#no thoughts idk what au to call it uh

[nortlas]

"We make a pretty good team, little star"

[shootingsun]

AU where everything stays the same but Near comes to Wammy's House as a baby (like, 8/9 months old) and Roger hates kids so he decides the best thing to do is hand the baby off to A and B because "they're geniuses they'll know what to do with it"

Shenanigans ensue

[protectorcraft]

its 10 am post more isat/twewy thoughts

Loop:

Composer (accidental), previous death game participant

Same latent ability as Siffrin- has been concentrated in on themselves since their shift in role

Has no idea how to compose and initially didn’t even realize that’s what they were. due to a variety of circumstances including the increasing buildup of trash noise, things are falling apart. Inversion “pockets” scattered around as a result. “Rewinds” (type of noise) emerge from these pockets, aand denizens of both the RG and UG are getting stuck there.

Sits in a weird, Joshua-esque spot as far as story role goes. Refuses to form a pact with Siffrin and is largely unhelpful to him, but ultimately still provides support and advice. More or less just their original role modified for the circumstances.

Refuses to show their face to any Death Game participants that arent Siffrin.

Noise Form: Ophiuchus Cantus, a giant sea serpent

The King:

Conductor (original in both timelines), previous death game participant

Latent Ability: Freeze (you know what this is)

Loves the RG and it’s people perhaps too much, attempting to freeze it in time to “preserve” it. Creates “Tempos” (type of Noise) to do so.

Constantly at ends with Loop, their efforts to thwart one another are making things worse.

Noise Form: Mobula Cantus, a manta ray

Euphrasie:

Producer, previously composer

Latent Ability: Soothe (self explanatory, i think)

(Accidentally) evicted from her role, knows she has been but doesnt know how or why

Hanekoma-esque role, provides advice and support to Siffrin and the party- has been recording things since the UG first got upended

Still head housemaiden in the RG. She can multitask.

Gradually corrupted by trash noise from the aftermath of the timeline resets. Becomes more of a symbol of disaster for Siffrin than the supportive figure she’s trying to be. Growing increasingly incomprehensible and erratic in the process.

Noise Form: Diomeda Cantus, a great albatross

[clegfly]

played the rpg3 mod today and came up with the rpg3 au where it’s just all the dead ones

or even better- it’s just the respective swap aus of those aus.

OMARI sunny and underswap frisk just sit there and watch Mari chaperone the whole thing like the big sister she is while the others just follow along

“no we aren’t fighting. We’re doing true pacifist you idiots. Do you want the eternal guilt on your backs as well? I didn’t think so”

[alygator77]

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 5 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse (emotional abuse but it can be a bit suggestive/interpreted as physical, from naoya not satoru)

ꨄ words: 8.3k

ꨄ a/n. here we go guys 🫣 idk what to even say, so i'll see ya'll at the bottom. enjoy♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist

series masterlist ꨄ︎ previous chapter ꨄ︎ next chapter →

ch 5 // a leap of faith

You stare out the window of Satoru’s limousine, the city lights blurring into streaks of color as the world rushes by—but your thoughts are too loud to let you fully take it in.

You’d think the upcoming interview at the gala would be your primary concern, considering that’s where you’re currently headed, but instead, your mind is trapped in a loop—the memory of Satoru’s phone call.

Do you really know him at all?

The bone chilling temper you overheard has left you questioning everything, only heightening your doubts in him.

There was something in his voice that you can’t shake—a bite that fills you with fear, a kind of fear that whispers in the back of your mind, warning that one day his icy detachment could be directed at you the moment you fail him.

Satoru sits across from you in the luxurious backseat, but despite the close proximity, it feels as though a vast distance separates you now—a chasm of unspoken thoughts and lingering doubts.

And you—so consumed by the questions swirling in your mind—fail to notice that Satoru is watching you—his gaze steady, searching, as if he’s trying to read something in your expression.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” he observes, “Is everything okay?”

You stiffen, pulse quickening.

Fuck.

Can he see right through you? Does he know about the doubts gnawing at you, the secrets you’ve been keeping?

His eyes search your face for something you’re not ready to reveal, and your defenses go up instinctively.

“I’m fine,” you blurt out, but the moment the words leave your lips, you inwardly cringe, the tonality of your voice holding an unintentional harshness.

Well, shit… it wasn’t meant to come out like that. But it did.

He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Uh…you sure?”

“Yes,” you counter abruptly, too abruptly, and your gaze darts away from his as if meeting his eyes might unravel the carefully constructed facade you’re desperately clinging to.

You feel the anxiety begin to bubble, threatening to spill over, and as your eyes fix on the window, you watch the world blur by, anything to avoid the weight of his scrutiny.

But Satoru’s sapphire eyes remain steady, unwavering. He rakes a hand through his tousled white hair and lets out a soft sigh, laced with a quiet frustration.

“You know… we’ve been living together for a while now,” his tone gentle, yet probing, “I think I can pick up when something’s up. You’re not as good at hiding it as you think. I mean, you tried to put the TV remote in the fridge this morning.”

A flush of embarrassment colors your cheeks.

Okay…rude, why does he have to call you out like that? Yeah sure, you have been out of it today—but how can you not be? The pressure you’re feeling is unbearable.

You let out a small, forced laugh, trying to brush it off, but there’s a hint of defensiveness in your tone.

“Uhh, it’s called ‘mom brain,’ Satoru.”

He furrows his brow, his expression softening even as a playful grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Mom brain? What the heck is that?”

Your eyes meet his for a brief moment, and in that split second, you catch a glimpse of the genuine concern lurking behind his playful facade. Your heart drops at the sight, a pang of guilt twisting in your chest.

Dammit, why does he have to look at you like that?

Why does he have to make this so much harder?

The frustration bubbles up inside you, not just at the situation, but at him—at the whole confusing mess that’s become your life. You don’t know what to believe anymore, and that uncertainty gnaws at you, leaving you feeling raw and exposed.

You break eye contact, looking away from him yet again, and an exasperated sigh escapes your lips.

“It’s what happens when you’re a mom and you’ve got a million things on your mind at once. Sometimes, your brain just… short circuits. It’s like, where did I put the keys? Oh, they’re in the fridge next to the remote. No big deal.”

Satoru chuckles, the sound low and warm. For a moment, it feels like the tension might ease.

“Sounds like a pretty convenient excuse to me,” he remarks playfully, but as his voice softens, the teasing edge gives way to genuine concern.

His gaze turns serious as his eyes search yours, intent and piercing, as if he’s trying to see past the walls you’ve put up.

“Mom brain or not… I know you, y/n. And I know when something’s really bothering you.”

Double fuck.

There’s a moment of panic, a fear that he might see right through you. The truth you’ve been burying deep inside threatens to surface, and the pressure of keeping it hidden feels suffocating.

You can’t let him see it. You can’t let him know.

“I’m…I’m just nervous about the interview,” you blurt out, the words tumbling from your lips in a desperate attempt to deflect, to steer him away from the dark, treacherous waters he’s unknowingly wading into.

But the excuse feels flimsy, like a poorly constructed lie that could crumble under the slightest scrutiny—and so you reach deep within yourself, trying to find a way to make it more believable.

“Not everyone can be like you Satoru, all carefree with no worries in the world. Must be nice.”

The moment the words escape, you feel them slicing through the air, sharp and jagged, and you know you’ve made a mistake. Regret twists in your gut like a knife, its cold blade cutting deep as you realize the bitterness laced in your voice, bitterness that surprises even you.

Triple fuck.

What the hell are you doing? Why are you attacking him like this?

The resentment, the fear, the overwhelming sense of inadequacy—all of it comes crashing to the surface, bubbling over before you can shove it back down where it belongs.

Great. Now you’re lashing out, emotions spiraling out of control, your composure slipping through your fingers like sand.

You can practically see the words hanging in the air between you, ugly and heavy, and the guilt that follows is instant, a crushing weight on your chest.

God, get it together.

For a moment, Satoru says nothing, his expression unreadable. You can’t tell if he’s angry, hurt, or simply trying to process your outburst.

You bite your lip, a nervous habit you’ve never been able to shake, and you force yourself to look away. Satoru does the same, both of your eyes falling yet again on the familiar blurred scenery outside the window, searching for answers that aren’t there.

The silence stretches, thick with tension, until finally, Satoru shifts across from you. He turns his head just enough that you catch the movement out of the corner of your eye, and you force yourself to glance back at him.

The corners of his mouth twitch upward, but there’s no humor in the gesture, just a faint, almost imperceptible sadness.

“You think I don’t worry?” he murmurs, voice so quiet you almost don’t catch it.

The rawness in his tone cuts through you like a blade, slicing through the walls you’ve built around your heart.

You turn to face him fully, really looking at him, and for the first time, you notice the subtle signs of weariness etched into his features—the shadows beneath his eyes, darker and more pronounced than you remember, the way the light in his eyes seems… dimmed, like a flame that’s burning too low.

Has he always looked this… tired? Or is it only now that you’re seeing it?

“Well…you’re always so confident and composed. It’s hard to even imagine you worrying,” you admit softly, and the defensiveness that had been there moments ago slips away like water through your fingers. “You’re able to handle all this with such ease. It’s like… nothing ever phases you.”

Satoru lets out a soft, almost bitter chuckle, the sound tinged with disbelief, as if your words are some kind of cruel joke.

“Yeah, that’s the thing, isn’t it?” he shakes his head slightly, “It’s not that I don’t worry. It’s that I can’t show it. People expect me to be… well, this,” he gestures vaguely to himself, “Confident, capable, always in control.”

You blink. The realization hitting you like a wave, washing over you and leaving you unsettled.

All this time, you’ve seen him as an invincible force, someone who could handle anything with a smile, who never let the pressures of his life touch him. You’ve relied on that image, drawn strength from it, without ever questioning the reality behind it.

But that’s not the case, is it?

Beneath the polished exterior, behind the confident facade, he’s been playing a role, just like you. He’s been hiding his fears and insecurities, presenting a version of himself that the world expects to see, while the real him remains concealed.

Your heart aches at the thought, a pang of guilt threading through the tenderness you feel for him. He’s been carrying this burden, this expectation of perfection, and you’ve been too wrapped up in your own struggles to see it.

You were right—you truly don’t know the real him. But… you want to. Desperately.

You take a deep breath, eyes searching his face for the truth behind his words.

“But… why?” you ask gently, “Why is it so important to you to keep up this image? Why can’t you just… be yourself?”

There’s a moment of silence, a heartbeat where you think he might not answer, where the vulnerability in his eyes seems to retreat behind the familiar walls he’s built. But then, he speaks, and the words that spill from his lips are raw, tinged with a quiet resignation that cuts through you.

“Because ‘myself’ isn’t good enough,” he admits quietly. “Not in this world. Not with the expectations people have of me.”

The sheer weight of his words, pierces through you, and your heart aches with an almost unbearable tenderness. There is a deep vulnerability in his admission, and the need to reach out, to comfort him, burns within you.

But would he even accept it? Could you close this growing chasm between you, this distance that feels both vast and fragile?

