner of the second-hand book shop, go through your box of books you were looking to sell.

"It'll take me about twenty minutes to go through this stuff, so feel free to look around. You know the drill."

You give her a salute, "Aye aye, Captain," you turn on your heel and go towards Bucky in the DVD aisle.

"You find anything good?"

He looks up with a grin, "A movie I haven't seen in a while. It's funny. We can watch it back at your dad's."

You shrug, "Sure."

"All finished?" he asks, looking at another DVD.

"Carol said it'd take about twenty minutes for her to go through everything and such. So I'm just gonna peruse around." You gesture to the romance section and Bucky nods, watching you walk towards the book shelves.

He looks around the DVD section for a little longer until he was satisfied with his find. He walks over to the romance section where you are. He just watches as you read the back of a book and you're hesitant to put it back. But you eventually slip it back into it's spot on the shelf.

"You're not gonna get it?" you jump when you suddenly hear Bucky's voice.

"Oh, um, I want to, but I shouldn't. I already have some books I'll be getting," you lift up two books you're already carrying.

"I'll get it for you," he says with confidence as he approaches you and picks up the book you just put away.

"Bucky, no."

"Bucky, yes. You seemed really interested in it. Besides, this is me encouraging you to broaden your mind, exercise your brain and whatnot."

With the book in hand, he heads towards the front where Carol is finishing off your pile of books.

"Oh good! I can take the entire pile for $30. Sound good?"

"Yup!"

Carol hands you the receipt and cash and places the books off to the side. She turns to Bucky, "Ready for purchase?"

"Yeah," he places the DVD and book onto the counter then takes the two books in your hands, "These too."

"Bucky-"

"Nope."

"But-"

"I got it," he says with a wink and pays quickly before you could even pull out your wallet.

After paying, he hands you your books and you thank Carol, waving good-bye as you and Bucky exit the shop.

You sigh, "Can't believe you did that."

He shrugs with a mischievous smirk, "It's not a big deal, sugar. Besides, wouldn't want you to miss out on the steamy scene in chapter seven."

You whip your head to him, completely taken back at the fact that he knows one of the books he just bought you was a spicy romance book.

You gulp, "You've read these books?"

"A few of them. They're...interesting," he says with a look that makes you start to sweat and your cheeks heat up.

"Right. Cool," you mumble, chucking your new books into your backseat and getting into the car. You try not to imagine Bucky reading about fairies fucking as you drive to your next destination.

Maybe having your dad's best friend accompany you on errands was a bad idea after all. If only your boyfriend, John didn't procrastinate on his Master's program assignment...

[veltana]

Sell my soul - 2

✦ Pairing: Lloyd Hansen/Fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~1,6k

✦ Rating for this part: Mature

✦ Warnings/tags: Alpha!Lloyd, Omega!Reader, omega auction, slow burn, eventual smut, pet names (sugar plum).

✦ Series summary: With no other options left, you decide to put yourself up for auction in hope of finding an alpha. Scared and running from your past, you end up with a man who is incredibly handsome but also seems to care for you in his own way. But living with him brings its own set of challenges. As both of you navigate these difficulties, you'll discover your true feelings for each other, hopefully before time runs out.

✦ Summary: Lloyd gives you a tour and you have some food

✦ Note: This was supposed to be two chapters but they were so short I put them together instead. It might be a while before we see Lloyd and sugar plum again because I've been having some trouble figuring out where I want to go with the next chapter.

Series masterlist

Masterlist | AO3

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The towel is the fluffiest thing you've ever felt against your skin. Not even way back, before everything went to shits, did you have such nice things.

Looking in the mirror you can almost see your old self, scrubbed clean of the years running. If everything goes as planned, you'll never have to do it again.

You remove the last pair of clean underwear from your bag, but seeing them compared to the space you're in makes it clear that they don't make the cut. Lloyd won't know you're naked underneath his clothes anyway.

The pants are too long so you roll them up and tie the drawstring so they won't fall off. His t-shirt is soft and smells of detergent. The omega in you is disappointed that it doesn't smell like him but you push that aside.

Stepping out you look around but you have no idea where to go. “Lloyd?” You call. “Kitchen!” He answers. You head in the direction of his voice and find him at a huge kitchen island.

“Hungry?” he asks and you nod as you slide onto a bar chair. He opens a drawer and pulls out a bunch of folders, then throws them on the counter. “Pick whatever you want.”

At first, you're unsure of what it is, so you pick one up and examine it. It’s a takeaway menu for Indian food. Do you like that? You’ve eaten what you can find over the years but never paid much attention to what it was. And before that, you liked to cook and rarely ordered takeout. As you grab another menu, you try to figure out what to order, but the options are overwhelming.

Looking at Lloyd you tell him, “I don’t know, just decide for me.” Shrugging he picks up a bright red one and makes a call. The person on the other end seems to know him. Lloyd laughs and says that he’s home for a while again. You store that piece of information away. Then he rattles off some things before he ends the call.

“It'll take about 20 minutes for the food to get here, should we put your things in the wash?” “I already did,” you tell him heistily. You saw the machine in the bathroom and the thought of Lloyd handling your dirty clothes almost made you panic so you shoved them in and started it.

“Then how about a tour!” Lloyd exclaims and heads out of the kitchen before you can respond. Like a lost puppy you follow him.

There is a room with workout equipment and another smaller bathroom. Attached to the living room is a balcony overlooking the street below. Heights have never been your thing and it tingles unpleasantly in your feet as you stand at the railing made of glass.

The whole apartment is minimalistic and mostly white and gray. When you had an apartment it was full of colors. Guess it's just something you will have to get used to.

During the little tour, you observe Lloyd. The mustache makes him seem silly at first but you have a feeling he’s anything but. The whole apartment screams of a need for control over every single detail.

An itch starts in your fingers. What happens if you turn one of his decorations the wrong way? What if you nudge the painting until it's crooked? What if you tickle him?

You quickly shove all those silly thoughts away. This is a serious man and it's a serious place. And you don't know Lloyd. If you're lucky he might throw you out and if you're not lucky, well, no one would miss you. Not really.

The tour concludes in the bedroom, presenting you with a new problem: there’s a massive bed, but only one. “I usually sleep on the left side, so I guess the right is yours,” Lloyd says, gesturing to the bed.

Cold sweat breaks out on your brow. You didn't think of this. Of course, he expects you to sleep in the same bed as him. You're his omega. He's bought you for a reason. He's watching you expectantly. As if to gauge your reaction. You force yourself to nod but don't say anything.

The sound of the doorbell makes you jump and Lloyd heads out to get the food while you're stuck staring at the bed. It was a long time ago you slept in a real bed. But you have never shared a bed with an alpha.

“Come eat!” Lloyd calls. It unglues your feet from the floor and you hurry to the kitchen.

The sight of Lloyd opening the boxes of food and the steam rising from them makes your stomach rumble loudly. It’s clear that he’s bought more than just two meals with all the containers on the counter, so you try a bit of everything. You’re not sure if it’s the actual food, the fact that it’s warm and fresh, or the environment that makes it taste so great.

“Don't overeat,” Lloyd waves at you with his fork. You swallow the bite in your mouth and stare at him. He stares right back and pops a piece of fried chicken into his mouth.

“Afraid I'm gonna get fat?” you ask, voice dripping with acid. Lloyd smiles, but it's not a nice, friendly kind of smile. “No, sugar plum. But your stomach might recoil if you eat too much all at once.”

A pinprick of shame needles you. He is just trying to look out for you. A part of you wants to rebel, and stuff as much food as you can manage into your mouth, but you do see that he has a point. And you need to be nice to him, you remind yourself once again.

“Yeah, sure.” “Better to eat smaller portions often.” “Mhm,” you hum and take one last bite before putting down your fork.

“So tell me about yourself,” Lloyd says. You shrug, “Not much to tell, honestly.” “Why does an omega put themselves up for auction?” “Why does an alpha feel the need to buy one?”

Once again, the two of you stare at each other across the kitchen island. This is a mistake, is all you can think. Being nice and docile is not your strong suit.

“I had my reasons, sugar plum.” he smiles. “Besides, you're hot.” You stiffen at his words because they’re not what you expect, you certainly don't feel hot right now. For a second you consider telling him, but you don't want to dump it on him in case it works itself out anyway. Instead, you smile as politely as you can. “I had my reasons as well. And thanks for the compliment.”

Once you’ve finished eating you help put away the food and notice that the fridge holds very little produce. “Don't you eat anything but take-out?” “I'm usually not home long enough, it's a waste of money to buy a bunch of ingredients,” he shrugs.

A life without home-cooked meals sounds like a miserable existence to you so you clear your throat and offer up information about yourself. “I used to love cooking. Haven't done it in a while but I think I would like to try again.”

Lloyd closes the fridge. “Sure, go nuts! I think the store is closed now but you can go tomorrow.” Your body goes rigid and your pulse picks up. Quickly you fumble for a way out. “I can't, I don't have any money.” Lloyd raises his eyebrow. “The sum I paid should be more than enough to fill a few bags at the store.”

Shit, you didn't think of that. You chew your lip.

“Why are you scared?”

Avoiding his gaze you look at the floor. “I just don't like going to the store by myself.”

Because no matter how many times you switched stores, he always found you. You kept going further and further out of town, yet one day, you'd pull up, and there he was, waiting right outside the door. It's going to happen here too. But if you have an alpha with you maybe he won't bother you.

“Okay, I'll go with you tomorrow,” Lloyd shrugs. “Thanks,” you murmur.

The sun is setting and by now you've usually found somewhere to hole up for the night. If you were lucky it would be somewhere safe. If you were not so lucky it would be somewhere exposed. Does this count as a safe place? You think so. The day is catching up on you and the exhaustion is starting to take a toll on your body. There is just the tiny little problem of the sleeping arrangements.

You want to say something. At the same time, you feel like you’ve done enough damage on your first night. So instead you stay up with Lloyd and watch some TV on the couch that looks as if it’s brand new. As it’s getting more difficult to keep your eyes open you have the brilliant idea of just falling asleep on the couch. Then you won’t have to sleep in the bed. Silently you curl up against a pillow and sleep is instant.

The next thing you know you're in the air. It takes a moment to orient yourself before you realize he's carrying you.

“Put me down,” you mumble, too tired to filter out your thoughts. “I'm taking you to bed.” “No, I'll sleep on the couch.” You wiggle in Lloyd's arms, trying to get out.

“Don't be silly,” he rebukes and puts you on the bed. A distressed whine bubbles up in your throat.

Lloyd doesn't say anything, instead a rumble sounds next to you. It makes your muscles go slack, the omega in you recognizing the sound as comforting and safe. Sleep starts to take you again.

Fucker, is your last thought. He's purring you to sleep.

next

[buryhny]

One Night Stand ; 20

➥ rundown ; as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

→ genre ; enemies to lovers | CEO au | pregnancy trope | slowburn

→ Jungkook x y/n

→ contains smut, fluff and angst

→ Chapter twenty ; wc | 3.3 k

primarily on Wattpad

index ⇢ next chapter

"Like what you see?" Jungkook murmurs, his eyebrows raised as he heaves a sigh and places his hands behind his back, watching you slowly getting flustered. you rolled your eyes at him and grew closer to him, so did he. making eye contact with the man, you look up at him while his glistening eyes look down at you with a smirk that he's so hardly trying to conceal, but it still breaks out.

"ab-solute-ly not!" you mutter and fake a kiss to his face, turning your back at him and walking away back to the living room. Jungkook chuckles, chewing his bottom lip and shaking his head at your response. He follows you to the room, grabs his coat and wears it since he's feeling slightly cold due to the air conditioner. you notice him wearing his coat, forgetting that the coat does not give full coverage.

"you can take back your shirt when it's dried, for now-" your eyes look around the room and then trail down his open chest while you think. Jungkook finds this unusual yet he can't deny that he does like it. "I think one of my t-shirts could fit you, i shop them from the men's section anyway." "it's fine y/n." you walk back to your bedroom and open your little wardrobe to find a black t-shirt that would possibly fit him since he's built and well- he's him.

You found an old Nike that you haven't worn for long, which looked extra large enough. "Here, it'll fit you I'm sure." He looked at you and the t-shirt and chuckled. "Sure, this isn't one of your exes? Or-" "take it or stay cold. It's not like it bothers me." You shrugged, this level of rudeness would've tempered him a lot in the past but now, this is a part of you, a part of his life now. It doesn't affect him anymore. "Nothing bothers you at all, does it?"

"Of course, nothing does." He nodded and took the t-shirt from your hand. You thought he was gonna wear it but he didn't, instead he began to fold it. You looked at him with confusion, squinted your eyes as you see what he's doing. "Thanks for your concern, darling. But I'm fine with my coat on. Anyways it's too late, I should get going."

"Like this?" You laughed at his face, doing this all intentionally to annoy the shit out of him. "Of course, why not? It's not like I'm heading home." Your laughter slowly dies, a smirk laying on both yours and his lips. His palms slid inside the pockets of his linen pants while you crossed your arms to your chest.

"Where are you heading to?" You questioned him, his eyebrows raised in surprise that you asked him such a personal question when you usually don't ever care. This does leave Jungkook hopeful.

"Curiosity kills the cat, I don't want you to die!" He bops your nose with his finger and gives you a grin as he turns back to walk towards your doorstep. "Well then have- fun." youspeak and he stops his tracks and turns to face you. "What are you thinking?" you raise your hands and smile. "not anything, nothing at all."

he frowns, looking at your face to trace your intentions behind your words, because clearly you're being very suspicious by thinking something that doesn't seem to be the actual thing. you start laughing, really hard and the man looks at you like you're a maniac.

"I'm heading to the convenience store." you stop laughing and start blinking your eyes innocently. "why did you make it seem like you're gonna fuck someone?" That wasn't what Jungkook was prepared to hear, his eyes were almost about to fall off their sockets. "fuck someone?" you definitely look embarrassed because you immediately start looking elsewhere and begin to play with your fingers. "Like a club or something, its not like you can't anyway."

he huffs and licks his lips, he's barely thoght about fucking the past few months. "for sure." "Why do you seem so mad about it? if i were you, i'll fuck a good number of girls tonight!" Jungkook doesn't realise why he's offended by the way you speak. Especially this topic. "horny huh?" you stand on your feet and grow closer to him, looking up to meet his eyes as you blink so innocently at him, while he looks at you with tired eyes, half shut. "when you've got the chance you go for it. If I had the chance, i would pounce on a man. But I can't."