“But Satoru, who says you have to meet these expectations?” you whisper, voice trembling with emotion.

He lets out a bitter laugh, the sound devoid of any real humor, and the gesture is almost painful to witness, as if he’s mocking himself more than anything else. When his eyes finally meet yours, there’s an emptiness in them that chills you to the core, as though he’s become a shell of the person he once was.

“I’m a Gojo, y/n. There’s a certain… standard that comes with that name. It’s not just an image, it’s a legacy.”

He pauses, his gaze drifting away from yours and settling on the passing scenery outside the window yet again. There’s something almost haunting in the way he stares out, as if he’s lost in a world you can’t reach.

“People look at me and they see the name before they see the person. And if I don’t live up to that legacy… if I don’t maintain it…”

“—but doesn’t that mean you’re living for them, and not for yourself?” you interject softly, the question hanging in the air between you like a lifeline.

Satoru’s eyes flicker to yours quickly, a flash of something unidentifiable crossing his features, but then he looks away again, his gaze returning to the window. This time, there’s a distant sadness in his eyes, a melancholy that seems to settle over him like a heavy shroud.

“You shouldn’t have to sacrifice who you are just to fit into a mold that someone else created. That’s not living, Satoru. That’s just… existing.”

The silence that follows is thick and palpable, stretching out between you as if the very air around you has become denser. You watch him closely, searching his face for any sign that your words have reached him, that they’ve touched something deep within.

But as the moments pass, a new question begins to form in the back of your mind, creeping in slowly with an undeniable urgency.

Is Satoru truly happy with this life he’s been forced to live?

Or has he become so accustomed to the role he’s been given, the expectations he’s been made to carry, that he’s forgotten what it means to live for himself?

The smile he often wears—the one that dazzles everyone around him—feels different now as you think about it. It seems less like a genuine expression of joy and more like a carefully crafted mask, designed to hide the cracks beneath.

But then there’s the smile you’ve seen when he’s with you and Haru, one that’s softer, more genuine, like a fleeting glimpse of the man he could be if he weren’t weighed down by the immense burden of his family’s legacy.

If Satoru were truly as calculating, as cold and self-serving as you once thought, then why does he seem so… trapped?

Why does it feel like he’s just as much a prisoner of his circumstances as you’ve felt in your own life?

The thought sends a pang of guilt through you, a realization that maybe, just maybe, you’ve been too quick to judge, too quick to believe the worst without truly understanding the complexities of the man sitting in front of you.

You know that feeling all too well—the suffocating pressure to be someone you’re not, to live up to the expectations others have placed on you.

It’s a burden you wouldn’t wish on anyone, least of all someone who, despite everything, has shown you kindness and care.

“You know…there was a time in my life when I was just… existing, too,” you murmur, the words fragile yet heavy as they slip from your lips.

His eyes flicker to yours briefly, a small spark of interest igniting in the blue depths, but he doesn’t turn to face you. His posture remains angled toward the window, his gaze distant and unfocused, as if the world outside holds the answers he’s searching for.

“When I was with Naoya,” you continue, the name tasting bitter on your tongue, “it felt like every day was a performance. I had to be what he wanted, do what he expected, or face the consequences. It was like I was living in a cage, unable to be myself because ‘myself’ wasn’t what he wanted.”

You steal another glance at him, wondering if he understands, if he sees the parallels between your experiences. The memories flood back with each word you utter, their weight pressing down on your chest.

“I was just going through the motions, trying to survive,” you admit, voice trembling slightly. “It was… exhausting. Pretending to be someone I wasn’t, always afraid of what might happen if I let the mask slip.”

Satoru remains silent, his profile bathed in the soft glow of the city lights as they pass by outside the window—but, in the dim light of the limousine, you catch sight of his expression—thoughtful, pensive, as if your words have found their way into a place in his mind where he rarely allows anything to dwell.

“It sounds… suffocating,” he finally says, his voice quiet, almost reverent. His gaze remains on the world outside the window, though you know his words are meant for you. “Living like that, always having to be someone else. I can imagine… how hard that must have been for you.”

“It was,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart drops as you experience a sudden realization—a realization that…with Satoru you are falling into that same pattern.

Forcing yourself to put on this façade of being the perfect wife of a Gojo—trapped in a life that doesn’t feel like yours, performing a role that someone else wrote for you.

How is it that your entire life, you have been a victim of control—first by Naoya, the man you once loved, and now by Satoru, the man you are beginning to care for?

All you have ever wanted is what’s best for you daughter.

“But… I did what I needed to do, for Haru’s sake.”

Haru’s sake.

The words echo in your mind, a reminder of the choices you’ve made, the sacrifices you endured to protect her. And as you sit across from Satoru in this limousine, another question lingers at the edge of your thoughts—a question that fills you with uncertainty.

…what is the right choice to make for Haru’s sake?

Would staying with Satoru mean condemning yourself to another life of pretenses and expectations? A life where you continue to lose pieces of yourself, where you’re forced to hide behind yet another mask?

You steal a glance at Satoru, searching his face for answers you’re not sure you’ll find. His expression, though calm, doesn’t give much away, and it only deepens your turmoil.

Could he break free of these shackles with you?

Could he let go of the image he’s been forced to uphold, and be the person he truly is, without fear of judgment or rejection? Without being dictated by the weight of legacy and obligation?

The questions whirl in your mind.

Do you risk telling him everything, laying your soul bare in the hope that he will abandon this life for you? That he will choose you and Haru over the cold, unyielding expectations that have bound him for so long?

Or do you betray the man you’ve come to admire so deeply, the man who, despite his outward strength, is already so fragile, so vulnerable, hidden behind a mask of confidence?

As the silence stretches between you, you realize that the answer to one question in particular might be more important than anything else.

Because if Satoru can’t break free—if he can’t be himself, even with you—then what kind of future could you possibly have together? What kind of life could you offer Haru if you’re both trapped in a web of lies and half-truths, forced to play roles that don’t fit?

Your heart clenches painfully at the thought, and for the first time, you begin to doubt whether you can keep playing this role, whether you can keep pretending that everything is okay when deep down, you know it’s not.

But…you want to believe in him. So, so badly.

You want to believe that Satoru is different, that he’s capable of more than just playing the part assigned to him. You want to believe that, together, you can carve out a life that’s real, that’s yours, free from the weight of expectation and the shadow of legacy.

The desire to believe in him, to trust him, is almost overwhelming, and it takes every ounce of your strength not to reach out to him, to demand answers, to plead for him to show you that he’s more than just the image he projects to the world.

“So how did you break free?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he’s afraid of the answer.

Your breath hitches as his words hang in the air, and for a moment, the weight of his question feels like it might crush you.

You let out a trembling exhale, your emotions teetering on the edge of control, threatening to consume you whole.

“Just… a leap of faith,” you manage.

The words are simple, but they carry the weight of everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve survived. And in that moment, you hope—no, you pray—that it’s enough.

Enough to show him that there’s a way out, that there’s more to life than the roles you’ve been forced to play. Enough to convince him that he can take that same leap, that he can be more than just the legacy he’s been bound to.

Because if he can’t… then you’re not sure you’ll survive another fall.

ꨄ︎

The rest of the car ride passes in an unusual, heavy silence, but as the limousine nears the dazzling venue that will soon thrust you both into the public eye, you steel yourself for what’s to come.

The quiet, introspective moments you shared with Satoru within the backseat of this vehicle start to morph into something else—an unspoken agreement that whatever doubts, fears, or conflicts surfaced during this ride must now be hidden, locked away beneath yet another carefully constructed facade.

After all—in this world you are both living in, there can be no room for hesitation, no cracks in the image you both must maintain.

Satoru straightens in his seat, his expression sharpening into the confident mask you’ve seen him wear so many times before—like an actor preparing for a role.

It’s as if every trace of the man who moments ago, shared his deepest insecurities with you is now tucked away, replaced by the flawless persona the world expects to see.

And the way he does it so effortlessly—well, it only intensifies the ache in your heart.

But you have no choice to follow suit—the night is just beginning, and so, just as he did, you force your own worries into the back of your mind as you too prepare to play your part.

The limousine comes to a smooth halt at the gala’s entrance, and your eyes widen in awe.

It’s not as if the last charity gala you attended wasn’t elegant, certainly it was, but this—this is on an entirely different scale, a spectacle of grandeur that borders on the surreal.

The venue—a massive hotel nestled in the heart of the city—stands like a beacon of luxury. Its grand entrance a marvel, adorned with sparkling lights that bathe the surrounding area in a warm, golden glow.

The red carpet stretches out like a river of crimson, flowing beside the gleaming wheels of limousines that pull up one after another.

Their doors open to reveal the crème de la crème of society—elegantly dressed attendees stepping out, their outfits glittering under the lights and the air filled with the lively murmur of conversation and bright flashes of cameras.

You recognize several faces in the crowd—renowned actors whose performances have moved you to tears, musicians whose songs have been the soundtrack to your life, influencers who have set trends you've tried to keep up with.

These are the people who’ve always seemed larger than life—whose lives have played out on magazine covers and in the flicker of movie screens. And now, here they are, mere feet away from you, mingling in the same space, breathing the same air.

God, this is terrifying.

You’ve stepped into the domain where every glance, every whisper holds weight—every word you utter, every expression that crosses your face, will be scrutinized, dissected, and judged.

The world is watching you.

Bright lights from cameras flare up, nearly blinding you as your foot touches the red carpet.

The media presence is quite overwhelming, and instinctively, you reach for Satoru’s hand, seeking some sort of anchor in the chaos—without even considering how, just moments ago, you could barely bring yourself to meet his eyes.

As soon as your fingers brush against his, you hesitate, unsure if it’s the right move.

You steal a quick glance at Satoru, trying to gauge his mood, to see if he’s feeling the same dissonance. But before you can pull away, he responds immediately, his hand closing around yours with a gentle squeeze, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His expression remains carefully composed, and he offers you a small, comforting smile—one that feels reassuring in its familiarity.

But… isn’t that just how it is between you two?

Pretending like nothing happened, like there isn’t a storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface.

His smile is a mask, you know that, but despite it all, it’s still a small comfort—a quiet reminder that, despite everything, you’re not alone in this.

At least, you’re in it together.

As Satoru leads you down the red carpet, carrying that familiar unshakeable confidence—the second skin he effortlessly slips into—you can’t help but feel a subtle tension in the air of attendees, an undercurrent you can’t quite shake.

Why is it that the media’s gaze feels sharper…more pointed, as though they’re all waiting with bated breath for the slightest crack in the façade, for a single moment of vulnerability to pounce on?

And you can’t help but feel like that crack might come from you.

You catch sight of the interview station ahead—a stage set for judgment with its sleek, modern setup. The charity event’s logo glows prominently against a backdrop, creating a space to remind everyone of the event’s significance, yet for you it feels more like a gauntlet.

Oh, God…

Suddenly everything feels unbearably heavy, magnified under the relentless scrutiny of so many watchful eyes: Naoya’s threat, loosing Haru, Satoru’s intentions and your conflicted feelings for him.

Guests are ushered forward one by one with rehearsed smiles and practiced answers ready for the waiting reporters, and microphones glisten under the harsh lights, capturing every word, every inflection, while cameras click and whir, immortalizing each moment.

Throughout the chatter, you overhear a famous actress gushing about the importance of supporting children in need, her voice carrying a practiced sincerity. Next to her, a well-known musician is cracking a joke, easing into the limelight as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

They make it look so easy.

But for you, every step closer to the cluster of reporters feels like a step closer to the edge of a cliff. The knot in your stomach tightens, coiling like a snake ready to strike. The distance between you and the flashing cameras, the probing questions, the scrutinizing eyes—it’s closing in too fast, and there’s no escape.

This is it. This night will test your resolve and your ability to maintain this façade, perhaps more than any before it, and the cost of failure is far too high.

Satoru glances at you, his expression a mask of calm and composure, but there’s something more in the way his thumb traces soothing circles against your skin.

A silent reassurance—one not for the cameras. A promise that, despite everything that happened in the limo, despite the unresolved tension still hanging between you, he’s here.

He’s with you.

You look up at him, and for a moment, the noise and chaos around you fade into the background. In his eyes, you see a softness that’s only privy to you—a vulnerability that he keeps hidden from the world.

It’s a look that makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest, a look that almost makes you believe that maybe everything will be okay.

“You ready?” he murmurs.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm within, nodding slightly as you force a smile onto your face. The muscles in your cheeks feel tight, strained, but you hope—desperately—that it’s convincing enough.

“Yeah,” the word sticks in your throat. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

As the reporters spot you, you can practically feel their collective gaze zeroing in. The intensity of it is suffocating, and as you step into the designated interview area, the cameras flare to life, their bright lights nearly blinding you.

A female reporter steps forward, her smile bright and impeccably professional. She’s poised, microphone at the ready, her demeanor polished to perfection, as if she’s trained her whole life for this moment.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, you both look absolutely stunning tonight,” she begins, voice smooth and tailored for the camera.

“Thank you,” Satoru responds effortlessly, slipping into his role with grace. “We’re both so honored to be able to attend.”

“You’re one of the most talked-about couples this evening,” the reporter continues, her eyes gleaming with interest as she watches you both closely. “Tell us, how does it feel to be here supporting such a noble cause?”

Your heart races, pounding so hard in your chest that you wonder if she can hear it over the noise of the crowd. But you can’t let it show—this is the moment where the facade must hold, where you must be the perfect wife, the perfect partner, the perfect everything.

And so, you force yourself to smile again—stepping into the role you’ve rehearsed in your mind a thousand times.

“We’re here to support a cause that’s very close to our hearts,” your voice is steady, though beneath the surface, you feel a faint tremor threatening to break through. “The work this charity does for children in need is truly incredible… and we’re honored to be a part of it.”

Satoru steps in smoothly, his voice rich with a warmth that seems to effortlessly draw everyone’s attention.

“Absolutely,” he adds. “As parents ourselves, we understand the importance of giving every child a chance at a brighter future. We’re here to do whatever we can to help make that happen.”

There’s a sincerity in his tone that makes it easy to forget the mask he wears, eliciting nods and approving smiles from the reporters.

For a moment, even you are almost convinced, but you know the script, know the words.

You catch a subtle glance he throws your way—a silent check-in, his eyes asking the unspoken question: Are you okay? And you manage a small, almost imperceptible nod in return, meeting his gaze briefly before turning back to the reporter.

“That’s wonderful to hear,” she responds. “And how have you both been? The public is so curious about Haru.”

Here it is—the anxiety settles as you transition from the safe ground of charity work to the more precarious territory of your personal life.

You can feel the eyes of the crowd on you, the cameras zooming in, capturing every flicker of emotion, every nuance of your body language—as though the entire world is holding its breath, waiting for you to falter.

Satoru’s hand releases yours only to wrap around your waist, pulling you close, and the warmth he provides brings you a fleeting moment of comfort.

“We’ve been great,” his smile unwavering. “Life has been busy, but we’re grateful for every moment we get to spend together with our little one. Haru keeps us on our toes, that’s for sure.”

There’s a practiced charm in Satoru’s voice, the kind that can turn any situation into a favorable one. You muster a smile, trying to match his composure, nodding in agreement.

“Yes, she does,” you add, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “It’s a whirlwind, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The reporter’s smile widens, clearly pleased with the smooth delivery, but there’s a lingering tension in the air, a sense that she’s searching for more, for a crack in the veneer.

“There’s been a lot of speculation about Haru,” her voice soft yet probing. “Many are wondering Satoru… is she your biological daughter?”

The question hangs in the air like a loaded gun, the implication sharp and clear.

The crowd seems to lean in, the cameras zooming closer, waiting for your reaction, for any sign of hesitation or discomfort.

But Satoru anticipated this moment—it was one of the questions he had prepared for, a part of the script meticulously crafted to navigate the murky waters of public scrutiny.

The media has been relentless, swirling with unanswered questions about Haru, speculating about who she is and what she’s like.

It’s no secret that you’ve both been fiercely protective of her, keeping her out of the spotlight, away from the prying eyes that would dissect her every move.

For that, you’ve always been deeply grateful to Satoru.

And so, he handles the question with the same effortless grace that he’s maintained throughout the evening.

He chuckles softly—a sound that feels almost disarming warm in its sincerity, as if the question is nothing more than a casual curiosity, easily addressed and dismissed.

“Haru is my daughter in every way that matters,” his tone firm yet kind. “She’s our pride and joy, and we love her more than anything in this world.”

His answer is flawless, designed to reinforce the image of a perfect family. Yet, as the conviction in his words leave his lips, you feel a surge of bittersweetness.

Haru deserves what he is saying…she deserves that reality.

But alas, it’s nothing more than a rehearsed line delivered in front of an audience that’s eager to believe in the fairy tale.

The reporter shifts slightly, her eyes gleaming with curiosity as she continues.

“I see. It’s clear that family is important to both of you. What’s the secret to balancing your high-profile lives with raising a young child?”

You force yourself to smile, the answer ready on your lips.

“We just focus on what’s important,” you begin, the words flowing smoothly despite the tightness in your chest. “We make sure to carve out time for each other and for Haru. It’s all about prioritizing what really matters.”

“It’s not always easy,” Satoru nods in agreement, “but we cherish our time away from the spotlight, and we’re very protective of Haru’s privacy. At the end of the day, we’re just like any other parent—we want what’s best for Haru, and we do our best to make that happen.”

Another perfectly crafted answer, one that’s sure to satisfy the reporter and the audience watching from behind their screens. You can almost see the checkmark being made in her mind—a box ticked off; a line drawn under the discussion of family life.

The reporter, sensing she’s reached the natural conclusion of the topic, shifts her stance slightly.

“Thank you for sharing. It’s clear that Haru is very lucky to have you both.”

Her gaze sharpens, the glint of professional interest cutting through the pleasantries.

“And what about your own relationship? How do you manage to keep the spark alive amidst all the chaos?”

Here it comes. The question you were dreading, the one you hoped she’d skip over.

It’s one thing to talk about Haru, to present a united front when it comes to your daughter...

But your relationship?

That’s a minefield, one littered with unspoken truths and half-hearted lies. And it sucks. It really sucks that Satoru has to deal with this kind of intrusion daily—a life where privacy is a luxury you can barely afford.

“Communication is key,” you begin, the words flowing out of you like second nature. Lies. “We make sure to talk about everything—our hopes, our fears, our plans.” Lies. “And we make an effort to have regular date nights, just to reconnect and remind ourselves of why we fell in love in the first place.” Lies.

As the words leave your lips, you can almost hear the hollow echo of them in your mind, a mantra you’ve repeated so many times it’s lost all meaning. You know it, and Satoru knows it, too.

But he plays his part flawlessly—lifting your hand to his lips, brushing a tender kiss on the back of it. It’s a small gesture, one that seems innocent enough, but you feel the weight of it—the expectation, the need to present a united front, to sell the illusion.

As the warmth of his lips lingers on your skin, your heart clenches with yearning.

“That’s right,” Satoru adds, his voice carrying that practiced sincerity that makes everything he says sound like the absolute truth. “We support each other, and I’m so lucky that y/n is my biggest cheerleader. We’re a team, and that makes all the difference.”

The reporter nods thoughtfully, her smile curling up in a way that suggests she’s found the narrative she’s been looking for.

“You know,” she begins, her tone shifting into something more conspiratorial, as if she’s about to reveal a tantalizing secret, “speaking of… you two have quickly become the talk of the town—everyone’s eager to know more about your story. Satoru, you were once considered the world’s most eligible bachelor, but now… here you are. How did this all begin?”

There it is—the question that forces you both to delve into the past, to recount a story that’s been polished and perfected, but one that still feels strangely disconnected from the reality you’re living.

You shift slightly in Satoru’s hold, the rehearsed answer poised on your tongue, designed to fit the narrative you both agreed upon—but before you can even open your mouth to speak, Satoru takes the lead.

“Well," he starts, calm and measured, "Y/n was looking for a new job, and I needed someone with her expertise. It was professional at first, but we just… clicked. Like it was meant to be.”

The familiar words from the script slip effortlessly from his lips, just like you practiced, and the interviewer’s eyes light up, clearly pleased with the response—at least on the surface. But there’s a glint in her eyes, a spark of curiosity that suggests she’s not quite done yet.

The microphone inches closer, capturing every word, every inflection, as if she’s trying to draw out something deeper, something more than the polished story you’re offering.

“That’s wonderful,” her voice takes a more intimate tone as she leans in. “But Satoru, what was it about y/n that made you realize she was the one? I mean, surely there was something that stood out, something that made you think, ‘This is the woman I want to spend my life with.’”

“I’ve always admired how she puts Haru first," he begins reciting the script, voice steady and composed. "Her dedication to being a mother, to making sure Haru has everything she needs, it’s something I truly respect…”

But then, there’s a pause—a brief, almost imperceptible silence that stretches time, making your heart skip a beat.

Did he just hesitate?

His gaze flickers to yours, and for a moment, the practiced facade slips. There’s a softness in his eyes that makes your breath catch—but before you can process it, he continues.

“Actually, you know… when I first met y/n, there was something about her that I couldn’t ignore. She was different from anyone I’ve ever met—strong, intelligent, and fiercely independent."

Wait… did he just change the script?

An unexpected flutter stirs in your stomach, and your pulse quickens as the weight of his words sinks in. This wasn’t part of the agreed-upon answer… so why is he veering off course?

Your eyes narrow slightly as you search his face, trying to decode the sudden change.

"It’s strange,” he continues, his voice softer now, more introspective, “because at first, I thought it was just her strength that drew me in."

A small, almost nostalgic smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and there’s a warmth in his expression that makes something inside you twist.

"But as I got to know her, I realized it was more than that. Y/n has this incredible ability to make everyone around her feel seen and valued… she’s honest, sometimes brutally so, but she’s also kind in a way that’s rare."