"What makes you think so?" he hums, his voice getting raspier but you don't take it into consideration. the tension is surrounding you both, it's clouded, it's visible, it's steaming yet it's only visible to jungkook. "this, this makes me think so." you look down at your belly, his eyes flicker down to it and then to your eyes. "But you can, and you should- wait, do you? damn boy, get em bitches."

you say, showing your tongue at him and then heading back to your couch to get back to finishing off the rest of the now cold pastas. He stands there, feeling displeased by what you spoke. Irritated and unsure why you brought this topic up and even questioned him about his sex life. Why about the other bitches? so he heads to the door, before he leaves he says.

"See you tomorrow, bringing breakfast." "Alright, Mr Jeon!!" you say cheerily dancing with a mouthful of cheese. the next weekdays, Jungkook comes by to give you your meals but he never enters your apartment, since he's got a workload that he'd had to complete, he's not mad about what had happened that night.

it was just the spur of the moment, now he's actually piled up with work. He makes sure that you have your meals on time which are healthy, filling and delicious. He'd gotten you everything you've craved, your snacks were off stock so he'd restocked it too, asked his driver to do so and then he dropped it to your place himself.

you both barely spoke, he stopped by a few nights and waited until you've had your dinner so he could see you drink your pills in front of his eyes, since you skipped a few of them. saying you were on the verge to throw up but he wasn't having it.

He made sure you drank every single one of the vitamins as prescribed. and then he'd leave. Occasionally he would text you asking if you need anything, asking about your wellbeing etc. at this point, he just wants you to come back with him.

-

it's 5 in the saturday morning and for some god damn reason, you're unable to sleep. you feel like peeing even though you barely drank water the whole day. you're someone who chooses soda over water and now since you can't drink a lot of soda, your water intake has decreased way too much but you have no reason as to why you feel like peeing every 10 minutes, it got on your nerves that you didn't wake up anymore. If Jungkook finds out about this, you know that he's gonna get a caretaker for you.

but you've also been awake because your legs have been in pain the whole night, it's not like you walk around. you just sit on the couch and watch tv all day long. Today, it's just a weird feeling inside you that you can't get it out. you look up at the ceiling, switching sides continuously. it's getting so hard, you just wanna bawl out your eyes. heck you're in your fifth month, there's more to go.

you look up at the ceiling, watching it go from black to a glow of hues pink, orange and yellow. you've been awake the whole night. great! your eyebags probably sag and you're just a mess. you usually have a few days that feel like insomnia but the next day you sleep just normally and better even. but today, your whole mood was off since the night before and now that you didn't have any sleep, you feel like a zombie. the doorbell rang and you knew it was jungkook with breakfast. you soon got on your feet so you don't have to keep him waiting.

"good morning, here's today's break- hey are you fine?" he asks you, observing the droopy look on your face and how suddenly dark you look. It's like the beautiful morning tan has washed off and a sudden black shadow is seated on your face. "i'm okay, I just need some sleep. Jungkook was not fully convinced, this isn't how you respond to him in the mornings, although you're usually grumpy but he knows that he woke you up, today you answered the door before he rang it for the second time, that told him that you probably weren't sleeping. "Are you sure-"

"just leave!" you grabbed the food from him and shut the door to his face. Sleep deprivation has sucked you so much, you are angry. you're fuming and it's for no reason. Pregnancy hormones are taking a turn on you and it's getting you to the edge as well as affecting the people around you. Most specifically Jungkook.

you place the food on the coffee table and get back on bed, cuddling your pillow and trying so hard to sleep but you don't, not even for a minute. Jungkook was confused, all he did was ask you if you're okay because you certainly did not look good.

slamming the door to his face didn't temper him, it actually make him worry for you, you're not mad in the mornings, you're just drowsy and you speak in whispers but today it was the opposite, each word you spoke was loud and carried intense emotions. he didn't want to ask you again, he didn't text you either. you would let him know if anything is wrong, he believes so. you keep switching right to left, shedding a few tears for the lack of sleep that you really need, you're tired, your body can feel it.

but your mind isn't shutting down. you sit back up leaning on the bed head, a few notifications ping in your phone so you check them.

[ From Hoseok ] hey, it's been a long time! How are you? where are you, if you don't mind me asking? work is so dull without you :( I even baked other cookies, tried new recipes, want you to try them!

Hoseok's texts sound happy, you can feel the excitement radiating through each text, he feels like the sun for a reason. You also notice how hopeful he seems to be, when you very well are aware that you're gonna be lying to him and of course, you won't get to try his cookies.

you don't even know when you'll meet him again and it stings. because he's such a good guy and a better friend to you. with your mood being under a dark cloud, you decided to respond to his texts later. you'll surely sound rude and unhappy, at least that's what it sounds inside your head. you scroll down your messages and notice an unopened text from your mom.

[ From Mom ] y/nnie, call me! what's this behaviour too busy for your mom?

[ Y / n ] I'll call you soon mom. Give me some time please I love you!

this is hell, you throw your phone and cry. you want to sleep, your legs hurt, your breasts are tender and it's just terrible, you don't know what you should do about it. you text jungkook, letting him know that he can place the door at the doorstep and leave. he did as you said,

he came to your floor, stood there a few minutes, contemplating if he should ask you to open the door for him so he can see you the state you were in, in the morning did not make him be in peace because you did not look okay. but since he had no option, the placed the food there safely and texted you.

[ From Jungkook ] food is at the doorstep

[ Y/n ] Okay, thanks!

[ From Jungkook ] everything okay?

[ Y/n ] Of course!

you lied. you weren't okay infact you cried the whole day. That was all you did.

-

There's no doubt that Jungkook works all seven days in a week. sundays too, even if it's day off for the employees, he likes to keep himself occupied rather than spending good 24 hours lazing around the house with nothing to do. he planned on working late today though, just wanted to relax a bit since he'd been keeping up with his work all week long. hed prepared some pancakes for you this morning, since he'd have to leave it at the doorstep anyway,

he wore his casual t-shirt and grey sweatpants. when he arrived at your place, he texted that he was gonna leave you food there. When he bent to place the food, the door opened and you stood there in front of him. He looked up at you, your eyes red and puffy from all that crying you did the whole Saturday as well as the whole night too.

your lips were pink and swollen. his eyes widened in concern, all sorts of questions running in his mind. mainly it was, is everything okay? you burst out in tears and grew closer to him, placing your head on his chest.

"i c-can't sleep!"

you mumbled incoherently into his body as you sniffled with your words cracking. Jungkook soon placed his arm on your head, walking inside as he closed the door with his foot. He held you so you didnt move from him but kept crying into his chest. He placed the food on the table and then caressed your head.

"hey hey, what's wrong?" "i-i can't sleep-" you repeat, muffled voice since your face was pressed up to his chest. the man is worried, when you just jumped into his chest, he almost shat his pants because he thought something was really really bad. jungkook didn't say anything, he just continued to pat your head, thinking of ways he could help you but first he needs to know more from you. "hey-" he cupped your face in his palms, his eyes observing your face well, seeing for anything else that you must be hiding. "look at me."

he whispers and you look up at him, sobbing hard. He can see your whole face reddening, the rim of your eyes are swollen and very red, indicating that you've been crying for hours. "you wanna go to the drs?" you soon shake your head, gesturing a fast no, in fear of receiving more medications. Jungkook sighed, brushing the strands off your face and placing them behind your ears.

"Tell me. you wanna sleep?" you nod while your sobbing gets harder. Jungkook has never seen you crying, and this bad? It makes him want to fight anything and everything to bring you back to normal. He's always seen you ready to fight but never in this state that it's so difficult for him to talk. "let's get you to your roo-" "no i don't want to be there! I'm done with those bedsheets and lighting. I can't get myself to sleep there, I tried everything I could! i just- can't-"

you cry harder now, the tears pooling in his palms. Jungkook doesn't know what to do right now. "Can I help you? can i try to make you sleep?" you nod fast, this two day sleep deprivation has put your body to do much discomfort that if you could describe it you would say, it's killing you. you'll do anything to sleep.

jungkook takes you to your coach, pulls you with him so you sit right beside him, he places his hand on his shoulder, pats it and lets you know so you could place your head. You did but you still don't feel comfortable.

It's just not it! Your crying doesn't stop either, it only gets worse and you feel the weight! The weight of the bump and the realisation that you can't sleep with your stomach down just makes you cry more. He didn't think, you'll want to be in a very close postion which was what he tried to avoid knowing you're not someone who's comfortable with him so he

understands that you're not in for this but he chooses to try so he stays in a lying position as he sits upright, leaning on the hand rest of the couch while his legs spread on the sofa, you stand still in front of him crying with intense emotions. "come here."

he opens his arms, calling you to fit inside. you do, you sit between his legs, it was a little difficult, considering the sofa isn't as big as he owns. but you both manage. you turn the the side, placing your head on his chest, Jungkook lets his fingers run in the lockes of your hair. he places his chin on your head, while he caresses your hair and draws light patterns on your exposed arm.

"Hey, it's okay. Try! You'll fall asleep. I'm sure."  his voice so soft, melodious to your ears and he whispers into your ears as you hold his t-shirt in a fist like a baby. your sobs slowly turn to sniffles as you look at the ground while he soothes you. The room is so quiet, that you can hear his breathing, the sound of his heartbeat blending with your sniffling. you both spend about 20 minutes in the same position but you eyes still wide open,

Jungkook can see that you're taking time. Much longer, he thinks it's probably an hour already but he doesn't whine, he doesn't speak a word, allows you to take your time, knows it's difficult and you're trying.

He hums for you, the vibrations passing from his chest to your ears. he notices how your eyelashes slowly flutter, your blinking getting slower and slower and your tighter fist on the collar of his t-shirt slowly begins to lose it's tight grip. He knows your eyes will soon close too.

His heartbeats lull you to sleep and if that wasn't enough, his warmth that radiates to your skin, makes you feel cosy and cuddly that soon allows your eyelids to close. Jungkook's hands, plays with your hair, tugs the strands behind your ears, even the little baby hair.

He fixes your oversized t-shirt in place and hums even softly to you, hasn't gotten any words in his mind but he's trying too. He's never done this to any woman before even to his past girlfriend who made him despise the feeling of touch, the touch of affection.

He's caring for you, he's helping. He's always wanted to and this was his chance and he's incredibly happy and appreciated that you chose him even though you usually don't. he watches you closer, taking this as a great opportunity to. he's never been this close to you before, at least not in a chaste manner.

he notices the little freckles that lay on your nose, the occasional sniffs you suddenly make, so his shhs get a little louder so you can calm down. he lies there with you in his arms, doesn't know what you're feeling or how difficult it must be for you. He just knows that you want someone now and that someone is him, where you lay on his chest so comfortably and easily. He takes this opportunity, fully aware that he won't get it again so he places a soft little kiss on your head and whispers,

"sleep well, tiger."

next chapter ⇢

[phoward89]

Series Masterlist

Chapter 3:

“You can't work here anymore, Y/N. You're fired.” You heard your boss, Doula Ada, tell you as soon as you said goodbye to Coryo (who was on morning patrol duty again) and entered the apothecary shop.

Your face fell. Fired?... “But why? I've been doing everything you've told me to.” You asked Doula Ada as she crushed up some herbs, to make a salve or remedy of some sort, with her mortar and pestle.

“With Belladonna's upcoming marriage to Juris, well, she needs to be working with me. I just don't have the room for two apprentices.”

“But I was the top of my class in the school and you said-” You began to protest, only for the older woman to shush you with a sharp-tongued, “I said I don't got no need for you anymore girl. Now go home or go find yourself a man to take care of ya.”

Taken aback by the herb woman’s brusque behavior, you quickly made your way to the door and exited the apothecary shop. Unknown to you, Coryo was waiting in the wind to swoop in and be your hero. To walk you home and be your shoulder to cry on.

Even though he's the reason you're fired and crying in the first place.

But to him that doesn't matter. It's just a small, minor detail that's not important. One that you'll never find out about, that's for sure.

Just as you were making your way down the cobblestone street, apothecary book tucked under you arm, a looming presence appeared by your side, towering over you. But by the long, lean shadow swallowing up yours, you knew it could only be Coryo. He is, after all, the tallest man you know.

“What's wrong, darling? Why're you leaving the apothecary shop after just arriving?” The platinum blonde peacekeeper asked.

Despite already knowing what was wrong, he wanted to seem like he was concerned about your plight. He was, after all, your man and a good man always takes time out of his busy schedule to check on his girl; to see what's wrong with her. He was just doing what any proper Capitol raised young gentleman would do, inquire about their special lady friend.

Looking up at your new friend, tears brimming your beautiful eyes, you told him, “Doula Ada fired me because she doesn't have room for both me and her daughter, Belladonna, to work at the shop.”

“Oh, my little dove, don't cry. It'll be alright.” Coryo assured you, as your tears began to fall, while pulling you into a hug.

And that embrace sure did make people stop and stare. The folks could understand a peacekeeper taking up with a merchant class girl while serving their 20 years in the district, but what they couldn't wrap their heads around was why a peacekeeper would lower themselves by getting involved with a Seam girl. People from the Seam were poor. So poor that they couldn't afford the second or in the word poor.

The Seam was considered the lowest of the low of District 12, the bottom of the barrel. So, a peacekeeper openly embracing a Seam girl and in the middle of the Merchant's Sector was considered taboo. A district blasphemy of sorts.

He kissed your forehead, causing the baker to nearly have a stroke from where she was peeking out of her shop window. And when he smiled wide and bright at you, the butcher nearly cut a finger off as he spied out his shop’s large front window.

“How ‘bout you help me with my patrol, darling? Walk with me for a bit, yeah?” Coryo suggested, craving a moment with you by his side. You're just so sweet, so kind, and he needs you- needs that around him. He wants to show you off to the entire district, let them see how he can cheer up his girl just by being by your side.

He truly was a bit off his rocker in love with you, but you had no clue about that. All you saw when you looked at him was the prettiest boy you've ever seen in your life, with a brilliant pearly white smile, who seems to go out of his way to befriend you. Something that you thought was sweet.