The interviewer’s expression changes, the curiosity in her eyes deepening as she senses a sincerity in his words.

Is he… speaking from the heart?

It feels like a quiet confession, one meant only for you, despite the audience that surrounds you both.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you find yourself holding it, afraid to let go of this moment, afraid to shatter the delicate truth he seems to be laying bare. His words wrap around you like a cocoon, drawing you in, making you feel both vulnerable and cherished in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

This isn’t the Satoru you’ve come to expect—the one who carefully controls every word, every expression, ensuring that nothing slips through the cracks. It’s as if he’s just lifted a curtain, showing you a glimpse of something real, something you didn’t think you’d ever see.

But why now? Why here, in front of all these people?

Is…he willing to take that leap of faith?

In that instant, the hope blooming inside you feels almost tangible, like a fragile flower unfurling its petals for the first time. It’s delicate, yes, but unmistakable, and it fills you with a warmth that you’ve longed for—something you thought you’d never find again. It’s enough to make you believe that maybe, just maybe, everything can change.

For so long, you’ve hidden behind masks, playing roles that never truly belonged to you. But now, if Satoru is willing to step beyond the boundaries you both created…

The world around you—the blinding lights, the flashing cameras, the buzz of the crowd—seems to fade into the background, blurring into insignificance.

All that remains is the two of you, as if you’ve stepped into a world of your own making, where nothing else matters.

Satoru shifts slightly, and when his eyes find yours, there’s a depth and intensity in them that you’ve never seen before.

It’s as if he’s seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you—not the roles you’ve played, not the masks you’ve worn, but you, the person beneath it all. In that moment, it feels like you’re the only person who matters.

“For the first time in my life, I feel like I have someone I can truly trust. Someone who doesn’t just see me as ‘Gojo Satoru,’ but as a regular person, with all my flaws and imperfections.”

Trust.

A knot forms in your chest, constricting each beat of your heart as Satoru’s confession echoes in your mind.

The burden of that single word feels unbearable as the guilt you’ve been suppressing resurfaces, suddenly making it hard to focus on anything else.

Here Satoru is, baring his soul to you in a way you never expected, revealing the depth of his feelings, his vulnerabilities, and all the while, you’ve been holding onto a secret—a lie that could shatter everything.

No… it’s not just a lie—it’s a betrayal, and the full weight of it settles on your shoulders, heavy and suffocating.

Fuck, you’re losing your composure.

You’re acutely aware of the cameras, their lenses trained on you, capturing every fleeting emotion that flickers across your face.

The pressure is immeasurable and you swallow hard, desperately trying to hold his gaze, to anchor yourself in the sincerity you see there, but your smile feels brittle, like it might crack at any moment.

Satoru leans in closer and instinctively, you want to pull away—terrified that the closer he gets, the more he’ll see, the more he’ll understand the depths of your turmoil. But you’re trapped, rooted in place, every movement scrutinized, recorded, and you know you can’t falter.

His breath is warm against your skin as he places a gentle kiss on your temple, a touch so gentle that it nearly undoes you. This wasn’t part of the script, unlike the calculated kiss on your hand earlier, and the tenderness behind it, is almost too much to bear.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours, and his words—intended for the camera—feel like they’re meant for you alone.

“I guess you could say that y/n has this way of making me feel… grounded. Like I can be myself, and that’s enough.”

His words cut through you like a knife. What are you doing? You can’t keep lying to him, not after this.

As the crowd around you buzzes with life and the cameras continue to flash, capturing this moment of intimacy, all you can think about is the price you might pay for this secret you’ve kept.

Once he realizes you’ve been hiding this from him, will he ever be able to look at you the same way again? Will he still see you as someone he can trust?

This new fear surges forward, and you feel your composure slipping, the mask you wear cracking.

Fuck. Is it obvious?

Can they all see the turmoil roiling inside you, the fear that everything is about to come crashing down?

Is your panic written across your face, as clear as day for the world to see?

“That’s such a beautiful sentiment,” the reporter’s approving voice cuts through the haze, snapping you back to the present with a jolt.

But before you can fully regain your bearings, her gaze shifts, locking onto you with an intensity that makes your heart pound against your ribcage.

Her eyes seem to bore into you, searching for something beneath the surface, and suddenly, you’re terrified that she might find it.

“And how does it feel to hear him say that, y/n? To know that you have such a profound effect on someone like Satoru?”

The question hangs in the air, and for a moment, you’re frozen, the weight of her words pressing down on you like a physical force.

What are you even supposed to say?

You practiced for this, rehearsed the lines until they were second nature, but nothing could have prepared you for the raw honesty in Satoru’s words.

How does it feel?

God, the truth is, you don’t know how to feel—happy, surprised, comforted, terrified…there are too many emotions surging through you at this moment, too many to untangle and make sense of.

But…you have to say something, the world is watching.

Blood rushes in your ears, drowning out the noise of the crowd, and you force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels, searching for the right words, the ones that will satisfy the reporter.

“It’s… I’m so lucky,” you manage to say, stammering slightly. “Knowing that I have that kind of impact on him… it’s an honor. I just hope I can continue to be that person for him.”

Is it enough?

The words feel hollow, a weak echo of the truth, but they’re all you can manage. You just hope they’ll hold the world at bay, at least for now.

The reporter nods, her professional smile unwavering, but you can’t shake the feeling she’s watching you closely, searching for any cracks in your veneer.

Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer, as if weighing the sincerity of your words, but then she steps back with a practiced ease, seemingly satisfied.

“Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with us, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

As she moves away, you experience a fleeting sense of relief once the crowd’s attention shifts, the cameras swiveling to capture the next moment.

Satoru’s hand finds yours, guiding you away from the spotlight as the next couple in line takes your place under the glaring lights.

The silence between you is thick, and around you, the crowd blurs into a haze of indistinct faces and flashing lights.

You try to decipher Satoru’s mood, searching his face for any clue, but his expression remains an unreadable mask as you both maneuver through the throng of people, each step carrying you further from the intensity of the interview and deeper into the swirling uncertainty of the night.

Then, as you cross the threshold into the grand ballroom, the change in atmosphere is immediate with the soaring ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and the soft hum of polite conversations—yet, despite the grandeur surrounding you, your focus is entirely on the man beside you—the one who just moments ago bared a piece of his soul to you in front of everyone.

Almost instantly, Satoru is swarmed by people—important figures and familiar faces, all eager to exchange pleasantries with the man of the hour.

You watch as he slips effortlessly into casual conversation, his charm and charisma on full display—a scene you’ve witnessed countless times before.

But that’s because, to the outside world, nothing has changed—he’s the same confident, untouchable figure he’s always been. It’s as if the heartfelt words he spoke moments ago, laying his heart bare before you, were never uttered. As if they were just another part of the performance.

But you know better.

You saw the look in his eyes, felt the sincerity in his voice. And now, as he engages in yet another conversation, flashing that same easy smile, you can’t help but wonder…

What is he really thinking?

His gaze lingers on you as he effortlessly navigates each conversation, and there’s something in his eyes—an almost imperceptible signal, like he’s reaching out to you, a silent communication that only the two of you can understand.

You’ve made up your mind.

You want more with Satoru—something real, something unburdened by the lies and pretenses that have cast shadows over your relationship.

You can no longer allow this secret to fester, growing like a dark cloud that threatens to eclipse whatever light might still exist between you.

To truly move forward, you have to release the fear that’s been holding you back—you have to come clean, to trust him, just as he has placed his trust in you.

But you know the timing isn’t right—not here, not now, surrounded by the glittering facade of this world you’ve both learned to navigate so well.

When you finally lay bare the truth you’ve been hiding, hopefully Satoru will understand.

All you can do is wait, hope, and wonder what the night will bring.

hello lovelies, thank you so much for reading and supporting my fic 😭 i cannot tell you how much it brightens my day to read your comments! to be completely honest, i really wasn't expecting much with this fic, it has really transformed into something that i had no intention of doing, but the thing is, i'm really enjoying writing it, so SO much, and i'm glad ya'll are enjoying reading it 🥲🫶🏻 this is only 2/3rds of the original chapter 4 i wrote...lol. i still have to edit the last 1/3 (apparently i cannot stop yapping) so it just seemed right to split it up and let this section breathe a little bit too, it felt like a natural stopping point before we delve into y/n getting that closure with satoru. y/n finally got the push she needed to make up her mind 🥲 i know it took her a bit, but being in an emotionally abusive relationship has left her with a lot of trust issues, and seeing satoru open up to her made her realize that despite their differences, they are going through similar struggles. poor baby satoru 😭 he needs a hug. like my heart literally breaks for him. this chapter felt really vulnerable to write...maybe that's why i was so hesitant on posting it. like it just hurts my soul lol. anyways, i wanna let you know that with this month coming to an end, my schedule is going to be getting pretty busy as i will be starting classes. it's my first time returning to school after 10 years...and i'll be doing it while still being a mom and working. i'm literally gonna be feeling like y/n, juggling a lot (the mom brain is a REAL THING YA'LL) so if my updates take longer that is why. much love to you all, and again thanks so much 🤗 -aly 💕 → onto the next chapter ꨄ

taglist :

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer

@stevenknightmarc @maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@alwaysfreakingout @valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @evalynanne @tbzzluvr

[phoenixyfriend]

Weird Egg?

Okay so in theory, Obi-Wan was plausibly on Mandalore when Anakin was born, right?

(this is technically a variation on a few other fics and AUs I've seen, and I'll list the stuff that came to mind at the end.)

While on Mandalore, Obi-Wan finds An Egg while hiding in a cave with Satine. And he doesn't recognize it, and Satine doesn't recognize it, and even Qui-Gon doesn't recognize it.

Which makes it weird, at the very least, and probably rare. It's the size of his HEAD and even though there's no parent around, the egg is… warm, now? He didn't notice at first, but it's definitely producing at least some of its own heat.

So Obi-Wan brings the egg with him, which is a pain in the ass in terms of maneuvering, but they do seem to have better luck avoiding Death Watch than before, which uh. Given that the egg feels warmer when they're getting lucky, and seems to glow in the Force, they think might not be a coincidence. A lucky rock, except it's alive.

Mission ends. Obi-Wan plans to take the egg back to the temple for study in case they just discovered Something, and as he's saying goodbye to Satine… the egg Hatches.

It is a dragon.

The dragon can project words into Obi-Wan's mind. It's not quite capable of complex thoughts yet, but it's a he (probably), and has a name (Anakin!), and considers the person who's been carrying him and protecting him and keeping him warm for the past six months to be his mom!

Obi-Wan protests at this. Qui-Gon decides to make his life harder with the 'correction' that Obi-Wan would be a dad, not a mom.

So now Obi-Wan has a small dragon which will be growing to the size of a house, that imprinted on him and is following him home and calling him dad and insisting on sleeping in his bed

Idk if you've ever read Septimus Heap, but… the MC of that found a Fancy Rock, put it in his bag, carried it around for a YEAR because he kept forgetting to take it out of his bag, and then it hatched into a dragon. And I kept thinking about that the whole time I wrote this.

In Obi-Wan's defense, he does Have A Plan.

Until the dragon hatches, turns out to be a sapient as a toddler (with promise of growth), and calls him Dad.

And now the plan is gone.

He just wanted to bring a cool egg back to the Temple for study!

And now the Mandalorians are pulling out old books about whatever the fuck this is because these things APPARENTLY went extinct around the same time as the underwater dragon-adjacent thing that is the Mythosaur.

Obi-Wan learns that supposedly the eggs are inert until something with the Force interacts with it in a Purposeful Manner.

Which includes "probing it a little to see if whatever is inside is actually alive."

Anakin's a standard western dragon that can breathe fire because Flyte. Also this post.

Weeeee okay small text for the references I mentioned.

Obviously, first up is the Septimus Heap series by Angie Sage, specifically Magyk and Flyte.

The fic series I was thinking of initially that kind of jumpstarted the AU process was Boga Service Varactyl AU, but specifically Kenobi Kafé Service Animal Boga AU.

I've been seeing a couple of dragon shapeshifter AUs, including that post I linked earlier from @ahsoka-in-a-hood, @bubblew0lf1's dragon shapeshifter AU, and @squad-724's Dragon Jedi AU has been all over my dash for the past few days.

Stubborn to the Bones by @tideswept, which was part of what had me connecting the various dots of Obi-Wan Finding Animal Anakin on a mission, though our outcomes are admittedly very different lol. (Their fic is shippy, and mine is more decidedly gen/familial with a slight nod to Obitine.)

[stupidlittlespirit]

THOUGHTS ON PANTY SNATCHER FORD [holds out mic]

yes.

but not 'intentionally'.

*puts on lab coat and taps clipboard*

I think purposefully stealing underwear is a Stan thing, but that Ford would accidentally seize the opportunity if it arose. (for some reason I think of both of them when I think of this one specific behaviour, idk why)

Ford considers himself to be above things like that. He tells himself he isn't weak of the flesh or however he wants to phrase it, and he wouldn't be caught dead engaging in something so perverted.... Except.....

I'm going to set this in the MTB au to illustrate what I mean.

Remember what I mentioned in Spores that Reader will take care of the house when Stan and Ford are away at sea? Well, perhaps they stay over for a night or two (normal, allowed, they're just keeping an eye on things) and they do some of their laundry there. Let's say they accidentally, carelessly, leave a pair of their underwear in the laundry room and don't even notice it.

So they go about their day-to-day none the wiser (it's just one pair, they're probably not gonna notice) and leave etc.

And eventually, Ford and Stan return home.

Ford goes to wash some of their clothes from the trip and uh oh! accidentally discovers Reader's underwear in the drum of the washing machine.

He's embarrassed, of course, and is initially like 'oh no, I'll have to expertly craft some kind of scenario where I can get these back into Reader's possession without them noticing'. And he means that, he really will try and return them to Reader, but then he holds them and feels them and studies them for maybe a little longer than he needs to..... He imagines things and then berates himself for doing so, and just as he's about to force himself to tuck them away somewhere and carry on with his task, Stan is shouldering his way into the laundry room to ask Ford something unrelated.

Panicking, Ford then pockets the underwear because he doesn't want his brother to see them and accuse him of something unsavoury or be gross himself about it.

They talk about whatever and Ford forgets all about it.... Until, that is, later that night.

Ford is locked away in his bedroom, undressing for the night, and as he takes off his jeans, the pair of underwear falls from the pocket of them and onto the floor.

He abruptly remembers and snatches them up, putting them on his nightstand and telling himself he'll return them first thing; he'll call by Reader's house or have them over for a 'welcome back' dinner or something and find an opportunity to slip them into their bag or whatever.

But once he's in bed, he just finds his eye drawn back to them time and time again. He can't help himself. He can't keep his mind off of them. It's driving him nuts.

So he gives in a bit. It's just curiosity, right? If he allows himself to look them over fully then it'll be sated and he can just forget it and move on. Except. Now that he's got them in his hands again....

Now he's wondering what they look like when they're on Reader.... Do the bands dig into the soft parts of Reader's hips? Do they ride up when they wear them? Whilst he's been at sea, have they wandered around the house in just these?

Have they gotten themselves off whilst wearing them?

And fuck fuck fuck, now he's hard. Great.

Cue twenty minutes of him arguing back and forth in his head about how this is wrong and weird, and he's not some creep or low life like his brother (affectionate), he's not going to jerk off over his housekeeper's underwear! Gross!

Unless....?

It's not like anyone will find out if he did, is it? He has plausible deniability ("no, I haven't seen any of your things laying around the house, I've been at sea for three months, why do you ask?") and it's unlikely Reader will come straight out and say they left their underwear here, so he's probably not going to be questioned on it.

So without even really being conscious about it, he sneaks a hand under the band of his briefs and leisurely, he starts to touch himself with them. He starts slow because he's still not sure if he wants to back out of it, but after a few minutes, he realises it feels too good to stop.

I mean, if he's been at sea with his brother for months, with no time to himself and no opportunity for privacy, he's probably fairly pent up and looking for release of some kind. Who can blame him if his thinking is a bit illogical, right?

The next thing he knows, he's ruining them completely and cumming so hard that he has to bite his pillow to keep himself quiet.

And the guilt eats him up afterwards, of course. He knows it's wrong and he can't believe he's done it, he feels terrible about it. He scrambles to clean up the evidence and dispose of any traces of his 'crimes', and he knows he'll need to deal with the underwear itself, too.

But he can't quite bring himself to get rid of them, either. After all, it's not like he can return them to Reader, even if he launders them, so his only option really is to throw them out.

Still, that seems like such a waste, doesn't it? They're perfectly good (once they're clean) and surely Stan would see them in the trash anyway.... So maybe he'll just have to keep them safe in the bottom of his dresser drawer....Maybe he'll have to make sure no real perverts get their hands on them if they go rifling through the garbage.... Really, he's doing this to protect Reader, you see. It's all for the greater good.

Little weirdo. I love him.

[yandere-daydreams]

Idk if Sex doll!au Alhaitham has been discussed yet…(honestly it probably has been, but it was likely during the times when I wasn’t keeping up to date with this blog. Tumblr’s shitty search function doesn’t help with finding out either.)

Anyway, I’d like to share my thoughts about it, if that’s okay.

-I think sex doll! Alhaitham would mostly be for professional and academic purposes. He’s not reccomended for younger grades, mostly just colleges.

-His general purposes are office/administrative related. Especially since he’s a “scribe”, he’s especially good at file management and documentation. I don’t think it be uncommon to see him assisting librarians alongside a Lisa model…or maybe helping archeologists/museums workers catalogue info about artifacts.

-I think his way of not doing anything more than what his job asks of him would stay even as an Android. I know that as a product, he’d probably wouldn’t be given leeway or time off like that; but the thought of someone trying to assign tasks to Alhaitham that are outside his designated role being ignored by him is funny to me.

-if Alhaitham is acting as a companion doll in someone’s home, I can only imagine that he’s incredibly annoying. Alhaitham normally chooses to ignore social etiquette, and as an android it has to be even worse.

tw - unhealthy relationships, slight infantilization, slight stalking.

i think he'd absolutely be marketed toward researchers as a sort of lab assistant who acts like you're the lab assistant, if that makes sense. he specializes in archival work and bureaucracy, but he's a bit of a jack-of-all-trades and it's not uncommon to see him alongside more outdoorsy androids like cyno and albedo when you're out doing fieldwork. he's also especially loved by students for his,,, strict attitude toward studying. you wouldn't think the ability to say 'i'm not touching your dick until you finish your thesis' would be such a popular feature in a literal sex doll, but, y'know, what does it for you does it for you, i guess.

you're not a student, though, or a researcher - just a librarian for a big enough branch to warrant writing off a helper android as a business expense. you probably could've gotten away with bringing on lisa or nahida, but you were able to find a second-hand alhaitham for a price you couldn't turn up and figured dealing with the occasional comment on your organization skills or catalog maintenance was better than wasting an extra thousand dollars on a robot that'll be reading to children twice a week. he works well enough, too, even if it does take a few days for him to get used to the idea that you won't be using him for his, uh, intended purposes. it just doesn't feel right, considering he's basically one of your employees - something he's surprisingly indifferent about, considering how judgemental he's rumored to be about, well, everything.

you do take him home at night, though, since the alternative is leaving him in a dark building alone all night and trying to live with the guilt. he's a polite enough houseguest, even if does occasionally let out a disapproving huff at your admittedly less-than-steller diet, but he does have a few... bugs, you guess, for lack of something better to call his little lapses in decorum. he's overstepped his boundaries a few times - taking pens and reports out of your hands because you 'have a tendency to mess these things up', checking on you in the middle of the night when he's supposed to be charging - but he'll never indulge your attempts to confront him, just clicking his tongue and shaking his eyes. sometimes, he brings up your stress levels, mentions off-handedly that orgasms are known to reduce overall tension, but denies that he's done anything wrong when you ask him to change his behavior. he's good at that - justifying himself, bending his protocols until he can get away with practically anything. you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little worried, knowing the awful rumors that spread about second-hand andriods, about how demeaning alhaitham can be when he's supposed to be little more than a platonic assistant.

you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little worried that, one day, he'd find a way to justify disregarding your autonomy altogether.

[mychlapci]

So after chatting with my fren, the witch AU thing became uh. Idk.

Prowl is this tiny little solitary witch living in this little cottage in the crystal forest with a cat beastformer, whom he is FWB with. And he has just about everything a hermit could want. A simple life, a home to live in, a son he's proud of, his best friend, a steady supply of transfluid he can milk from the mecha in his basement... Except for one thing. Sex with his one and only crush.

Every month or so, the Paladin of the land would for some inexplicable reason, wander through (get separated from his party, injured and lost more like) the forest. Every time Optimus trips his wards, Prowl immediately magics his slutty black dress away into a much more modest floral dress, throws illusion veils over all of the gothic decor, stashes his workstation and materials away, and tosses the giggling little bastard of a cheshire cat in the basement. Acting all sweet and innocent when Optimus comes knocking, usually covered in injuries.

But every time Prowl almost manages to seduce OP into fucking him, he tends to get cockblocked by the assortment of shitheads in his orbit forcing him to eject OP early lest he blows his cover every time. It's usually either because of the suspicious noises coming from the basement, his half dryad son Springer barging in (on purpose), or something outside causing a ruckus.

Not this time though. This time, Prowl is definitely getting that Paladin cock inside his pussy, and he's going to milk it for all its worth. Definitely for potion ingredients and ritual spell purposes and not because he wants OP to put a bitlet in him, no, shut up Jazz. He's locked everything (and everyone) down for real this time, has filled his doors and walls to keep his meddling son out of his room, and has planted a bunch of warding plants and rocks around the cottage. They're literally on his bed now, and his spellwork tells him that Optimus' party is still a day away from finding him, so there is absolutely nothing that can go wrong now-

"Optimus, you didn't tell me that you had a fertility sigil."