“I dunno, Coryo. I don't wanna get you in trouble.”

“You won't.” He quickly told you, wanting to chase away any fears you had of strolling around the Merchant Sector with him for a bit.

He really wanted to spend time with you, since he wouldn't be able to see you until he got a day off or his next weekend pass. Coriolanus felt that the more time he spent with you, the more in love the two of you would become. Yea…he was a bit of a clingy, stalkery, obsessive, possessive, delusional romantic. But at least he was a romantic, right?

Coriolanus hasn't seen you in 3 days, 3 damn days, and it's driving him crazy. The last time he saw you, you walked with him for a little bit while he was on patrol and it was heaven. You two talked and laughed about nothing and everything. But the best thing about that stroll was everyone in the Merchant's Sector saw the two of you together.

Something that made Coriolanus' possessive and obsessive tendencies towards you soar happily. He was proud to show you off as his girl; his future wife. He couldn't wait to dote on you; take care of you.

Coriolanus was raised that proper Capitol gentlemen take care of their women, support them and love them. That a good Capitol man spoils his girl; doesn't let her lift a finger. That a gentleman will keep his woman in the lap of luxury; will do all the work so that she doesn't have too. That all she does is have to worry about looking pretty, attending social events, and pleasing her man.

Of course, there's women in the Capitol that choose to have careers, but more women are socialites and housewives. And that's what Coriolanus plans to mold you into. His loving, kind, housewife; his little socialite that he'll spoil til the day he dies.

Only problem is that he's a peacekeeper grunt. His pay’s acceptable for a comfortable life in the backwater district of 12, but it's nothing to write home about. He knew that to properly take care of you; support you, that he needed to rise in the Peacekeeper ranks. That he needed to become an officer.

So, that's why he signed up to take the upcoming officers aptitude test. Coriolanus wanted to better himself not just for his need to get back to the Capitol, but also for his need to take care of you. He needed to be successful and have a good paycheck to take care of you the way you deserved. He wanted to spoil you, buy you your heart’s desires, and the only way to do that was with money.

Coriolanus was excited to tell you about his upcoming officers exam. He was hoping that the news would impress you; assure you that he's worthy of supporting you.

Talk about impressions, Coriolanus was currently buttoning up the jacket of his dress uniform as he stood in front of the small communal mirror in the barracks. Sejanus, his bunkmate and, for a lack of a better word, friend, just stared at him like he'd just lost his marbles.

Opening up his footlocker and grabbing a few bucks, Sejanus looked at Coryo, and asked, “Why're you wearing that for, Coryo? We're about to go off base with weekend passes, shouldn't you be in your fatigues?”

Coriolanus walked over to his bunk, only to grab his hat and pick up a small sack. “I'm wearing my dress uniform, Sejanus, because I'm spending the weekend with my girl and I want to make a good first impression on her family.”

“Uh…I don't think Lucy Gray and the Covey care about that.” The District 2 born peacekeeper told his friend, watching as the man slung his sack over his shoulder.

“That songbird 's not my girl. My girl's a sweet little dove.” The platinum blonde remarked while placing his dress hat on his head, completing the dashing look his dress uniform gave off.

“Oh…but I thought you liked Lucy Gray?” Sejanus pried, holding his weekend pass in his hand while crossing the room with his friend.

“But I love Y/N; I'm going to make her my darling wife.”

Sejanus forced a smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes, as he patted Coryo on the shoulder. “That's good, Coryo.” In fact, the broad man didn't think it was good at all. He thought it was a bit concerning that his friend had waved off any and all feelings he had for a girl he risked everything to save, only to take up with an entirely different girl- declare intentions of love and marriage too.

Maybe Capitol born and bred people were just wired differently than different folks. Who knows. But Sejanus did know that all of his efforts looking for Lucy Gray were for nothing. At least he made some rebel contacts, some friends that supported a cause he believes in.

Bringing down Panem and the Games; having unity, justice, fair treatment, and human decency for all no matter if they're District or Capitol.

“I'd be honored to be your best man, when the time comes.” Sejanus told Coriolanus as they exited the barracks.

Like hell Coriolanus was going to have Sejanus stand up next to him as his first man. He didn't plan on having a lowly wedding in the districts, but a grand affair in the Capitol. His delusional Grandma’am would have a stroke if he had Sejanus Plinth as his best man. He supposed he can ask Festus Creed to be his best man, or maybe not even have one at all. Nothing says that he has to have one.

Coriolanus knows that you most likely won't have a maid of honor, unless he charms Clemmie into doing it. Eh, he'll worry about that whenever he's back in the Capitol, planning the wedding with you. At least he knows that Tigris will be more than happy to design your wedding dress.

But now's not the time to worry about that. First, he needs to meet your family and pass that officer's test.

The poor residents of the Seam were staring at Coriolanus with fearful and strange looks. It wasn't common to see a peacekeeper decked out in their dress uniform walking the streets of the Seam. No, the only time peacekeepers came to the Seam was to topple houses doing random checks to look for contraband and rebel literature, also to round up residents and cart them off to the prison on the base- never to be seen again until it was time to send them swinging on the hanging tree.

So…

Safe to say, residents of the Seam were both leery and mind blown at the sight of Coriolanus in their section, walking down the street as if he owned it. Both young and old alike silently prayed that the peacekeeper wouldn’t bother anyone.

If only they knew the real reason Coriolanus was in the Seam. Oh wait a minute, everybody in the Seam’s about to find out soon enough…

When Coriolanus reached your house, a large smile spread across his face. He couldn't wait to see you. He's gone too long without seeing your beautiful face, your kind smile.

Yea…

Three days is such an eternity…

Walking up the creaky wood rot porch and over to your front door, Coryo missed the neighbor girl, a songbird, exiting her house and seeing him. She saw his profile and instantly recognized him; was ready to call out to him, but stopped herself whenever you answered your door, causing the finely dressed peacekeeper to scoop you up into a hug and press a peck to your lips.

The little songbird shook her head, only to take off towards the meadow with her guitar in hand- she couldn't bear to watch the happy exchange between her neighbor and the Capitol boy turned peacekeeper- who she once thought was a good man.

Ashlie was making dough for a simple fry bread (all that your family could afford to make with the sorry excuse of grain that you're able to acquire) and you had just pulled a wildberry pie out of the oven, setting it on the windowsill to cool, whenever a loud knock sounded at the front door.

“Y/N, go get the door!” Your brother called out from his armchair, where he was already a jar and a half in of moonshine during his only day off.

You quickly went to the door and opened it, only to smile as you saw Coryo standing in front of you. He was dressed up in his formal uniform, sack slung over his shoulder and hand full of flowers (a small bouquet made up of a couple roses and some wildflowers native to District 12). Before you could even say hi or invite him in, Coryo pecked you on the lips (stunning you a bit) and wrapped you in a tight, but warm hug.

Resting his chin on top of your head, he confessed, “I missed you, my sweet darling girl.”

“You missed me? But it's only been 3 days since we saw each other.” You told him, finding it a bit odd that your new friend misses you so much after such a short period of time. Was that normal, or was that a Capitol thing? Or was it because he wanted more?

But you didn't want to give your hopes up. You just met; became friends the other day. Besides, a boy like Coryo Snow- pretty with his chiseled jaw, platinum blonde hair, and crystal blue eyes- always fancied themselves sweet on girls like Lucy Grey or Belladonna (the exotic Covey beauty and a flaxen haired merchant girl). Boys like him never gave girls like you, girls from the Seam, a second glance.

“Yea, 3 days too long.” He retorted, burying his nose into your hair to breathe in your scent. A scent that seemed to smell like fresh blooms and vanilla. Reluctantly pulling away from you, he offered you the small bouquet. “If we were in the Capitol, I would've made you a bouquet from the roses my Grandma’am grows in her rooftop garden.”

“These are nice, tho, Coryo.” You assured him with a kind smile while taking the offered flowers.

Coryo fell even more in love with you, watching you take the bouquet (which he felt was a pathetic thing compared to what he'd be able to give you in the Capitol) with a smile. His heart swelled as he watched you smell the flowers, your nose lingering at the couple of roses he demanded the florist stick into the bunch of wildflowers.

Yes, you'd flourish and grow in the Capitol. With his love and tender care, he'll turn you into a prized rose. His darling rose that everyone will envy, but only he has. A rose that he'll love; who'll love him in return.

Coryo knows that, sooner rather than later, he's going to gift you his mother's shawl and her compact. As a way to show his love and commitment to you. But also to mold you into what he knows you're meant to be.

His perfect, sweet, kind, darling rose. His wife who'll comfort him and love him during good times and bad. The mother of his children who'll sing to them and nurture them.

“I'm glad that you like them, darling, but you do deserve better flowers and, once I pass my officers exam, I'll be able to afford them for you.”

“You're taking an officer's exam? When, Coryo?”

“Next week.” Coriolanus proudly said, his baby blues shining with joy.

Before you could say another word or invite Coryo in, your older brother, Rein, appeared behind you with his half-empty jar of moonshine in his hand. Tipping his jar towards your ‘friend’ he asked in a deep grumble, “This officer bothering you, sis?”

“No, Rein.” You shook your head. Looking between your older brother and the blonde peacekeeper, you announced, “This is Coryo, a new friend of mine.”

Your brother's Seam grey eyes grew into the size of saucers. He looked between you, the flowers you were holding, Coryo, and the sack slung over his shoulder.

Coryo, wanting to make a good impression with his future brother-in-law, stuck his hand out for a handshake and politely said, “Sir, I'm Private Coriolanus Snow, of the esteemed Capitol Snow family. I'm scheduled to take the officer's aptitude test next week and, I assure you, my intentions with your sister are nothing, but honorable.”

Of course his intentions are honorable, the man wants to marry you. Take you back to the Capitol with him and fill you up with his babies. Oh, and not exactly in that order either. But, nevertheless, Coriolanus wants to make you Mrs. Snow; one day First Lady Snow.

Your brother looked at Coryo's large, calloused, outstretched hand and then turned his eyes up to his face. Rein had a mask of indifference painted on his dark, stubble coated face as he pointed his mason jar at Coryo and gruffly said, “Fuck you.”, before pivoting on his heel and storming back to his chair- all the while shouting, “My stupid fucking sister’s taking up with that dead General Crassus Snow’s fuckbag son, Ashie!”

You heard something break in the house and your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. Your sister-in-law (well, she was your brother's girlfriend, but same thing at this point since they've been together for so long) was so startled by your brother's outburst that she broke something the family can't afford to break. And your brother's reaction to your new friend was horrible.

The things he said…

Oh no, how embarrassing and cruel.

Frantically you apologized, afraid that Coryo would up and leave over your brother's nasty greeting, “Coryo, I'm so sorry for what Rein said. He shouldn't have said that, any of it.”

“Well, I admit, Y/N, that I was hoping to make a better impression on your brother, but I'm not going to let his little outburst chase me away from my darling girl.” Coriolanus told you, his attitude unwavering, as he placed his hands on your shoulders- gently rubbing them in a soothing manner.

Picking up on the phrase ‘my darling girl's, your brain suddenly put two and two together. Coryo wanted more than friendship, it seems. “Your girl, but I thought you just wanted to be friends?” You asked, just to make sure that your sudden revelation was right.

“I'm going to be a peacekeeper here for the next 20 years, Y/N. Of course, you're my girl. I don't want to be alone here, plus once I become an officer-” Coryo began to say, only for Ashlie to pop up and interrupt him with, “Um, can you two not discuss any future plans right now? Rein's upset enough as it is and, Y/N, I need you to help me with the dry bread.”

“Okay.” You sighed while at the same time Coriolanus said, “Like it or not, Ma’am, I'm not going anywhere. In fact, I'm staying here, in your home, with my darling rose for my weekend leave.”

“On the other hand, why don't you two talk a walk; go to the nearby meadow or something? Then you can meet up with me and Rein at the hob tonight.” Ashlie suggested, yanking the flowers out of your hand and ushering you out the door and slamming it shut behind you before either you or Coryo could say a word.

Well, looks like his plan to impress your family failed. But at least he impressed you, and really that's all the truly matters. As long as his lover's impressed then he couldn't give a flying fuck about the Halvir family. They could fuck off; go take a walk to the hanging tree for all he cared.

Coryo impressed you, made you smile with love and pride when you saw him in his uniform and, truly, that's the only thing that's important to him right now. That you view him as a hero.

Even tho in reality he's the anti-hero and your family knows it.

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[avatarloverfrfr]

Dreamwalker Siblings

Chapter I: Cryo-sleep Masterlist Summary: Y/n and Jake Sully. Siblings, shipped off into the depths of space to explore the mysterious world of Pandora. Warnings: Mentions of death, reader is NOT excited at all, Constant reminder of deceased loved one. Word count: 3,6k

"You cannot ask this of us! Tommy is the scientist not us. He wanted to be shot light years into space, not us. We cannot do it." I shrieked, pleading with my brother for validation, but my cries were met with oppressive silence. His gaze fixed onto our fallen sibling, Tommy, robbed of life right before he went off to do the only thing that put a smile to his face. All sacrificed for the contents of his wallet.

"Your brother represented a significant investment, we'd urge you to accept taking over his contract." The man besides Jake had said, completely disregarding all that I had said. "I'm sure he would hate to have all his hard work go to waste, knowing someone so close to him would be able to continue his legacy." The second man, besides me, added with a curt nod.

Outrage boils within me at the audacity of these men, exploiting the loss of one of us, former triplets, as leverage against us. How dare they use Jake and I with their clear motives of greed, revealing to us that our worth to them is nothing but a budget they refuse to abandon.

"It'll be a fresh start, on a new world. And the pays good, very good." they said staring at Jake and I. Before I could even say something in retaliation. Jake had spoken for the first time that night. "We'll do it." Disbelief swept over me as I locked eyes with him. How could he agree so easily? How could he not see that these men were just using us— he probably could, yet chose to turn a bind eye.

"Perfect, Y/n we will get your Avatar ready, they will mature on the trip there." the men said walking out, leaving me in there with Jake.

"How could you just accept like that Jake. You caved! Just like that? You know they are just playing us, and you still went along with it! Don't you see–" I started, but he interrupted me. "Maybe you don't see it, but I do. We are dirt poor Y/n! Struggling... This cash could change everything. We could finally be able to live." he pleaded, desperate for understanding. "I could afford to use my legs again." he confessed.