They both looked at the glowing womb tattoo that had suddenly appeared on Optimus' abdomen after he stuffed his spike inside Prowl's aching pussy.

"Huh. When did that get there?" He can't be serious.

It was a call sign. One that activates when the mech who bore it was aroused. Placed there as a challenge by the very reason Optimus and co. had been travelling into the forest, in fact. And since Optimus hadn't sucked and fucked anyone else in so long, he'd completely forgotten that it was there at all. Prowl wanted to scream, because he knows exactly who that sigil belongs to. By the Unmaker-

"Please, don't stop on my behalf. You two look cute together." The fragger's low baritone rang out behind Optimus. Yep, that's the stupid fucking king of the Unseelie court right there.

"You were fragging Megatron." Prowl states blandly. Because of course he was. How silly of him to think that the fucking Paladin, the holy champion of mechkind, servant of Primus, wouldn't be intimately involve with the one being that could punch a hole right through his wards at the most inconvenient of times.

"Correction, he fragged me only once. Why do you think I put the beacon there?" Of course, the petty fragger wanted in on whatever action Optimus got into. Well, he doesn't care, his mood was ruined (well not really, but keeping his cover toom precedence!).

"Ugh. Just, get out, both of you." Before his veils collapse and oust him as a witch to the one being he does not want it revealed to, goddamnit. "Shoo!"

Buckethead just smirked and walked over to the bed instead. "Don't be a spoilsport now, Prowl. This is what you've been waiting for, haven't you? I'm sure the... others... will behave themselves for a little longer." Not with you here, he thought vehemently as he glared at Megatron.

Without waiting for a response, Megatron just pushed Optimus down, pinning both of them into the soft mattress. He gropes the Prime's valve cover as he grinds his own hips against that fat aft. Optimus groans and pops the coverz welcoming those large, tapered clawtips into his pussy to ply them apart.

Prowl knows that he should really, really kick both of them off and evict them (the fae king would take some work, but the Paladin needs to go first) before someone downstairs gets any funny ideas. But holy fuck, Megatron was right, he has been waiting for this for a long time, he thinks to himself as Optimus' thick spike stretched his drooling valve so deliciously.

Deemed adequately prepared, Megatron withdrew his fingers, and lined his hips just at the right angle to pressurise his spike directly into Optimus' valve. And damn if the fae king's spike wasn't as big as his ego, because frag, Prowl could feel the bulge of Optimus' tummy rubbing against his own as he pressed down. The rest is then a blur as the two larger mechs fucked the weights of their frames into him. Which very quickly became his undoing, in more ways than one.

Prowl cums hard around Optimus' spike, and the other two follow soon after. Which had the unfortunate consequence of releasing a large, concentrated pulse of magic that shattered and dissolved almost all of the temporary wards Prowl was actively holding that night. Fuck. As they catch their breaths, Prowl just stares at the ceiling in post nut clarity, outfit having changed back into his usual slutty little black widow garb mid orgasm. Optimus also looks down, and then around the bed room, in post nut clarity, noting the very sudden change in aesthetics. Megatron, the fragger, just looked smug.

But before Optimus even pulls out, Springer slams the door open, probably having detected the masking spells around the house breaking from the overload. "Carrier!? Are you alright!?" Yep, the wards are definitely down.

The half dryad takes one look at the three of them on the bed, then another at the state of the room, and just sighs, and walks out. Optimus was just about to ask Prowl what's the deal with the gothic interiors, and why the masking spells, before someone calls out from the cellar vent below.

"Everything alright up there? I heard Springer storming off~!"

"...is there someone in the cellar, Prowl?" The Paladin asks uneasily. The spooky interiors weren't helping the impression. Megatron just scoffs and remarks "You should be asking just how many 'someones' are in the cellar, Prime."

The fae king snaps his fingers, and the three of them are teleported to the large velvet bed in the basement("why do you have a bed in your cellar Prowl-"), spikes still sheathed in respective valves. And that's when the Paladin sees:

-an acclaimed witch hunter that went missing ages ago (Barricade)(Look, fighting off the bastard got old after the 20th time, okay?) -a fallen angel, who was now apparently a demon, that Optimus recognizes (Sentinel)(He tried to shortchange him on a deal, so fuck him, he's imprisoned until further notice.) -a large spider (Tarantulas)(He recognises a brilliant scientist when he sees one, alright. He's a colleague!) -six green fae, in palm size instead of full size (Constructicons)(Prowl didn't actually imprison them; they just wouldn't fucking leave.) -and a grinning cat who shifts into bipedal form upon seeing them (Jazz)(He's only down here because of Optimus' visit, not that it matters anymore, but he's usually free to run around.)

They were playing poker in a circle through the cage bars (Barricade's and Sentinel's). There were cells made of iron and steel in one corner, covered in a bunch of etched and painted symbols. Another corner contained potion ingredients, food stuffs, and equipment (and a fishtank filled with shrunken scientific instruments?) The other corner on the other hand was a wall rack full off what could only be described as devious torture devices of sexual nature.

The bed was in the final corner, and was surrounded by unlit candles and magic circles. There were cuffs riveted to the bed posts, and hooks on the wall and ceiling. The rows of suspicious ritual supplies (cum jars) lining the headboard weren't helping. After perusing the room, Optimus clears his throat, unsure of what to say (his spike was hard though). Prowl wants to sink into the bed and never come back out.

Jazz, the motherfucker, just waves at them. "Hiya, OP! Having fun?" Megatron, ever the dickhead, replies with a jolly tone.

"Oh yes, immeasurably. Would you like to join us?" The Constructicons drop their cards and let out delightful cheers.

And that's how Prowl got ousted as a witch to his crush. His valbe ached for days after that.

(not pictured: centaur Impactor who's the on-and-off boyfriend Prowl threatens to build a stable to trap him in all the time, mercenary trader Lockdown that stops by from time to time with ingredients that Prowl also threatens to throw into the sex basement for being a dick, and fire elemental Rodimus that he chases off with a spray bottle every time the little shit sneaks in to fuck Springer)-🔌

this is so funny i'm honestly in love with your brain. no notes. love that Optimus just goes along with his magical creature sandwich.

[palajae]

flip side.

PAIRING... bsf!jungwon x reader | GENRE... domestic au, fluff, romance, flirting, humor | WC... 0.2k | "what did you just call me?"

“hey won,” you greet with an affectionate ruffle of his hair as you sit down. 

jungwon keeps his attention on his phone, “hey pookie.” 

you almost glitch. 

“what- what did you just call me?”

“sorry…” jungwon immediately apologizes while stealing a quick glance at your baffled reaction. 

you don’t fail to notice the blush on his face as he looks away shyly. 

“i just saw it online, so i thought i would just try it.” 

you raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “you thought you would try calling me pookie?”

he nods, clearing his throat and fiddling with his fingers. “yeah, it’s a challenge.”

you frown, “like a tiktok challenge? i haven’t seen anything like-“

“it’s a confessing your feelings challenge,” jungwon states simply. 

a beat of silence follows. 

“…you made that up, didn’t you?”

jungwon scratches the back of his head, face clearly showing his embarrassment yet hope. “maybe. uh, did it work?” 

you shrug with a growing grin while taking one of his hands in yours, “i dunno, try calling me pookie again and then see.” 

a/n ▸ idk how i haven’t passed yet istg hope y’all are staying safe out there pookies

MAIN TAGLIST ▸ @precioussoulofmine @kynrki @heesterical @jungwonize @rerequire @nvertheless @duolingofanaccount @hoeshii @love-4-keum @luvhyun3 @dimplewonie @yjjungwon @who-tf-soddhi @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @asteria-wood @noajakah236482 @enhacatalog @june-pop @ohsjy @ashtxrie

@lvyvsrk1

@kflixnet

[ryanishyperfixating]

HEARD WE'RE DOING COMPLIMENTS!?!?

I absolutely love how you portray both Lee and Ford's situation during that time period. The what if of "if that call bill made went through" is certainly something I thought of, but couldn't find how to elaborate or how it would go which is why I'm so excited for your comic! (And other works, but mainly the comic, my B.)

Thank you! I’m pretty happy with how it’s coming along so far! Sadly I only have a couple more parts planned for it until I move onto my next comic :(

I might do a few smaller comics in this AU later but Idk.

All this support from yall is making me go insane, idk how to deal with it. Physically cannot handle it lmao-

Uh, here’s Steve pinington.

[bbearthyy]

He’s Just A Baby

Summary: KookQueen!Reader x Pogue!JJ Maybank + x DrugDealer!Rafe (he’s dating Barry and I will not take no for an answer, except you can’t rly tell in this fic cause i was too focused on JJ/Rafe). JJ has an argument with reader and runs off, he goes to Barry’s searching for drugs (nothin too crazy just some addy and weed) but is denied because you told Rafe and Barry not to give him anything, he has a breakdown and Rafe has to take over the role of Dom until you get there. You and JJ go home and have emotional make-up sec till he sleeps (pt. 2). Okai Bai

CW: Dom!Reader, Sub!JJ, Crybaby!JJ, Mommy Kink (just a little tho), not daddy KINK but there is usage of the word daddy- yknow?, i think it’s little space? idk if it rly is but he’s like DEEP into subspace if not (somebody educate me pls i searched for hours how to describe what happens in this fic and i found nothing), Rafe (unwarranted) doms JJ but it’s only to calm him down and nothing sexual happens, lemme know if i missed anything *OPTIONAL* IN PART 2 {Overstim, Riding, Dacryphilia, Slapping, Falling asleep during sex, the pogues are kinda assholes but only for a sec,}

(this is mostly rafe x jj x barry but i pinky promise part 2 has more x reader if y’all want that. oh also there’s no gold in this AU, Rafe is sober, and everybody gets along)

“I mean honestly JJ! What the fuck were you thinking?! It’s like you want us to break up!”

The words wouldn’t leave the boys mind, bouncing off the sides of his skull and repeating over and over, seeming louder each time. Tears were pouring down his face, though it was hard to tell with the rain soaking his body. JJ was running. Away from you. He never thought he’d run again, his dad was dead and he’d been living with you for two years now. Originally you’d lived in an apartment paid for by your parents, but since you’ve become CEO of their company (per their retirement), you’ve bought your own home. A quaint little house with a pier leading right to the beach. It was JJ’s sanctuary. You are his sanctuary.

He couldn’t even remember what he’d done at this point. All he knew is you were angry and he was scared. He could feel his mind fuzzing over, brain fighting to pull him into subspace to avoid the panic attack making itself known. But JJ ignored the call of the fuzzy headspace, his bare feet coming to a halt, right outside Barry’s home.

He stormed up to the door, banging on it with his fist. The tears were still pouring from his eyes, but he made no noise, and his body was ram rod straight, so that if you couldn’t see his tears, you’d have no idea he was crying. “What the fuck??” Barry snatched open his door, the loud knocking forcefully coming to a stop. Rafe stood behind the older man, arms crossed and a concerned look covering his features, “Jay?”