While I was sitting there, next to my brother, a big whole blown right in the middle of our lives, I started having these dreams. Dreams that whispered secrets of possibility and untold wonders. Sooner or later though, you always have to wake up.

As I wake up, I glance around and it hits me, I'm in some sort of cryo pod. Flashbacks flood my mind, reminding me of the time before my life had got frozen, five years of my life, gone. The memories of Tommy's death, as if it was yesterday. 'We had to do it, so we could live." I think to myself, trying to find comfort in all of this.

"Rise and shine sleepy head." a doctor had greeted me as I exit the cryo pod I had spent the last five years of my life in. "We're here."

"Exo-packs on! Let's go! Exo packs on! Remember people, you lose that mask, you're unconscious in 20 seconds, and dead in four minutes–" I stopped listening to what the sergeant had to say. Looking around my eyes landing on Jake. We should not be here, this is not our home. But what's the point in dwelling now, there's no turning back. I think to myself while putting on my exo pack, adjusting it so oxygen could freely flow through.

"When that ramp comes down, go directly into the base. Do not stop! Go straight inside wait for my mark!" the sergeant yelled. Standing up I walk over to Jake who was still seated waiting for everyone in front of him to leave the air craft so that he was able to freely able to deploy his wheelchair.

"Let's go special case! Do not make me wait for you Sully's!" he barks. Not bothering to acknowledge him Jake and I walk off the ramp and onto Pandora, our "fresh start." Taking a long look around I spot soldiers, back on earth these guys were heroes, marines fighting for freedom. But out here they were all just a bunch of hired guns, serving the RDA until their last breath.

"You're not in Kansas anymore, you're on Pandora ladies and gentlemen–" the man, Quartrich, continued. Tommy was meant to be listening to this, not Jake and I.

"Excuse me. Excuse me. Jake!" a lanky man rushes up to us after the "safety brief." "You're Jake right? Tom's brother." he asked looking down at him to meet his eyes. I just stare at him, does he just not see me here?

"You look just like him." he says eyes finally landing on me. "Sorry– I forgot he had mentioned he had two siblings, Y/n. I'm Norm. Spellman. Went through Avatar training with him." he says leading us into some sort of bio-lab.

As Norm continues briefing us on the bio-lab procedures, my attention drifts, drawn to avatars in three separate cry-chambers. I approach them, circling until I stop at a particular one.

"Looks like him." Jake and I simultaneously say, not once taking our eyes off what our brother could have been.

"No, looks like you. This is your avatar now Jake." Norm reassures him placing a hand on Jakes shoulder before moving to the last tube in the bio-lab.

"And this is your avatar Y/n. She had to get to the lab as soon as possible, since you know–" Norm starts, but I cut in, "–I wasn't meant to be here. Yeah, I'm aware." I finish, stepping closer to my avatar.

She looks so much like me, except for the obvious differences. Blue skin, a queue, and her sheer size. "She's beautiful." I whisper, touching the glass, feeling a soft heartbeat pass between us.

"The idea is that every driver is matched to their own Avatar, so their nervous systems are in tune... Or something. That's why they offered us the gig. It's insanely expensive... Is this right? Do we just say whatever to the video log?" Jake questions turning to Norm and Max.

"And do we have to share the exact same camera to film these things?" I interject, trying to nudge Jake out of the screens view.

"Yeah, you both need to document everything you see, what you feel. Plus, you're twins, who knows if you both are able to feel the same emotions or not. It's all apart of the science." Norm explains, retuning to his work.

"Plus it'll keep you sane for the next six years," Norm adds chuckling.

"Not if I have to sit next to Mr. Jarhead it's not." I remark, rolling my eyes but smiling slightly.

"Look who's talking Miss. 'I might not be a marine, but I sure can beat your ass,' " Jake adds, playfully pushing me.

This was one the first times I had smiled since arriving to Pandora. Usually keeping a stoic face, only smiling around my brother. My only family, the only thing from my past life.

Entering the link room behind Norm and Max, we're greeted by a voice. "Who's got my goddamn cigarette?" a redheaded woman demands, emerging from one of the link pods.

"Grace Augustine is a legend. She's the head of the Avatar Program. She wrote the book, I mean literally write the book on Pandora botany." Norm gushes. "Well that's because she likes plants more than people." Max adds teasingly.

"Well, there she is, Cinderella back from the ball. Grace, I'd like you to meet Norm Spellman, and Jake and Y/n Sully." Max says pointing at each of us in turn.

"Norm, I've heard good things about you. How's your Na'vi?" she asks, completely ignoring my brother and me, then begins to speak in a language I can only assume is Na'vi.

"Uh- Grace, this is Jake and Y/n Sully," Max interjects, trying to redirect her attention.

"Yeah, yeah. I know who you are, and I don't need you. I need your brother. You know. the PhD who trained for years for this mission? Yeah him." she snaps.

"He's dead. We know it's a big inconvenience for everyone, including me." I reply bluntly. There's no need to sugar coat anything that's already happened.

"How much lab training have you had?" she asks, looking between Jake and I.

"We dissected a frog once." Jake simply states.

"You see? I mean, they're just pissing on us without even the courtesy of calling it rain. I mean hell, the girl isn't even supposed to be here! I'm going to Selfridge, this is such bullshit." she rants, storming off but not before putting out her cigar.

"Well she's kind." I remark dryly.

As Jake and I arrive precisely at the time Max had instructed us to the day before, 0800, Jake and I hasten to catch up with Grace and Norm, who are already stationed at the link pods.

"You're late Sully's. You're in there, you're here." Grace remarks, gesturing towards two pods for Jake and I, and we obediently follow her directions.

"How much have you both logged?" she inquires, turning to the screen besides Jakes link pod.

"Zip, but I read a manual." Jake replies with a nonchalant shrug, as he wheels over to his pod.

"I listened to him read it out loud, if that counts." I confess making my way to my own pod.

"Tell me you're joking." Grace says incredulously, as she abandons her work on Jakes screen to approach mine.

"So you just decided to venture out here, to the most hostile environment known to man with no training whatsoever and see how it went? What was going on through your head?" she questions, setting up both mine and Jakes link screens for launch.

"Maybe I was tired of doctors telling what I couldn't do." Jake retorts, lying down in this link pod. I look at him wondering if that is why he spared no chance in me saying anything back when those men asked us to take the place of Tommy, because he was tired of the life he had.

"Keep you arms in, heads down." Grace instructs, pushing me into my link bed before I had the chance to ask Jake what he had truly meant.

"Just relax and let your mind go blank." are the last words I hear Grace utter before she seals my link pod.

Off to the side, Max examines scans of Jake and my brain. Studying the intently, he remarks. "Jakes brain is gorgeous, with nice activity. However we're detecting some resistance in Y/n's brain. She's unconsciously pushing back against the transfer, if this continues it could potentially harm the link." he informs, turning to Grace for guidance.

"Once the link is established, it cannot be interrupted. It will only worsen the issue," Grace states matter-of-factly, keeping an eye on my Avatar. Stubborn and resistant to change- that's Grace's initial assessment of Y/n, even after less than 48 hrs of meeting her.

As my eyes flutter open, I'm greeted by a blinding light that pierces my eyes. A sharp ache throbs in my head, intensifying until two figures materialize before me- doctors, no doubt.

"She's awake. Y/n, can you hear me? Are you feeling alright?" the female doctor inquires, checking my expression for any sign of discomfort.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I reply, opting not to mention the pounding headache. Slowly, I sit up, only to find my hands adorned with five blue fingers.

"I made it." I murmur to myself in disbelief. Glancing around, I notice Jake already on his feet, a grin stretching across his face. He's standing, a sight I never thought I'd witness again, his legs finally functioning.

"Y/n you've got to see this. When's the last time you saw your brother standing tall, huh?" he exclaims, turning to face me while his tail knocks over everything in it's path.

Finally on my feet, I chuckle, "Bro, we're giants." The realisation hits me as I gaze at Jake and then towards the exit to find that he was already smiling at me– we're thinking the same thing. Tri– Twin telepathy perhaps?

Without a word Jake and I bolt, dodging Avatars engaged in a game of basketball, evading Norm and the two doctors running after us. We hurdle obstacles until a humanoid robot comes into view.

"Sorry! we both exclaim breathlessly, narrowly avoiding a collision as we skid to a stop near some flora. Catching our breath, we're approached by an avatar bearing striking resemblance to Grace.

"Hey, Sully's!" she calls out, closing in on us.

"Grace?" Jake questions, eyeing her up and down.

"Who else were you expecting numbnuts?" she retorts with a grin, with me laughing at the nickname Grace gave him.

As Jake and Grace catch up, I slip away into the area where Avatars are housed, searching for a change of attire. Opting for a top similar to Graces but in a deep shade of blue, that are about a shade darker than my current skin tone, pairing it with green cargo shorts. Hoping to blend in slightly to the flora and fauna of the forest.

Gazing up at the darkening sky, I realize it's nearly nightfall, meaning I had to delink for the night. "Alright, everyone, settle down! Lights out." Grace commands, ushering the remaining humans away.

"See you at dinner kiddos," she adds, flicking the lights off.

Lying back, I can still feel the remnants of the headache, but I decided to let sleep wash it away. Closing my eyes, I drift off into a peaceful slumber.

next II

Tag list: @pinkvrydag @neytirismissingtoe @youskawng @tsuteyssyulang @lylalaminated

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader x Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento

F!CHRO Reader x Higuruma Hiromi

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage. A/N: If Savitri could outwit literal Death to get her man back, then you, a half-naked, weapon-holstered, billionaire CEO wife, can absolutely wear your husband’s haori while threatening to impregnate him. Especially since it doesn’t even have a clan crest. Cultural crime? No. Canon behavior? Yes. Yes, you're wearing his haori. Yes, you're a foreign wife. No, the culture police won’t arrest you. Gojo Satoru's canonically a rebel, and you are not wearing it in public, plus it doesn't have the family crest on it, so you are cleared by both fandom law and Japanese textile tradition. Conclusion: if he can raw you in his haori, you can raw-dog society in it. 💅🏽 Also, this and the next chapter are inspired by the myth of Savitri: the woman who debated the God of Death for her husband's soul. Only here, it's Gojo's uterus and Nanami’s mangoes on the line. Buckle in. This is domestic horror meets beach hentai meets 3 AM therapy test failure. TW: Smut

Previous Chapter 20 (alt ending 2.11) - The Fault Lines: The Honored One’s Guide to Fumbling the Bag (And Other Love Languages) - (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 21 (alt ending 2.12) - What the Living Do - Part 1

Before the parade of a hundred demons, Bora Bora had had the audacity to be romantic.

The night air hung thick with hibiscus and sea salt, heavy with the promise of ruined intentions. Moonlight glanced off the villa's stilts—a wedding gift from some Pacific tech consortium (or perhaps an arms dealer; you'd never bothered to ask)—as waves slapped rhythmically against the deck. Tropical wind flirted with linen curtains as the moon hung heavy overhead, politely averting its gaze from what was coming.

You stalked the deck's length like you owned the Pacific Ocean. Maybe you did. Gojo said you could. Nanami would kill anyone who argued.

Drunk - not recklessly so, but sufficiently to become ungovernable—you padded barefoot into the villa. Gojo's open Shinjuku haori (his indifferent "wear it, it'll look hot on you" still ringing in your ears) fluttered around your shoulders while Nanami's empty weapon holster (purely for showcasing the new bikini beneath) bounced against your ribs. You paused to slap a palm against the glass wall, raccoon-testing its integrity while observing your husbands inside.

The crestless haori smelled like ozone and him—no clan legacy, no rules, just Satoru. The holster's familiar weight anchored you, that perfect clash of his order and his chaos that had made you whisper, "I'm the final boss of this marriage," during your mirror pose earlier.

Ocean salt and passionfruit liquor mingled with the scent of impending bad decisions in the villa's air. Beyond the glass, the sunset bled crimson into indigo like a healing bruise, while somewhere in the distance, a ukulele player's mournful notes dissolved into the night.

You'd been missing for exactly fifty-three minutes.

Gojo noticed first. "Where's our CEO?"

Nanami didn't look up from his meticulous mango dissection behind the bar, his shirt unbuttoned to a degree that would scandalize HR departments across three continents. "Last sighting involved her attempting to fight a palm tree," he reported dryly. "Claimed it was 'not giving her enough shade.'"

Gojo stretched across the velvet couch like a fallen deity, his own shirt gaping to reveal the dip of his sternum, haori sleeves shoved up to his elbows. "Checks out. Should we maybe—"

CRASH!!!

Two heads swiveled in perfect synchronization—Nanami straightening from his bitters examination with the weary air of a sommelier at a frat party, Gojo flopping sideways like a toppled marble Adonis with attention deficit disorder.

There you stood in the wreckage of the doorway: champagne-tinted cheeks, hurricane-bright eyes, Gojo's haori streaming behind you like a supervillain's entrance cape. The empty weapon holster hugged your bikini-clad breasts with all the dangerous promise of a safety catch flipped to 'off.'

"HELLO SLUTS!" Your voice carried the particular shrillness of three cocktails and zero regrets. "WHO WANTS A SHOW?"

Nanami closed his eyes. "Oh no."

Gojo wheezed. "Oh yes."

With the regal bearing of a drunk monarch, you flung the haori wide. "Gentlemen," you declared, swaying slightly, "your wife is feeling sexy and mildly criminal."

You struck a pose, haori flaring like a hentai final boss. Gojo inhaled his piña colada wrong.

“HOLY shit,” he rasped, coughing into the tiny umbrella. “She’s evolved.”

Nanami didn’t blink. Just exhaled slowly through his nose like a man restraining museum rage.

Gojo tilted his sunglasses down, tracking you. “Why are you dressed like a yakuza’s wet poolside fantasy?"

You turned slowly, a bikini strap flashing like a threat. “Jealous it’s not your holster?”

His laugh vibrated the air. "Nah. Just impressed you talked Mr. Risk Assessment into this."

Nanami didn’t even look up from the cocktail station. “She used that stock, which she told me would fail but I still invested in, as leverage.”

“You folded?” Gojo gasped, clutching his chest. “Kento. I taught you better than this.”

“Like she isn’t wearing your training Haori.”

You pounced.

Your feet skidded across the cool wood floor as you charged him. Gojo yelped as your hands grabbed his face like a toddler discovering cheeks. You stretched them like playdough, peppering his stupidly symmetrical face with rapid-fire kisses. Your giggling punching holes through the villa’s lazy peace.

“My pretty boy,” you cooed, smushing his cheeks. “Prettier than a princess. So fertile-looking.”

Gojo choked. "I—what?"

“I’m gonna get you pregnant,” you whispered, muah-muah kisses still raining down. “You’ll glow, baby.”

“PRETTIEST GIRL IN THE WORLD!” you shrieked. “Getting so round tonight, princess.”

Gojo’s soul visibly tried to evacuate via his wheezes.

“Cheeky-weaky cutie patootie! Too pretty to be a top! DON’T WORRY, BUBA, I’LL TAKE CARE OF YOU TONIGHT!” You launched off him like a caffeinated lemur.

Gojo collapsed, wheezing like a broken accordion. “Stop—stop—I can’t—”

Then you ran away. 

Nanami, who hadn’t moved an inch, sipped his drink calmly, hiding a smile. “Should I stop her?”

“No,” Gojo croaked. “Let the gremlin roam free.”

You vanished. Reappeared ten seconds later from the other entrance.

Nanami didn’t even have time to react before your hands clapped against his ass with the force of a man about to be launched from a cannon. Lime wedges went flying.

“SPREAD YOUR WINGS AND FLY, KENTO!” You shrieked, parting his ass cheeks like the Red Sea.

For one suspended moment, the villa held its breath.

Then Nanami—stoic, disciplined Nanami—collapsed forward onto the counter, face buried in his elbow, shoulders shaking with something suspiciously close to—

No, definitely—laughter. Real laughter. Rare, breathless, horrifying.

The kind of laugh that only escaped once every two fiscal quarters, raw and unguarded, like you'd murdered his last three brain cells.

Gojo fell off the couch in hysterics. "Oh my god—why is she like this—"

“I married him,” you said smugly, planting your flag on Nanami’s dignity. “Which means I have legal access to the buttflaps.”

“Someone revoke her vows,” Gojo wheezed, tears gathering, clutching his ribs on the floor. "Stop, stop—I'm too pretty to laugh this hard!"

You flipped your hair and walked over to shove strawberries in your mouth.

Nanami emerged from the kitchen with two glasses, his expression the patient mask of a man who knew this would end in either tears or sex. Probably both. “You should hydrate.”

“Thank you, baby.” You took the glass and immediately ignored it. “See? Nanami supports me. He's my wife now. You're the one who's gonna swell up.”

Gojo stared. “Swell up?”

“Like in a yaoi fanfic,” you said, poking his pec. “Cravings. Mood swings. Swollen ankles.”

“I already have mood swings,” Gojo muttered.

Nanami nodded. “We’ll get you a belly band. Very supportive.”

You gasped. “Maternity shoot. Milk bath. Lace robe.”

“I’m leaving,” Gojo announced.

“You’ll name the baby Limited Edition,” you said. “Middle name: Supreme.”

Gojo howled. “STOP—”

You plopped down between them, still draped in both men's belongings like some unholy trophy wife. The Begurmont from Nanami's leather and Gojo's sugary-sky cologne clung to your skin.

Gojo tried to sulk, but instinct won out—his head tilted against your shoulder like a reflex. Nanami claimed your thigh with his palm, ownership undisputed in most legal jurisdictions.

"You're too beautiful," you sighed. "That's why I'm getting you pregnant while Nanami raises the baby and I play Fortnite."

Nanami raised his glass. “Sounds fair.”

Gojo stretched like a jungle cat, slow and luxurious. “I wouldn’t mind. ‘Sorcerer Supreme Carries Miracle Child, Still Hot.’ The headlines write themselves.”

“I’d rub cocoa butter on your stretch marks,” you said. “Gaslight you about maternity jeans.”

“Skin-to-skin contact,” Nanami added. “But no diapers.”

“I’d fake baby monitor glitches to sleep in.”

“I’d fake my death to avoid formula prices.”

“I’d resurrect you out of spite.”

“I love us,” you declared.

Silence. Heavy, intimate. The kind that clings to skin.

You didn’t know. Couldn’t have known that tomorrow, in less than 24 hours, Gojo would face Geto Suguru across a battlefield. That decade-old wounds would split open. That the man who once bled for him would now bleed because of him.

Nanami knew.

He stared at the stars, arms crossed, posture tight with tension he wouldn’t name. Watching Gojo hide truth behind tequila and touch. Watching you laugh off pregnancies your scarred body could no longer carry. Loving you both so much it turned his stomach—because there was no safe place to put that love.

“The baby will be beautiful,” he said finally. “And clinically depressed. Like me.”

Gojo groaned, arms over his eyes, legs sprawled out like a man defeated by ambiance and alcohol. “I’ll literally die if you keep tag-teaming me with pregnancy fantasies.”

You reached for the gin bottle. “Bet you won’t if I—”

But you didn’t get the chance.

Gojo moved faster than anyone that inebriated and that pretty had any right to. One second he was half-dead on the lounger, next second—standing in front of you, hands warm on your waist, face dangerously close. His fingers slipped under the haori, brushing the holster’s edge, then up—finding the lace strap.

He grinned.

Not goofy.

Predatory.

“Babe,” he murmured, voice thick with heat. “You’re talking a lot of shit for someone who can get pregnant.”

Your brain forgot how to move.

Nanami, now at the bar, froze mid-sip.

“I—”

Gojo’s palm flattened against your sternum. “What if I put a baby in you tonight?”

Your breath hitched. The holster felt too tight. You swayed slightly, off-balance.

Gojo turned, gaze flicking to Nanami. “What about you, Nanamin? You gonna let me knock her up by myself?”

Nanami’s eyes burned gold. Alert now. His tongue darted over his lower lip, pupils blown. His voice came hoarse. “She’ll eat you alive within five minutes without my help.”

“Oh yeah?”

You dropped into the chair beside Nanami, legs crossed like you weren’t spiraling. “We should get him pregnant. I wanna see him waddle.”

Nanami didn’t miss a beat. “His estrogen spikes when he gets attention.”

Gojo groaned, running a hand down his face. “I hate you both.”

You leaned into Nanami, breath brushing his ear. “He’d be so sexy in labor. We could braid his hair and tell him to push—”

Gojo didn’t speak.

He grabbed you.

Scooped you up like a misbehaving cat, slung over his shoulder. You shrieked—less horror, more wine-fueled banshee—with laughter bubbling in your throat.

Nanami looked up just in time to be pinned to the bar by Gojo’s free hand.

“Keep running that mouth,” Gojo muttered, voice dark, “and I’ll put something else in it.”

Nanami raised a brow. Smirked. “Finally taking initiative?”

Gojo’s grin went lethal. “Oh baby. I’m about to get us all pregnant.”

You wriggled, boneless and tipsy, nails catching on the edge of his haori.

“I think I’m drunk,” you mumbled.

Gojo smiled. That soft, smug, faintly unhinged smile. “Perfect timing.”

Nanami didn’t get a warning.

In one frighteningly fluid motion, Gojo cradled you to his chest and yanked Nanami forward by the waistband of his slacks.

“I’ve been so patient tonight,” Gojo whispered, lips brushing yours. “But you keep calling me pretty. Like that’s all I am.”

“Wait, I—”

“You wanna get me pregnant?” he purred. “Make me your little trophy wife?”

“Satoru—”

“I’ll give you something better.”

He kissed you like it hurt. Like he wanted you to feel it for days. Slow, open-mouthed, hips grinding into you as you gasped.

Nanami didn’t get a chance to argue—Gojo grabbed him by the chin and dragged him in. Their mouths collided like bad decisions at 1 a.m.—messy, desperate, reckless.

Like everytime with you three, years of tension and silence snapped like a bone breaking clean. And Nanami—stoic, scarred Nanami—melted into it.

Into Gojo.

Into inevitability.

You didn’t remember how it started. Not really.

Not the walk to the bedroom. Not who undressed whom first.

You remembered laughter.

Three mouths. Six hands. Two men who loved you too much for their own good.

The villa’s soundproof walls weren’t a luxury—they were a necessity.

Gojo tore the haori off like it had wronged him. Nanami unclipped the holster like it was ritual. They looked at you like you were gospel. A god. A funeral pyre.

The sex was chaos and worship.

Gojo, cocky and relentless, played your body like a symphony he’d composed in blood and bravado. Nanami, precise and devastating, murmured stock market metaphors in your ear while his fingers moved inside you with obscene efficiency—dividends maturing on time.

You were crying when Gojo came. Still inside you. Mouth pressed to your shoulder, whispering mine, mine, mine like a curse and a prayer.

Nanami collapsed beside you, mumbling against your neck, words half-formed and molten.

His hand curled around your throat. Gojo’s laugh cracked into a groan. Nanami bent over your back and whispered—

“No, but what if we named him Kaito… means ocean… he’ll swim. And Emi. For the girl. Means beautiful.”

You didn’t correct him.

Didn’t remind him your uterus was gone. That none of you wanted children.

That no one should have children with special-grade sorcerers.

The war ahead pressed on all three of you like the weight of a god’s palm.

But you let him dream.

Just for tonight.

Gojo, still inside you with Nanami—actively driving the other man insane—cock-drunk, pussy-drunk, who the fuck even knew at this point—choked on his own spit. “Wait—Nanamin, are you baby naming? We’re not. She had surgery, remember?”

“I still want to pick names,” Nanami muttered, too earnest for someone still hard, low and stubborn. “In case we… find one.”

Gojo groaned, burying his face against your neck like it physically pained him. “Then get them adopted, Mr. Planning-Ahead.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

You were too busy coming—again—to tell them to shut up.

Gojo pressed a kiss to your sternum, tongue flicking out like punctuation as he rubbed your clit. Nanami bit your shoulder to stifle his groan while his grip on your thighs stayed punishing. Arrogant. Worshipful. Almost reverent.

And just like that, the future was conceived.

Not in strategy. Not in hope.

But in laughter. In sea-salted sheets. In a villa far too decadent for the filth it now housed.

Nanami didn’t say much after. Just kissed you. Slow. Like sealing something wordless while Gojo nuzzled his neck, mumbling nonsense.

The twins were conceived while you were giggling about fanfic pregnancy tropes. While Gojo plotted his hypothetical milk bath maternity shoot. While Nanami traced your spine like a conductor’s wand, calibrating rhythm.

Gojo promised your hypothetical children the worst dad jokes the world had ever endured. Nanami promised them equity portfolios and debt-free futures.

Morning came brutal. You, still boneless on top of Nanami’s bare chest while Gojo smothered you both, a tangle of limbs and tequila sweat. A scratch traced your name down both their backs like a curse signed in heat. Nanami’s phone had your message in the group chat before you fell asleep:

“soooo. can one of u get plan b in bora bora or are we f—

wait nvm i had a hysterectomy lol love u both.”

Gojo replied with:

“my uterus is safe for now.”

Nanami didn’t respond.

He just stared at the ceiling.

And mourned a future that didn’t belong to them.

Because destiny didn’t care about surgical records.

That was the night your twins were conceived.

Not planned. Not wanted. Just... inevitable.

Somewhere between your laughter, Gojo's groan bleeding into a prayer, and Nanami whispering names like liturgy…

Three monsters made a family.

And you hadn’t even felt the teleportation.

They’d made sure of that—sedated your drink just enough to knock out your nervous system. Gojo had muttered something about “dimensional buffering.” Nanami had tucked your hair behind your ear like it was the last thing he’d ever get to do.

And the villa vanished.

You were in Japan. In your marital bed. Gojo’s haori still half-wrapped around your shoulders. Nanami’s holster slung around your waist like a forgotten wedding ring.

She sleeps like she trusts us, Nanami thought, bitter and bewildered. Like she doesn’t expect to wake up alone.

He didn’t realize he was already lying.

Before they left, he handed the staff a printed dossier. Tactile. Cold. Heavy with instructions for a future he wasn’t sure he'd return to. “You’ll guard her with your lives,” he told them, voice low, final. Most of your staff were sorcerers handpicked by Gojo himself, not that they ever told you.

Gojo said nothing. Just kissed your forehead with a blindfold and his uniform now on. His hands trembled when they vanished in cursed light.

You slept through the apocalypse, the end of the world. Or least yours.

The Parade of a Hundred Demons was already done. A footnote in the aftermath.

Because Getou Suguru was already dead.

Not in body. In the only way that mattered.

Gojo killed him quietly. No spectacle. No flash of arrogance. Just a whisper in the dark:

"If I hadn’t loved you, maybe you'd still be alive."

"But if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have survived."

Then Getou Suguru was gone.

And Gojo ran.

Not to you and Nanami.

Just to Nanami.

Collapsed into him like a man pulling himself out of a burning house.

Nanami didn’t ask. Just stripped off the bloodied shirt, cupped the back of his neck, and kissed him until the shaking stopped.

The sex was messy. Gentle. Violent in its tenderness.

Gojo clung to him, half-naked and glassy-eyed, whispering “Kento” like a prayer he didn’t know how to finish, like it was the only word left.

Nanami answered by fucking him slowly. Like he could absorb the guilt. The grief. The unspeakable. His own jealousy twisted low in his gut—quiet, constant. Like tenderness could undo betrayal.

And maybe it could have—if there wasn’t so much silence after.

Because Suguru had always been the shadow clinging to Satoru's light, a question that remained unanswered, a specter in every reflection. His absence left an echo, a breath caught in Satoru’s lungs that would never fully exhale.

Nanami wondered, and the thoughts festered—if he hadn’t taken Satoru from Suguru—if he hadn’t dared to love the most complicated man in the world—would either of them still be alive? Or would Suguru have found himself in Nanami’s position? Would his wife have loved him more than she loved Nanami? Would Suguru have found himself in Nanami’s place—holding you the way Nanami did, tethered to a life he didn’t know how to leave? Would your love have been different? Would you have chosen him over Nanami? Or would this fragile, complicated family never have even existed? Or would the three of them have never existed in the first place?