“Barry you gotta gimme somethin’ man,” JJ whimpered, pushing past the man and into the house, plopping down on the brand new couch - courtesy of Rafe. “Nuh uh, nope,” Barry denied him immediately, very fond of the life he still had. “Your old lady would murder me if I gave you anythin’, you gotta leave. Now”

JJ evaporated at the words, slumping into the couch, his headspace finally winning over. The blonde sobbed, pulling his knees up to his chest, arms holding them tight as he hid his face. “Mama’s gon’ be so mad at me!” His cries shook his whole body, trembling from the cold, anxiety of getting in trouble, and sobs that he couldn’t seem to stop. Rafe’s protective side kicked in immediately.

“Bear get me water please. Ice cold. And in one of those sippy cups we keep for your nieces,” Rafe softly ordered, sitting down on the couch next to JJ. The younger boy was now rocking himself back and forth, fingers intertwining in his hair and pulling on the strands. “Baby,” Rafe began, voice soft but loud enough that JJ could hear over his cries. “Can I touch you dewdrop? Hm? Just want a hug,” Rafe began, and when JJ didn’t respond, instead pulling harder, he continued, hesitant and quiet, “Can daddy hold his little boy for a minute?” That got the boys attention.

JJ’s cries stopped immediately, his entire body freezing. His arms slowly moved, knees slipping down, until finally, JJ showed his face. “Daddy?” It was barely a whisper, and if Rafe wasn’t looking right at the blonde, he probably wouldn’t have heard it. “Yeah, little dewdrop,” He began, slowly opening his arms so as not to startle the shaky boy before him. “Can daddy hold you? Might make you feel better?”

Barry walked quietly into the room, two cups in hand. One carried a sippy cup, filled with the ice water Rafe requested, and he sat it gently on the table. The other held a baby bottle, filled to the brim with what he called ‘baby sleeper’, Barry’s own concoction of warm milk, condensed milk, vanilla extract, and sugar (and a tiny sprinkle of melatonin, but only a little, he doesn’t want to drug his friends). The older man had created this when he realized just how many of his friends were submissive, some coming to him when they need to clear their head.

Both men are startled when JJ leaps forward, burying his face into Rafe’s chest as he climbs in his lap, straddling the Kooks thighs. JJ goes limp as soon as he gets comfortable, head pressed firm against Rafe’s left pec, arms hanging limply by his sides as he slumps against the larger man. “Dada,” he mumbles, smacking his lips as he begins to babble babyish nonsense.

“Yeah, dewy,” Rafe began, reaching out for the milk rather than the water when he sees the state JJ is in. “C’mere little one, daddy’s gotchu.” Rafe pulled the boy closer, laying back against the arm of the couch, laying JJ against his side and supporting his wobbly head with his arm. Barry stepped forward, “Hey little rapunzel,” he murmured, smiling softly when JJ giggled at the nickname. Barry handed Rafe the bottle, watching as the taller man pressed the nipple to JJ’s lips. The small boy watched Rafe closely, eyes tracking his every movement. Rafe was patient, simply rubbing the nipple of the bottle over JJ’s lips, waiting for the boy to notice it, milk spilling out a bit and lightly coating his lips. As soon as he realized what daddy was doin, JJ’s mouth popped open eagerly, the nipple slipping inside, the sweet taste of ‘baby sleeper’ instantly flooding his senses.

Barry stepped away once the boys were settled, pulling out his phone to call his close friend. She answered immediately. “Hey, Ma-“ The man began to speak, immediately being cut off. “Barry! Oh thank goodness, is he with you??! Please I can’t find JJ!” Barry lowered his voice, shushing her softly, “Yeah he’s here, Rafe’s got him down. You on the way?” Barry listened carefully, hearing your distressed sniffles and the way you took a deep breath, he could almost see you putting up your walls. “Yeah, just give me a couple hours please? Can you watch him? I just- I can’t do this right now I need a minute.” Barry assured the girl immediately, “No problem, Ma, take your time,” He mumbled, glancing over at the boys on his couch. “I’ve got him.”

Barry walked back over to the men, watching Rafe support JJ’s head with his bicep, the smaller boy’s body gone completely limp. The blonde stared wide-eyed up at Rafe, who was telling a fairytale, Rapunzel, from what Barry could tell. Every once in a while Rafe would have to stop, his pinky coming up to tap the young boy’s cheek and wipe the spilling milk off, reminding JJ to continue drinking instead of just letting it fill his mouth.

While JJ was distracted, Barry had grabbed some of his own pajama pants, quickly but quietly pulling JJ’s wet jeans off of his body and replacing them with the comfier item of clothing. Barry begrudgingly pulled JJ away from Rafe, just long enough to remove his sopping wet shirt, but the boy sobbed like it was pure torture. “Daddy! Wan’ baba. Daddy tell him no. Sto’ bear please! No more, wan’ daddy! S’op it, stop! Daddy!” The blonde only calmed when Rafe pulled him into his arms once more, chest now bare, having removed his own shirt in believing that skin-on-skin would benefit the smaller boy. “Sh, sh, sh. Enough of that now little one. Barry was only trying to help, you say thank you. Now c’mere, daddy’s gotchu. My little dewdrop, sweet dewy.” JJ went limp once more, head bobbing until Rafe propped it up against his bicep. The older man fought the urge to giggle as JJ stared up at him starry-eyed once more, completely in a daze. Rafe brought the bottle to JJ’s lips, rubbing the nipple over them once more to gain his attention, but the boy didn’t realize what he was meant to do until Rafe tapped the bottle against his lips gently, his mouth opening wide to take it. 

Soon, JJ is fast asleep, the bottle is replaced with a baby blue pacifier, and the boy is moved to the bedroom. His eyes flutter and he whines for a bit after being laid on the bed, harshly sucking on the paci, kicking his legs out and flailing his arms in a mini tantrum, but after some tummy rubs from Rafe and words of mumbled praise by Barry, he relaxed once more. The men lay him on his side, Rafe taking the front and Barry the back. After a while of comfortable silence, they too fall asleep, all three of the men snoring softly.



[yarrayora]

Idk how to explain properly, but I’m a really big fan of the dynamic you portray between Marcille and Falin. I’ve always loved . idk how to say.. divorce? trouble-in-paradise? arcs/portrayals that look at problems in otp, and yours is super interesting. Sorry if this is weird just wanted to say :)

not weird at all! im flattered, thanks!

i wasnt really into farcille at first, mostly i was just impressed an f/f ship managed to be the fandom's no1, basically proving that when two female characters in a mostly male dominated cast are allowed to bond with each others and be their own characters people will latch on to them

mostly though aro touden siblings is still my no1 and even back then i didnt care about shipping because any type of romantic relationship in dunmeshi is less interesting than the potential of political intrigue the worldbuilding set up (yes, even chilchuck's failing marriage is less interesting to me than how living in the dungeon was safer for the orcs than being neighbors to human civilization) (shocking, i know)

but it all changed when i saw the daydream hour about marcille thinking falin looks cute in feminine clothing while falin herself is obviously uncomfortable with it

i can't sleep. i have to think about this. i have to think about how it's their first love and their first relationship and one is going in blind while the other set up her expectations based on a harlequin romance novel. they are NOT in the same wavelength at all and neither of them are particularly good at communicating their intention, with falin who grew up a convenient kid because she thought it was the least she could do for her family and marcille who frankly speaking was used to being treated as someone superior back at the magic school

thank god kabru exists because who else is going to give them a real advice for their very real relationship? chilchuck will be like "okay just break up" while not seeing the mirror to his own relationship with his runaway wife. senshi, wise as he is, is never in a romantic relationship. laios would be like :((( you guys are fighting? and gets stressed out on his own which makes it even more stressful to the girls. namari is like. "i, uh, please talk to kabru."

anyway theres also the bonus comic about falin inviting marcille to watch daltian clan's opera adaptation and while there is something to say about marcille thinking the humans playing elves doesn't fit her aesthetic (and the difference of societal expectations of dressing up as a different race in dunmeshi universe compared to in ours) all i can think of is that in modern day au where daltian clan has a movie adaptation marcille has a tumblr blog where she posts Hate on the daltian clan movie tag and calling it criticism which it is but also not the place, girl, go to rotten tomatoes for that

falin also has a tumblr and she and marcille had no idea the other is a tumblr user. falin made a post like "just watched daltian clan with my gf i get why shes really obsessed with it now" and marcille, against her better judgement replies to the post like "really sorry that you were misled by your girlfriend like that, you should read the novels instead, it's way better."

laios who sees falin looking shocked at her phone asks whats up and then after receiving the answer says "wow sounds like a real jerk! just block them"

anyway thats my modern day farcille when there's no high fantasy problems involved

[0cta9on]

Cute/Jealousy thoughts on Hanni?

About you giving more attention to Minji, I can't help but think in a story stereotype 🤭, Imagine Hanni being jealous to Minji. How cute it would be in an AU world.😚

Have this baddie Hanni style

Hello mikeylo! As much as I love Minji, I'm a sucker for squishy cheeks and Hanni has her beat in that department :]

Edit: So I'm writing this edit after I finished writing the whole thing, idk if I actually wrote what you wanted :> Hopefully you'll find it entertaining at least :,]

You didn't plan for any of this, it just sort of happened.

The friendship you share with Minji and Hanni is something you cherish more than anything else in the world. Some people place value on material things or special locations; for you, it's the two knuckleheads you call your best friends.

One day, something just clicked. You started noticing small details that you didn't notice before. Suddenly, the Minji you knew your entire life looked different. The way the sunlight dances on her skin, the way her lips curl into the most precious smile, the way her eyes light up when she finds something interesting. Before you knew it, you found yourself being drawn to her in ways that exceed the boundaries of friendship.

You tried to suppress the feelings, afraid of what they could bring on the friendship you cared for so much, but alas, the heart wants what it wants, and one heartfelt confession later, you and Minji are now a couple.

Everything is going great - other than the fact that Hanni has no idea you two are dating. When the two of you first started going out, you decided that you wanted to start out small in case things didn't work out. But as the weeks went by and the both of you started falling deeper and deeper in love with you each other, the task of telling Hanni about your secret relationship became more and more daunting. Despite how happy the two of you are, it felt dirty in a way, keeping a secret from your best friend. You wanted to tell her sooner, but the opportunity just never came up. However, life finds a way, even when you least expect it.

It all came to a head one day when you were at Minji's apartment, making out on her couch. Most of your dates are restricted to each other's places due to the fear of being caught by Hanni, but it does come with the added benefit of not having to worry about the consequences of PDA. Your original plan of simply watching a movie together were immediately tossed out the window as Minji jumped into your arms, interlocking her soft lips with yours. You're not about to argue with her though; her plan seems much more fun.

Suffice to say, both of you are thoroughly distracted with each other's mouths. So distracted that neither of you hear the click of a spare key being inserted into Minji's door, nor do you hear the clopping of footsteps getting closer and closer.

"Hey Minj- OH MY GOD!" Hanni screams, dropping her bag of snacks onto the floor. Minji jumps off of your lap, her eyes wide in shock.

"H-Hanni! Uh, hey what are you, uh, doing here, I-I didn't know you were coming over," Minji stutters, nervously combing through her hair. All you can do is sit there like an idiot and look back and forth between your two frien- er, friend and girl friend.

"What ar- What? When? How? Why?," Hanni blabbers, looking between the two of you with a mixture of anger and disgust. "When were you two gonna tell me you were dating?!"

After exchanging nervous glances with Minji, the two of you silently agree that it's time for her to know the truth (Not like you were going to think up a plausible lie anyways after being caught in such a compromising position). You recount everything in detail - The day you started to feel things for Minji, when you asked her out, why you didn't immediately tell Hanni about your relationship. Hanni never spoke up during your explanation, her expression never changing from "shocked but also curious".

"So, yeah," you say, finishing up your explanation. "We didn't want to tell you in case things didn't go well between us, but then things did go well and we just... kinda forget to tell you. Sorry, Hanni.

"Yeah, I'm sorry too, Hanni," Minji adds, resting her head against your shoulder.

"First of all, ew, don't be doing that couple-y stuff in front of me." Minji quickly removes her head off of your shoulder, looking sheepish. "Second of all... Wow, you guys are really good liars. I never even noticed a thing."

"We didn't feel good lying to you," Minji notes. "We really did want to tell you sooner."

"So this whole time, you two have been hanging out without me!?" Hanni exclaims. "Every time both of you said you were too busy to hang out, you were actually just shoving your tongues down each other's throats!?" Minji cheeks burn bright pink, her gaze falling to the ground in shame and embarrassment.

"Not every time, just y'know... Most of the time," you shamefully admit. Hanni slaps your arm, causing Minji to jump to your defense. This only sours Hanni's mood even more.

"What the heck is wrong with you guys, I thought we were friends!" Hanni puffs up her cheeks in anger.

"We are friends! We didn't know things were gonna turn out like this either!" Minji sighs, sitting next to her. "We should've been honest with you from the beginning, but we didn't and ended up upsetting you. We're really, really, really sorry, Hanni."

The room fills with a pensive silence as Hanni stares at the ground in contemplation. You and Minji exchange worried glances, finding a semblance of solace in each other's eyes. Even though the dynamic of the group changed, you still love Hanni as a friend and hate the fact that you did something to hurt her. You'll do anything to gain her trust again.

"Do you guys really like each other?" Hanni asks.

"Absolutely" you answer almost immediately, smiling at Minji as she cutely hides her face in her hands. "I love her."

"Ew," Hanni mutters under her breath. "If you guys are going on a date or something, tell me beforehand so I can change my plans."

"Of course," Minji responds.

"And if we're all hanging out together, don't act all couple-y and stuff, I don't want to feel like a third wheel."

"Don't worry about it, PhamPham," you say, pinching her cheek. "Nothing is gonna change between us."

Hanni swats your hand away, but instead of being annoyed like you expected, she grins at you. It's a thing you've done to her ever since you were kids. Hanni always had chubby, squishable cheeks, even moreso when she was younger. She hates you when you do it, but you just can't help yourself - They're too cute not to pinch.

"Alright," Hanni says, her gaze shifting between you and Minji. "Do you guys want me to leave or...?"

"No, you should stay and hang out," Minji says, picking up the dropped bag of snacks on the floor. You nod in agreement, although you are a little bit disappointed you won't get to finish what you started with her earlier. Maybe later tonight, if you play your cards right.

Hanni agrees to stay under the pretext that you and Minji wouldn't be "all over each other" while she's there. Unfortunately, that means you have to stay on the opposite side of the couch while the two of them cuddle under a blanket. Oh well. They're your best friends. You're happy as long as they're happy.

______________________________________________________________

Hanni stares at the ceiling of her room, unable to sleep. The exhaustion of today's events should have knocked her out sooner, but the whirlwind of emotions won't let her catch any rest. With nothing else to do, she grabs her phone from the night stand, scrolling through group photos of her with her two best friends. What were once happy memories are now tainted with suppressed, unrequited feelings.

"I liked you first," she mutters to herself, cursed with the knowledge that no one else is listening. Those words become the catalyst that causes the first tear to drop. A light drizzle soon turns into a violent, emotional downpour. Guilt eats away at her brain while regret feasts on her heart.

If only she had been quicker. If only she had been braver. If only.

[lomlompurim]

What if Without A Cure were a different type of poison, like a cursed potion that will consume a person's body & mind, slowly and painfully while they transform into a creature with little to nothing left of their human consciousness, ending up like a beast. Like a dragon.

A victim of this version of Without A Cure would suffer a series of gradual changes on their body: developing scales all over their skin, claws growing in their hands and feet, painful reament of bones, teeths being replaced by fangs, several migraines for growing horns out of their skull, and a tail.

What if the sessions of qi transfers with Liu Qingge and the herbs can only do so much to keep the transformation at bay, forcing the changes on Shen Qingqiu's body to step back for a bit. But as the days go by, these changes come again slowly, each time a little bit harder to fight. And the flares of Without A Cure make these changes happen at a violent speed.

He can hide the worst of it with a veil, gloves and a hat while being in CQ mountain. Having LQG and MQF helping him almost daily. But the peaklords (Specially YQY) do their best to keep eveything as private as possible. No one truly knew what this Without A Cure was capable of, since the few records of it's victims mark them as dead within a few days of being posioned, having "strange deformities in their bodies" as the only clue.

Maybe Binghe never really knew the true effects of the so called poison with no cure. He only knew his master sacrificed his cultivation and now needs qi transfers to help him endure the pain.

SQQ never really tolds him, he saw how guilty Binghe felt about the whole deal, telling him that he was slowly becoming a feral creature will only make the poor boy feel worse!! Unthinkable. It wasn't so bad anyways (it was) for now his draconic features are minimal, almost non existent after the qi transfers, everything is going to be fine. Maybe becoming a dragon can help him avoid death? Uh that's a problem for the SQQ of the future.

After the conference, SQQ's grief made things a little bit worse. Just a little. The pace of the cursed posion is becoming more bothersome as days passed by, now he can't go anywhere without a veil covering his face, and the little poking horns on this head can't be hiden by his hair anymore. Maybe he just should die and come back in his plant body to put a stop to this prickly curse. A lot of people, in or outside of the mountain think he covers his face out of vanity or bc of an ugly scar. Some weirdos are even trying to take a peek under his veil. Is this what Liu Mingyan has to endure everyday?! The urge to bite out those curious fingers is becoming stronger.

Then, what if when Huan Hua Palace takes him as a prisoner, a flare up happens and with no one to help him w a qi transfer, his horns grow severly inches long, his hands and feet are completly covered in grey scales, big black claws ripping his robes because his skin is itching like hell thanks to the new scales. His pupils become slit, his tail pokes out of the rags that his clothes became, everything is a mess and no one can see him like these.

What if when Sqq self detonates, instead of dying he sacrificed what was left of his humanity to stabilize Binghe, and he completly transformates into a huge white dragon, flying away into the sky, disappearing in the distance. Leaving a very confused half demon and a devastated war god behind, memories of his human life becoming blurry and far away.

What if some despicable palace master and a particular greedy demon royalty of the nothern region put a price on the head of the misterious white dragon that has been seen floating around the skies?

--------------

Idk this is an idea for a bingliushen story. With without a cure having the effects of the first drafts that airplane had thought in this AU, when PIDW was not so popular yet. And no, the heavenly pillar can't cure this. In my brain this version of without a cure is older than the concept of dual cultivation with a heavenly demon being a cure to almost everything, so no magic dick can solve it, they would have to find another way.

In my mind Sqq's dragon form is like this from Zelda Tears of the Kingdom. Pretty big lizzard.

[starfoam-saloon]

HNNNNN

Twst au but instead it goes like this;

One of the twst boys(whoever) ends up getting transported to your world with no magic. They wake up in your house after you help them when you found them in the alleyway on your way home like ouch dude. You find out they aren’t from this world after they do some magic so you guys spend the entire summer helping each other and comforting them since they have issues with themselves and being homesick or something. Yadda yadda yall fall in love and are dating during it.

One day, miraculously on the last day of summer, yall find the mirror and that twst boy is sent back after yall promise to find each other again. Maybe like a years later(idk imagine time runs differently there) you’re getting ready for bed and you wake up in that coffin.

Something something and you end up starting your first day at NRC. Yayyyy!!!! And when you meet the twisted wonderland guy, at first glance yall immediately know each other and yall are just being cute and everyone who knows you is like “HUH???” Imagine meeting Ace and he can’t bully you cause oh no that’s his idiot. Meeting riddle and he immediately calms down. Meeting Lilia and silver is just like “huh.” Or it could be the other way around. Ruggie seeing Leona all soft and he’s just like “when???!?!!??” It’s such a funny concept to me cause imagine you and Ace are together and your friends are like “Ace how did you pull on the first day” and before Ace can stroke his ego you just say “he stuttered 15 times trying to ask me out”

OH OH imagine meeting Vil and he’s like “and who is- oh hello dear- and WHAT-???” Vil tenderly holding you as the rest of the VDC group is just shocked that Vil mr popular had a lover. Or any of Octavinelle thinking it’s a bit strange that one of them is really good at walking since they don’t believe either of them when they said they went to the human world for the entire summer. Jade or Floyd just think the other explored the ocean the entire summer idk—

Jamil angst a bit cause he thought the one he loved would never be here again and feels slightly betrayed when they ask for help from Azul of all people. But just appreciates them entirely either way cause yeah. If you’re dating either of the overblot boys I guarantee they aren’t gonna let you get in the way and might keep you at a distance while you try to help your friends. (Yum favoritism)

Or dating one of the RSA boys so imagine their shock when Chen’ya kisses you at an Unbirthday party when he steals some food. Or Neige hugging you and saying all kinds of honeyed words with heart eyes as he sees you again. Is a bit sad you’re in NRC.

AND MY FAVORITE ROLLO!!! Like imagine he’s just being all dramatic and he sees his lover and just opens his arms cause he knows they’re gonna jump in them. Rollo trying to not be jealous since Mallues seems to care a bit too much about his lover(Mal just wanna be a good friend I swear). He keeps you in the bell tower to try and not get you hurt but you end up accidentally falling with the others. Yadda yadda, you stay with Trein even if you’re the most stubborn person on the planet, and you eventually pull him to the side before Malleus can do his whole ‘imagine losing to me lmao’ thingy ig. And the two of you talk but you two eventually just love and care for the other and when you leave the others are asking if y’all broke up to which you reply “um… nuh uh.” While holding a letter from Rollo so you two can write to each other (he texted while he cans and calls you but he likes to send letters since he thinks it’s romantic and reminds him of the love letter he gave you in the summer in your world.)

They love you lots, so don’t be too surprised if they feel like they want you to stay here with them. :(

IF ANYONE MAKES A FIC OF THIS USING EITHER THEIR TWST OC/SELF INSERT/ READER PLEASE @ ME/TAG ME I WOULD LOVE TO SEE YALLS THINGS WITH THE IDEA I HAD PLSPLSPLPS☹️☹️