Because it had always been obvious—Satoru had loved Suguru more than he ever loved Nanami or even you. That kind of love that narrowed his entire universe. The way he looked at Suguru, the rest of the world evaporated. Like no one else existed, or needed to.

Even their names had rhythm. A breath in and out. Satoru and Suguru.

The truth, like acid, burned at Nanami’s core: Satoru had loved Suguru with a depth he would never spare Nanami or you. He couldn’t even if he tried. Suguru’s name was an extension of Satoru’s own, a single, inseparable breath that filled the space between them. When Suguru was by his side, the world faded into the background. There was only “Satoru-and-Suguru,” in one fluid, eternal breath. Nanami had never thought he would love Satoru, not when Suguru still existed, tangible and irreplaceable. Not when he was still beside him. Satoru hadn’t had room for anyone else.

But then you arrived—just a human but so full of paradoxes.

And saw what no one else had.

That he and Gojo made sense.

That they weren’t opposites—they were inevitable.

You flirted with them both like you knew how the story ended. Like you had already decided you would belong to neither of them and both of them.

You changed the axis of their world.

And Nanami—quiet, deliberate, not born for chaos—had followed you into it willingly.

After you, Nanami could love Satoru.

After you, he did.

But now—after you—after this impossible family they had built from nothing, he couldn't imagine life without this jagged, stolen piece of heaven. He would cling to it with bloodied hands if necessary. He would not give it up. Not for regret. Not for ghosts. He would never let you both go.

The truth remained bitter, sitting heavy on his tongue: Satoru had loved Suguru with a depth he would never offer Nanami or you. A sacred, impossible devotion.

But Nanami had you.

And Satoru, for all his loss, had you and him.

He held Gojo tighter.

Not out of comfort.

But out of defiance.

And that—quietly—was the beginning of the end.

Nanami tightened his arms around Satoru, his fingers digging into his skin with a desperate sort of possessiveness, as though trying to anchor himself in something that was slipping through his fingers.

That’s how the rot started.

First came the quiet. Then came the absence. Then came the cruelty, dressed up as distance and washed down with sake.

You stopped asking where they went.

They stopped answering anyway.

Photos surfaced. Ryokan retreats. Rooftop bars.

Always the two of them.

Always with the kind of intimacy that made strangers blush.

You tried, once. To talk.

They didn’t hear you.

Then came the night.

You were already sick. Nauseous at sunrise. You hadn’t told them. Didn’t believe it yourself.

The doctors said it was impossible. That your womb was scar tissue. That your hysterectomy was final.

But the tests came back positive.

The cursed energy inside you throbbed with something ancient. Something growing.

You curled up on the far end of the bed, heating pad humming under your spine, while they stumbled in—drunk, laughing.

Gojo shoved Nanami onto the mattress beside you. Grinning.

“Bet I can make you cum before she even wakes up,” he slurred.

Nanami didn’t argue. He just pulled Gojo into a kiss.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t cry.

Just listened.

And left.

They didn’t notice. Not for days. Weeks. More than a month.

When Nanami realized, he dropped his phone and your ring. Like it burned him.

Gojo didn’t say anything.

They didn’t notice you were gone.

It had been six weeks.

And they hadn’t even known you were alive.

Just went quiet.

That’s how it ended.

Not with a fight. Not with a scream.

But with your absence, wrapped around their necks like a silk noose they’d tied themselves.

And still, somewhere under your ribs, two hearts beat.

Unplanned. Unwanted.

But inevitable.

Before all of this—the distance, the neglect, the silent cruelty—there was a time when Nanami thought he knew who he was. The quiet, stoic man who valued duty over passion, who kept his emotions under tight rein. But that was before you. Before the chaos of being caught between Gojo's reckless light and your fierce, magnetic pull. You didn’t just see the two of them for what they were; you saw how they made sense together, and you flirted with that reality with a knowing smile, like you understood them more deeply than either of them ever could.

Nanami had never loved anyone the way he loved you—not even Gojo, not even for a fleeting moment. His feelings for Gojo had always been bound in something darker, something unspoken, and something he had never dared to label. They were different now, after everything. After you.

He watched you, the way you navigated between them, like you were both a puzzle piece and the solution all at once. You’d seen them, really seen them—their brokenness, their contradictions—and you didn’t turn away. You saw how they fit together. How they had to.

It should have been absurd. Two men, both impossibly larger than life, trying to share something as fragile as love. But you made it feel inevitable, like the only way it could ever have been. Gojo, with his unpredictable brilliance, and Nanami, with his steady, unwavering presence. You understood the quiet war between them, the way each tried to stake his claim in your heart, each one daring the other to step aside.

But you didn’t choose between them.

You didn’t have to.

That, more than anything, terrified Nanami.

He had always known what he was to Gojo: a constant. A man whose loyalty was unquestioned, whose steadiness was a given. But with you, he wasn’t sure. You didn’t need him the way you needed Gojo. You needed them both. And somehow, in the sickest irony, that made him feel smaller than he’d ever been.

Yet, even in the chaos of trying to win your affection, there had always been a part of Nanami that knew it was futile. There was something inherently inevitable about it all. Gojo had always been the center, the sun around which everything orbited. And Nanami, ever the satellite, had circled the edges, watching as Gojo’s radiance burned brighter with every passing year. Suguru had always been the anchor, the unspoken bond between them, but Suguru was gone now. And with his absence, Nanami had been pulled closer into Gojo’s orbit, with no escape.

You saw it. You saw them both. You saw how they needed each other, how the bond between them wasn’t just about you, but about the wreckage of everything that came before. You had always known how this was going to play out.

And Nanami had let it happen. Because he couldn’t resist you.

Now, in the cold aftermath of it all, Nanami clung to the one thing that had felt real in a world that had been bent out of shape by Gojo’s presence, by Suguru’s absence, by you. This fractured family. This cruel twist of fate that had bound them together, even as they fell apart.

Gojo might have been able to pretend that nothing had changed. That he didn’t still see the shadows of Suguru lingering in his every step. But Nanami wasn’t like that. He couldn’t just forget. He couldn’t just move on. He could feel the hole inside him, the one that had been carved out long before you had come into their lives. The one that had made him so vulnerable to you. To them. And now, with you gone, it was a void he didn’t know how to fill.

The silence between them had been deafening. They had drifted apart in ways neither of them understood, leaving you behind in the wreckage.

It was hard for Nanami to accept, harder still to admit—he had never truly loved anyone before you. Not like this. He had never wanted to be wanted so badly, not just for what he could give, but for who he was. And now, after everything, all he had left was a crumbling version of the family they had built.

Gojo, always the loud, reckless force of nature, had buried his regrets in the chaos of the world. Nanami, more reserved, more broken, had tried to hold it all together, pretending to be the glue when he was just as fractured.

And yet, when the world was falling apart, Nanami had never needed Gojo more. But Gojo had stopped looking back. Not when you weren’t there. And that, more than anything, made Nanami ache. Because the truth was, Gojo had never needed him the way he needed you.

Nanami would never say it aloud, but in the silence between them, in the space that used to be filled with laughter and touch, he knew. He had always known.

You had always been the missing piece they never knew they needed.

And now, you were gone.

Present Day

Nanami awoke in a cold sweat, and even in his restless sleep, you instinctively pulled him closer to your chest, unaware of the demons haunting him. “I’m so sorry,” was all he whispered that night.

“Come back to us,” you mumbled half-asleep, guiding his hand to the gentle swell of your baby bump, where the twins kicked lightly, still dreaming. Perhaps he was wrong; they both needed you more than you needed them.

Because you had been right. 

The day you had met with them the second time, the day you made them sweets and shared little nerdy stories—how Gojo was like the first dog at the North Pole, how he was the sun and Nanami the lighthouse, and how you had blushed when Nanami had called you the North Star—was etched in his memory. You had been right about Gojo needing Nanami; otherwise, he would get lost chasing snowflakes.

And he knew you understood that Gojo floated above the mortal realm, that you could never be enough for him. But you had never expected Nanami to betray you. And he did. For Gojo.

He had strayed from the path that was you, chasing snowflakes when he should have been the one to drag that snowflake back home. He shouldn’t have let Suguru’s death become a death sentence for you, a man you didn’t even know existed. You suffered a punishment you didn’t deserve, all for the sake of understanding and molding yourself into whatever they needed. And in return, they had given you children you never wanted—cursed from the moment they were conceived. Yet you loved them anyways and ran far from the clutches of the Jujutsu Society, just to protect them.

He hated himself for dragging you back into this, but he couldn’t leave you alone, with no one to care for you, to make you smile when the twins kicked and your ribs felt like they might break. No one to ensure you ate, because Nanami knew how easily you forgot when consumed by work.

---

The next few days, the problem wasn’t Gojo.

It was you.

Because for some cruel, unforgiving reason, pregnancy hormones had turned your entire existence into one long, unbearable thirst trap.

And Gojo Satoru—your husband, your idiot, your very own personal Shinjuku Arc DILF nightmare—was not helping.

It had started small.

A glimpse of him fresh out of the shower, water trailing down his manboobies—the same ones you’d randomly squeeze like stress balls when things weren’t awkward, but now they seemed somehow bigger—was both sinful and reckless.

Because Gojo had gotten bulkier. Broader.

He had always been lean. Sharp angles. Long, lazy limbs that moved with deceptive ease. But now?

Now his shirts clung.

Now, when he carried heavy things for you, his biceps flexed in ways that had you gripping the counter.

Now, when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, it felt like being caged in something solid, something unyielding.

Now, his voice had gotten deeper and rougher.

He had always been strong and dense, but now he was a rock.

And you were losing your goddamn mind.

So you were sitting at the kitchen island, fighting for your life.

He sat across from you, unaware, scrolling through his phone while sipping his sugary coffee like some casual menace.

No shirt.

Gray sweatpants.

You could see THE OUTLINE.

Your entire world was falling apart.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he asked absently, licking coffee foam off his lip.

Licking. His. Lip.

Your eye twitched. "Fine."

Gojo tilted his head, looking you up and down.

"You sure? You look kinda…" He squinted. "Sweaty."

You frowned. "I’m pregnant. I run warm."

Gojo smirked. "Oh? That explains why you were staring at me like you were gonna commit a crime."

Your eye twitched harder.

Then the next day, it happened again.

Gojo. Shirtless.

Gray sweatpants.

Hair tousled.

OUTLINE ON FULL DISPLAY.

You had to physically leave the room.

"Where are you going?" he called, grinning.

"Away," you snapped.

"Why?"

"Because I’m fighting demons, Satoru."

Gojo laughed.

"Sweetheart, if you wanna jump me, just say so."

You whirled on him, rage barely outweighing your thirst. "I can’t. You disgust me."

Gojo blinked. "Hah?"

"I literally cannot look at you without remembering you ignoring me for months and—" You flinched, voice breaking.

Gojo’s smile dropped.

His hands curled into fists at his sides. Guilt flickered over his face.

You turned away, swallowing hard. "It’s not that simple, Satoru."

Gojo was silent for a long time.

Then—soft, low, almost broken:

"I know."

You closed your eyes.

---

You have no power here, Nanami Kento.

Then soon enough it was Nanami’s turn to make your existence miserable, and you had to physically restrain yourself from biting his arms (or thighs).

It had started with dessert.

A harmless, deceptively innocent dessert.

Nanami had prepared a beautiful meal—because of course he had. A five-course gourmet spread, complete with handmade pasta, seared salmon, and some kind of artisanal bread that probably had a backstory.

And then came the chocolate mousse.

You hadn’t questioned it; after all, it was one of the top five cravings of the twins.

That was your first mistake.

Because exactly twenty minutes later, as Nanami sat across from you, sipping his tea with that God-tier jawline of his on full display, your entire body betrayed you—because of course it did.

Step 1: Denial

You blinked rapidly, shifting in your seat.

Something felt… off.

Warm. Tingly.

You glanced down at your own hands, clammy.

Nanami, oblivious, was flipping through a newspaper. "How was the mousse?"

Your entire body screamed.

"Good," you croaked.

Nanami didn’t look up. "I added a bit of maca powder for health benefits."

You froze.

Maca powder.

Natural aphrodisiac.

Your eyes widened in horror.

"…What kind of health benefits?" you asked, trying not to panic.

"Energy, endurance," Nanami listed absently. "Blood circulation. Hormonal balance."

Your soul left your body.

Blood circulation. Hormonal. Balance. Energy.

You were seven months pregnant. Your hormones did not need balancing.

They needed Jesus.

Step 2: Bargaining With God

Okay. Okay. You could handle this.

You were a strong, independent CEO.

You had survived worse.

You had survived Gojo’s gray sweatpants. (THE OUTLINE.)

You had survived pregnancy hormones.

You could survive Nanami Kento, sitting across from you in a half-unbuttoned dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing subtly as he poured himself more tea.

You just had to not look at him.

You looked at him.

Big mistake.

Because Nanami Kento—broad-shouldered, unfairly attractive, effortlessly put-together—chose that exact moment to glance up at you with those intelligent, golden eyes.

And you lost.

Your breath hitched. Your legs pressed together instinctively.

Nanami frowned slightly. "Are you alright?"

You nodded too fast. "Yep. Great. Amazing."

Nanami narrowed his eyes.

"You’re flushed."

Abort. Abort.

"No, I’m not."

"You’re sweating."

"I said I’m fine."

Nanami set down his tea. Slowly. Deliberately.

You could hear your own heartbeat.

"Darling." Nanami’s voice dipped slightly, calm but firm.

Your thighs clenched, harder.

Oh, you were so fucked.

Step 3: Fight or Flight

Your survival instincts kicked in.

If you didn’t leave now, you were going to die.

Or worse—embarrass yourself.

"I need air." You stood up so fast your chair nearly fell over.

Nanami raised a brow. "We are outside."

You stared at him.

He stared back.

You turned and walked into the house.

Step 4: Acceptance (But Also Still Suffering)

You locked yourself in the bathroom, gripping the sink.

Deep breaths.

This was fine.

This was not fine.

Every cell in your body thrummed with a singular, all-consuming need.

And Nanami Kento—special grade sorcerer, peak physical perfection, the man who could predict a stock market crash from the way a single grain of rice landed in his bowl, the devastatingly hot emo nerd who would have ruined your entire academic career had you met him in high school—had no idea.

The irony? You’d never spared blondes a second glance before him. But this man? He was exactly your default type. The kind of brooding, devastating intellect wrapped in broad shoulders and quiet confidence that you’d have followed around like a lovesick fool. The kind you’d have thrown hands with celestial beings over.

And today, you were carrying his child but couldn’t even touch him.

Especially not after Gojo had gleefully unearthed old photos of him.

Pre-Special Grade Nanami.

Younger. Dark-eyed.

(Still lethal.)

Now?

His eyes were gold. Molten, sunstruck gold.

(And when the light hit just right? A lighthouse in the storm of your poor life choices.)

And his lashes—

Gojo’s were long, sure. But Nanami’s?

A crime.

Wispy. Delicate. The kind that made it fundamentally unfair for a man to possess. The kind that made you want to sue evolution for the audacity of its distribution.

Worse?

Baby fever had you feral for those genes.

(Never mind that the eyes wouldn’t match. You’d take the lashes and die happy.)

You slammed your palms against your cheeks.

You could NOT let him find out.

Because if he did—if he even so much as suspected—

Nanami Kento would not let you live.

Step 5: The Betrayal

Nanami knocked once on the bathroom door. "My love…"

You braced yourself. "Go away."

"You locked yourself in the bathroom after eating dessert. Are you sick?"

Yes. But not in the way he thought.

"Nope!" you lied. Very convincingly.

A pause. Then, a sigh. "Open the door."

"Never."

Silence.

Then—soft, calculated, treacherous:

"Did Satoru do something?"

You opened the door so fast, you nearly dislocated your shoulder. “No, why would you assume—”

And then you saw his face.

Neutral. Calculated. Too calm.

He knew.

He’d baited you.

The betrayal.

You narrowed your eyes. "You are evil."

Nanami tilted his head slightly, the barest flicker of amusement in his expression. "And you are terrible at hiding things from me."

Your face burned.

Abort. Deflect. Escape.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

A slow hum. "Really?"

Silence.

Then, so casually it was terrifying:

"Are you aroused?"

Your soul left your body.

"Excuse me?"

"Are you aroused?" Nanami repeated, as if this were a normal conversation.

Your brain short-circuited.

Your dignity shattered.

Your heart attempted to jump out of your vagina, which was a biological impossibility, but it sure felt like it was trying with the way it throbbed for him.

You considered throwing yourself into the ocean.

"I—" You sputtered. "I cannot believe you would just ask that."

Nanami shrugged. "It’s a simple question."

"It’s an illegal question."

"Not really."

"Kento—"

He stepped closer.

You immediately stepped back.

His brows lifted. "So you are."

You wanted to die.

"I hate you."

"I know."

"I will never forgive this."

"You don’t have to."

You crossed your arms. "If you say a single smug word, I swear to God—"

Nanami cut you off with a sigh.

Then—instead of insulting you, mocking you, or even smirking like an asshole—

He walked into the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he went, and began brewing you a cup of tea—a soothing blend of Rooibos and Lemon Balm.

You blinked.

"What are you doing?"

"Making you tea."

You stared. "Why?"

Nanami didn’t look up. "Because you are suffering."

Your entire world tilted.

You had expected teasing. Sarcasm. Maybe a smirk and a "struggling, honey?"

What you had not expected was gentle competence.

He set the cup in front of you, calm as ever. "Drink."

You hesitated. "Is this a trap?"

"If it were, you would have lost already."

Fair.

You sipped the tea.

Nanami watched you.

Not with amusement. Not with judgment.

Just… watching.

"Why are you being nice?" You muttered, eyes narrowed.

Nanami exhaled slowly. Shook his head.

"Because you deserve nice things."

Your heart physically stopped.

You set down the cup with shaking hands.

"Kento."

"Yes?"

"Please leave."

"As you wish."

Oh no, he’s hot and emotionally intelligent?!

And then he left until you had relaxed and texted him to return.

---

On another Sunday, Maya folded her arms, staring at Gojo like he was the dumbest man alive. Which, at the moment, he was.

"Run that by me again, Satoru."

Gojo, currently reclined on her office couch, arms behind his head, grinned as if he hadn't just committed the most blatant act of therapy fraud in human history.

"Listen," he began, voice dripping with his usual brand of unchecked arrogance, "I technically did answer the 3 AM Test. Just…not personally."

Maya pinched the bridge of her nose. "You hired a voice actor to answer questions about your wife while you were out partying with Kashimo and your raccoon."

"Okay, first of all, that raccoon is my son and—" Gojo sat up, raising a finger—"it wasn’t partying, it was an—uh—immersive social experiment with extensive networking opportunities.” Because that’s what he’d heard Nanami saying when he was caught sleeping at work.

Maya stared at him with a seen-it-all face. “Want to give me something original?”

“An academic field study on cursed energy’s effect on… rooftop hydrodynamics."

"You got drunk on a rooftop and live-streamed yourself trying to balance an entire case of sake on Kashimo’s head while your raccoon attempted to shove his staff down a gutter."

Gojo raised a brow. "You watched?!"

"EVERYONE WATCHED, YOU IDIOT."

Gojo grinned. "Nice."

Maya picked up a clipboard and threw it at him. Gojo’s infinity blocked it effortlessly, still grinning.

"Alright, fine, so I cut a few corners. It’s a stupid test anyway."

Maya scoffed, taking the clipboard back. "A test about your wife, and you couldn't be bothered to answer the questions yourself. What if I’d asked something personal?"

"Then the actor would've done their job," Gojo said, shrugging. He wasn’t dodging the questions; Maya just stressed him out too much.

She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "What was her first game ever sold?"

Gojo smirked. "Oh, that’s easy. Probably some kind of high-tech PC game, or—"

"Wrong."

The smirk twitched. "Huh?"

Maya’s grin was sharp. "It was Snakes and Ladders. A board game."

Gojo stared. "You're lying."

Maya slid her laptop across the desk, your company’s website open.

His wife’s handwriting was clear as day:

First Game Ever Sold?

Snakes and Ladders. I used to play with my grandpa. I cheated when I didn’t know the rules completely. He let me win anyway.

Gojo's jaw tightened.

Maya watched his expression shift—just for a moment. Like a fracture in bulletproof glass.

"You never even asked her, did you?" she said softly.

Gojo swallowed. "She—she's a tech CEO. She builds games. Why the hell would I think her first one was something that basic?"

"Because," Maya said, voice quiet but firm, "you don't actually know everything about her. And that terrifies you."

Gojo didn't reply.

This is why he hated the bitch. Because no matter how much progress he made with his wife, Maya would humble him every time, making him feel like the worst possible husband, when in reality, he would die for his wife and Nanami.

The silence stretched.

Then, Maya smirked. "And none of you are following the ‘no talking or touching’ rule, but that can be excused because your wife is going through a body horror pregnancy and some assassination situation, as Shoko mentioned.” She chugged her whiskey neat, letting out the longest burp Gojo had ever heard—a feat considering he’d been friends with Shoko since high school and married to Nanami and you, and that was saying something.

She continued, now actively itching her ass, “Anyway, since you’ve failed spectacularly at all the rules, your punishment is public humiliation."

Gojo snapped back to reality. "Wait, what—?"

Maya slapped a flyer onto the table.

"Congratulations! You will now be running shirtless through Shibuya during rush hour. And, because I’m generous, I have already arranged a running buddy for you."

Gojo’s phone dinged.

New notification: CORPORATE TERRORIST TURNED STREAMER, SIX EYES BEGS FOR FORGIVENESS: CATCH GOJO SATORU LIVE IN SHIBUYA TONIGHT!

Gojo smirked. "Maya, my wife will kill you."

“She has already given written consent.” She beamed.

Gojo’s smirk faltered; eye twitched.

"Run fast, sweetheart." She said, smirking like she’d won something.

Then, before Gojo could drag his feet out the door, she added—far too casually, like she hadn’t immediately rewatched that part in HD—

"Thank you, by the way, for the wet Kashimo moment. Long white hair down. Shirt gone. Abs glistening."

Her voice was steady, but if someone looked closely—really closely—they might have noticed the faintest twitch of her fingers.

“Wait… You have a thing for Kashimo?! I’m going to tell my wife!” Gojo exclaimed cheerfully, causing heads to turn in the hospital. Couples stared at him as he pulled out his phone, already dialing your number.

He was gone before Maya could tell him that you already knew.

---

Nanami sat on the therapy couch, arms crossed, expression carved from marble.

Maya sipped her coffee. "So. How’s your stress level?"

Nanami exhaled. "Manageable."

"Uh-huh." Maya flipped a page. "Because according to this," she tapped the paper, "you threatened to remove Haibara’s kneecaps in a completely unprovoked outburst."

Nanami frowned. "It was a reasonable reaction."

Maya raised a brow. "Kento. The man offered you a coffee."

Nanami inhaled sharply. "He offered me a pumpkin spice latte, Maya."

"And?"

"I drink black coffee. No sugar. No flavors. No seasonal nonsense."

“Liar. Your wife and your husband said you steal sips of their coffee.” Maya sighed. "But you're telling me you threatened bodily harm over spices?"

Nanami’s jaw tensed. "It was symbolic."

"Symbolic of what, exactly?"

Nanami crossed his arms, looking away—the Nanami Kento equivalent of “pouting.”

Maya laughed. "Oh my god. You're jealous."

Nanami twitched. "Excuse me?"

Maya grinned, leaning forward. "You’re mad that Haibara is better at emotions than you."

Nanami scoffed. "Only in the way serial killers are."

"Oh, but he’s funny, friendly, endlessly optimistic—"

"That’s a lie. He’s insufferable."

"—and he knows how to connect with people in ways you never could."

Nanami was silent.

Maya’s grin faded.

"Nanami," she said, softer now. "Why do you really hate him?"

Nanami's grip on his coat tightened. "...He’s fake."

Maya frowned. "Fake?"

Nanami exhaled, running a hand down his face. "No one is that cheerful all the time, Maya. No one. It's a performance. And for whatever reason, she can’t see it."

Maya tilted her head. "Your wife?"

Nanami's jaw clenched.

Maya stared. "Holy shit."

Nanami closed his eyes. "Maya, don’t—"

"He likes her."

Nanami’s hands curled into fists.

Maya sat back, connecting the dots. "That’s why you hate him."

Silence.

Then—

"He's always been there," Nanami muttered. "Since she was a child. Always. And no matter what, she never saw it."

Nanami let out a sharp exhale, as if finally letting go of something he'd held for long.

Maya was quiet for a long moment. Then—

"Does she know?"

Nanami shook his head. "She never has. And she never will."

Maya considered him, then said, "What if she did?"

Nanami gave her a tired smile. "I’ll kill him."

Truth.

Maya didn’t push further. She just nodded, chugged her industrial-solvent-ass whiskey, and let the weight of the confession settle.

"You know," she said eventually, "if you keep pretending you don’t care, you might be the fake one."

Nanami exhaled a quiet laugh. "...You’re insufferable too."

---

Sometime later, Maya kicked her feet up on the coffee table, eating dried fish from a coffee mug labeled #1 Therapist (Self-Declared). Her expression was one of barely contained amusement as she scrolled through her phone.

“Gentlemen,” she announced, not looking up. “Guess what’s trending in Shibuya?”

Nanami sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to guess.”

“#GojoGlutes,” she said cheerfully, tilting the screen to show them a viral clip.

Gojo, shirtless and panting, was sprinting through the neon-lit streets of Tokyo, his white hair a windswept mess. Behind him, Nanami—equally shirtless but radiating the pure, resigned rage of a man who had been dragged into a mistake he did not personally make—kept pace.

The video was captioned: Witnessed two grown men running half-naked at 3 AM. Is this an Olympic event? #GOnanaGO #NanaBoobs #GojoGlutes.

“Honestly, I look fantastic,” Gojo mused, stroking his chin.

Maya turned her gaze to him, dark eyes brimming with disbelief. “You hired a voice actor, Satoru.”

Gojo scowled. “A professional one!”

“TO IMPERSONATE YOU IN THE TEST.”

“I panicked!”

“You PANICKED?” Nanami repeated, finally snapping. “You have SIX EYES and you thought the best solution to a trivia test about your wife was voice fraud?”

Maya snorted, slamming down her mug. “You didn’t even pick someone good, dumbass. I caught you because the guy sounded like a goddamn anime protagonist from 2003.”

Gojo pouted. “It was hard to find someone who matched my natural charm.”

Nanami exhaled. “I should have let you run alone.”

“Oh, like you did better?” Maya flipped to her notes. “Let’s revisit your failure, Kento.”

Nanami tensed. “...I don’t see why that’s necessary.”

“No. No. Let’s hear it. Why should I always be the victim?” Gojo turned to look at Nanami.

Maya grinned like a shark. “When asked, ‘What’s your wife’s favorite food?’ you answered—‘my face.’”

Gojo wheezed.

Nanami straightened his coat with forced calm. “I might have panicked.”

Maya tapped her pen against her teeth, staring them down. “What did we learn, gentlemen?”

Gojo raised a hand. “That I look hot when I run?”

Maya picked up a dry fish from her cup and chucked it at his head.

“NO. We learned that after THREE WEEKS, neither of you know basic shit about the woman you MARRIED.”

Nanami huffed, loosening his collar. “That’s an exaggeration.”

“Oh? Then tell me, what was her first video game?”

Nanami opened his mouth. Easy. “Nothing. She used to assemble PCs.”

Gojo smirked and twiddled his thumbs, waiting for Nanami to fail with him.

Maya let out a long-suffering sigh as she pulled up the answer. “A board game.”

“No.” Nanami’s eyes narrowed like he’d been offended, skepticism tightening the lines of his face. “I know for a fact that she built PCs to save money for her first HCM or RPG. So, I don’t buy her first being a board game.”

“You should,” Maya drawled, scrolling absentmindedly. “Board games gave her the funds to invest in those PC builds. It wasn’t daddy’s money. And, by the way—” she tilted her phone for emphasis—“Haibara personally supplied this question. He was very smug about it.”

Gojo’s smirk flickered.

Maya kept going, voice laced with an almost detached amusement. “Apparently, he still has it locked away in a safe. After he beat up the guy and forced him to resell it to him.”

Silence.

The atmosphere shifted.

Nanami’s expression darkened, his jaw flexing under an invisible weight. Gojo’s mouth twisted, as if he’d bitten into something sour.

“Of course he did,” Nanami muttered, voice tight.

Gojo exhaled sharply through his nose. “Where is it?”

Maya sighed, rubbing her temple as if she was the one dealing with an ongoing nightmare.

“Why on earth would he tell me that? He’s not in therapy.”

---

Maya didn’t have to drag Haibara and Megumi into therapy—they showed up with malicious enthusiasm.

Megumi leaned back, arms crossed, radiating CEO-level disdain. Haibara, on the other hand, was annoyingly comfortable, sipping what looked like an expensive matcha latte and smiling like he hadn’t personally ruined lives.

“So,” Maya began, clasping her hands. “As you both know, Gojo and Nanami have the combined emotional intelligence of a brick wall.”

Megumi sighed solemnly. Haibara snorted.

“Which means,” Maya continued, “they’re unbelievably bad at understanding their wife—”

Haibara clicked his tongue, sipping. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Nanami glared at him. “Why are you here?”

Haibara stretched lazily. “To be entertained,” he spoke, swirling his drink casually. “And also to educate.”

Megumi sighed. “And because Maya emotionally blackmailed us.”

Maya pointed her pen like a gavel at him. “That too.”

Gojo leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at Haibara. “What do you even want?”

Haibara smiled, slow and deliberate, still sipping his matcha latte as if this were a board meeting at a preschool. “Oh, you know.” He tilted his head, his voice a shade too relaxed. “Just for you both to never have been in her life.”

Silence.

Nanami’s ratio blades hummed beneath the surface. Gojo’s whole body went eerily still.

Haibara kept his grin intact, but there was a tension in his jaw, as if he were daring them to make the first move—looking for an excuse to take them out without incurring your wrath for being the one to initiate it.

Maya, unbothered, twirled her pen. “Alright, therapy moment! Haibara, say more about that.”

Haibara’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, I’d love to.”

Megumi rolled his eyes. “God, you’re so dramatic.”

Haibara ignored him. “She deserves better.”

Nanami glared at him. “Better than—?”

“Than this.” Haibara gestured vaguely between them. “Than you two fumbling through her life like confused toddlers with power complexes.”

Gojo’s voice was oddly quiet. “You think you know our wife better than us?”

Haibara met his gaze head-on, head slightly tilted to the side. “I don’t think.” He smirked. “I know.”

Gojo hated how much that stung, but before he could say anything, Maya clapped her hands. “Alright! Let’s dig into that.”

Nanami looked physically ill. “Must we?”

“Oh, we must,” Maya said cheerfully. “Because for the first time, I think we’re actually getting somewhere.”

She leaned in, predatory. “Now, boys—let’s talk about her.”

The room felt too small for this conversation.

Gojo leaned forward, elbows on his knees, mask of casual arrogance slipping with every second of silence. Nanami sat stiff-backed, expression unreadable except for the death grip on a pen he was fiddling with. Megumi looked like he did not want to listen to this, arms crossed tightly, gaze averted.

And Haibara?

Haibara was smiling.

But not the usual smirk, not the self-satisfied amusement he wore when making their lives miserable. No—this was different. His fingers tapped idly against his thigh, and his eyes, too sharp, too knowing, lacked their usual mirth.

Maya, sensing the shift, stayed quiet for once.

Then, Haibara exhaled. "You think you know her?"

Neither man answered.

Haibara chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "You don’t."

Gojo bristled. "That’s—"

"You don’t," Haibara repeated, and this time, his voice was flat.

Megumi stiffened beside him, not looking up from his rapidly whitening knuckles.

Haibara stretched, tilting his head toward the ceiling as if debating how much to say. "You ever wonder why she never talks about her family or childhood?"

The air in the room turned heavy.

Fuck pleasantries. He was jumping straight in.

Gojo’s fingers curled against his knee. "She doesn’t like talking about it," he muttered.

Haibara laughed. A short, sharp thing that held no warmth. "You think she just doesn’t like talking about it? Cute."

Maya leaned forward. “Haibara—”

"I’m saying it." Haibara’s voice was cold.

Megumi finally looked up, expression stormy. "You don’t have to—"

"Yes, I do," Haibara cut him off. His gaze locked onto Gojo and Nanami, and for the first time since the session started, there was no teasing, no amusement. Just unfiltered contempt.

"You want to know why she never talks about her family?" He tilted his head. "Because they were monsters."

Gojo went still.

Nanami exhaled sharply.

Megumi’s jaw clenched as he closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair.

Haibara ignored him. "Her mom?" He hummed. "Didn’t want her. Didn’t love her. And made sure she knew it."

The words landed like a slap.

Gojo’s grip tightened. "We know that."

"You ever notice how she flinches when someone raises their voice around her? How she laughs a little too quickly and gets that murderous look in her eyes when someone says something cruel, like it’s second nature for her to defend herself 24 fucking 7?" Haibara’s tone was deceptively light. "Wonder why?"

Nanami looked pale, he knew now. Of course, he and Gojo knew. They’d figured it out after she almost sent them to prison. But hearing it from someone else—especially the guy obsessed with taking their place—felt like a nightmarish circle of hell.

But they would listen.

Their wife deserved to be loved correctly, the way she needed and wanted to be loved, without fear—especially not in her own home.

"She was hit." Haibara’s voice was softer now, but somehow, that made it worse. "A lot."

Megumi was rigid beside him, gaze locked onto the floor. He was internally fighting a panic attack.

Haibara sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Verbally, physically, emotionally—take your pick. And you know the best part?" His smile was razor-sharp. "Everyone laughed at her."

Gojo’s breathing turned uneven; the pen Nanami had been fiddling with cracked slightly.

"Her dad didn’t care. Her mom sure as hell didn’t. They all wanted a son. The only one who gave a damn was her maternal grandma—the only person who made sure she ate, the only one who provided a place for her to breathe when her mother tried to break her arm at just seven years old because she blamed a daughter she never wanted for her failed marriage."

Megumi’s expression twisted, something dark and old flickering behind his eyes.

Nanami ran a hand through his hair, desperately resisting the urge to pull it out. He would not give Haibara or Maya that satisfaction. You needed him. Gojo was unnervingly still, as if he wasn’t even breathing.

Haibara leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "She used to watch cricket with her granddad. Megumi and I weren’t allowed to bat—she always cheated." A flicker of fondness crossed his face before it vanished. "We let her."

Megumi and Haibara both had a nostalgic smile on their faces.

"And then her grandma died."

Silence.

"Everything got worse."

Gojo shut his eyes, inhaling sharply.

Haibara’s voice dropped. "Wanna hear something fun?" His smile didn’t reach his eyes. "You know how people can tell when no one gives a shit about you?"

Nanami’s gut churned.

Gojo froze.

They knew what was coming.

Megumi was physically trying to not listen.

"They take advantage of it," Haibara murmured, his face uncharacteristically somber, the kind Nanami or Gojo had never seen before on him—not the current him or the old.

Maya looked like she wanted to intervene, jaw flexing.

Megumi’s fingers dug into his hair. "Stop."

Haibara ignored him.

His voice was quiet, but it burned through like mustard gas in their lungs.

"She was assaulted. Over and over again. Because people knew no one would listen. Knew she had no one who would protect her. Knew her own mother wouldn’t believe her, wouldn’t care."

Gojo’s stomach dropped.

Nanami looked sick.

Gojo had seen horrors. Had witnessed war. Had watched innocent people die. But this—

This was a different kind of violence. The kind that lingered. The kind that shaped a person.

The kind that didn’t just wound the body. It hollowed out the soul, left fingerprints on the way a person breathed, the way they flinched at shadows.

"Megumi’s mother took her in when she ran away," Haibara continued. "But before that—"

"Toji."

Gojo was grateful for the blindfold. The tears in his eyes weren’t the sympathetic kind. They were the kind that burned, the kind that could only be extinguished in blood.

Nanami’s throat tightened.

He remembered leaving her outside before coming in. She’d been laughing in the garden at something Kashimo said, sunlight catching in her hair.

The was she always did that thing—her small hands balling up the fabric of his or Gojo’s shirts when she was flustered, hesitating before kissing them. It was one of those little habits they’d never pointed out, something fragile and sweet that belonged only to them.

Now, the way she shied away from intimacy was a knife to the ribs.

Especially since Gojo had told him what happened in Paris.

"Toji did what he could," Haibara sighed, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly in his lap like he needed the tension to physically leave his body before he killed someone. "Kept her safe, kept her alive—until, well." He gestured vaguely at Gojo. "You happened."

Gojo felt like he’d been punched.

"And then he was gone."

Megumi exhaled shakily. "Enough."

Haibara turned to him, gaze unreadable. "You think they don’t need to hear it?"

Megumi’s jaw clenched. "I think it won’t change anything."

But that was a lie, wasn’t it?

Because Gojo looked like he’d been gutted. And Nanami—Nanami had his head in his hands, breath slow and uneven.

Nanami’s fingers twitched at his side. He could still feel the ghost of her grip on his sleeve, the way she’d cling just a little too tight when she thought he might leave.

Gojo’s jaw clenched.

He thought of her laugh—bright, rare, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, like a lighthouse just for him. Thought of how she’d press her forehead against his collarbone when she was tired, how she’d hum under her breath while making him sweets, how she’d trace patterns on his palm when she thought he wasn’t paying attention.

And now?

Now, she folded in on herself when they reached for her suddenly.

Now, she slept curled at the very edge of the bed.

Now, she looked at them like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Nanami exhaled, slow and controlled.

Maya was watching silently, uncharacteristically still.

Haibara stretched, voice returning to its usual lightness. "Anyway," he drawled, "that’s your wife. That’s the woman you keep failing. So, yeah." He stood, fixing his shirt collar. "Maybe learn something real about her before you embarrass yourselves again, huh?"

Megumi was already at the door, refusing to look back

Maya finally spoke once they left. "This is why you two keep failing," she murmured. "Not because you don’t care. But because you never pushed or read between the lines. Typical."

That day when they took you home, they were extra clingy, and you had no idea why.

---

Shoko’s clinic smelled like antiseptic and the faint, lingering trace of nicotine, which was as close to a personal touch as she’d allow in a place like this. The lights were dimmed, probably for your comfort, but the sterile chill still seeped through your hospital gown. Not that you felt it. Not with how obnoxiously close your husbands were.

Gojo was practically on the examination cot with you, and Nanami, seated on your other side, had a hand braced on your shoulder. Probably because your spine felt like someone had reached into your flesh and was rearranging it with the blunt end of a hammer.

"You're both acting like she's about to give birth right now," Shoko muttered, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

"Are you sure she’s not?" Gojo asked, his voice edged with genuine concern. His hand ghosted over your belly, big and warm, but not quite touching. “She screamed last night.”

You groaned, shifting against the crinkling paper beneath you. “It was a cramp, not labor.” Even speaking sent another sharp twinge between your ribs. You swore the twins were attempting a hostile takeover of your lung capacity.

Nanami wordlessly lifted a glass of something violently green to your lips. “Drink.”

You took a sip from the titanium straw—24K gold accents that he’d gotten shipped from Vietnam, because of course—and immediately regretted it. “That’s kale.”

“And ginger.”

“You bastard.”

Gojo snickered. “Babe, just let him protein-shake you into health. He gets off on nutrition.”

Nanami sighed. "Off is not the word I’d use."

“Oh?” Gojo’s grin turned wider. “Then what would you use, Kento? Perhaps turned On?”

Shoko squirted a generous glob of gel onto your stomach, cutting them both off with the efficiency of a woman who’d long since lost patience. “I did not need to know that much about Kento or even you, Satoru.” She pressed the ultrasound wand against your skin before either could retort. “Alright, let’s see what’s going on in here.”

You sucked in a breath. Cold. Sticky. But as Shoko searched further, a new sensation took over.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It filled the room.

Steady. Familiar.

Then—

Another heartbeat.

Gojo inhaled deeply beside you. Nanami’s fingers flexed against your head. And you? You could only stare at the screen as Shoko adjusted the angle, revealing them.

Your children.

Not just something theoretical—names tossed around in late-night conversations or painted nursery walls—but real.

Moving. Alive.

A lump formed in your throat. “They’re okay?”

Shoko smirked, tapping the ultrasound screen. “They’re more than okay. A little crowded, but you’re all good. Tentacles are still there, but they look healthy—so I guess Nanami’s militant meal-planning is working.”

You weren’t surprised per se about the twins’… unconventional anatomy. How could you be when you were constantly in pain most days. But judging by the way Gojo’s shoulders finally relaxed and Nanami’s grip tightened, neither were they. Just relieved.

Nanami exhaled sharply through his nose—his version of a prayer—before his mouth curled into that rare, smug smirk. You braced yourself for another round of nutritional waterboarding.

Gojo slumped forward, forehead nearly touching your belly, his laugh shaky. “Fuck, sweetheart. Thought we were about to witness Cursed Womb: Death Painting live.”

Nanami’s glare could’ve flayed skin. “Satoru.”

“What? Too soon?”

Shoko, unfazed, pointed at the screen. "Want to know the genders?"

You swallowed. “Yeah. Tell me.”

The screen flickered. Shoko’s grin widened.

“One girl.” A pause. A shift. “And one boy.”

Silence.

Gojo’s hand found yours, his grip almost too tight—like he was anchoring himself as much as you. Nanami’s other hand slid to your thigh, possessive even now.

You’d known, intellectually. Had prepped nurseries, read books, endured Nanami’s spreadsheet-approved prenatal regimens. But this—this—was the moment it became real.

Gojo broke first.

“Oh, shit.”

You blinked. “Oh shit?”

He turned to Nanami, eyes wide behind his blindfold, lips twitching. "Nanami, my love, my light, my fellow baby daddy—”

“No.”

“—what if she gets your taste in suits?”

Nanami leveled him with an unimpressed stare. "Then she will be well-dressed."

Shoko rolled her eyes, wiping the gel off your belly. "Oh, shut up, both of you."

“She’ll dress like a middle-aged banker—”

“And our son,” Nanami cut in, voice dangerously calm, “will not inherit your impulse control.”

Shoko tossed her gloves into the bin. “Christ.”

---

Next Chapter 21 (alt ending 2.12) - What the Living Do - Part 2 - (Tumblr/Ao3)

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