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meazalykov · 28 days ago

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the season to (not) be jolly

barcelona femeni x esmee brugts x reader

summary: you hated christmas, and your teammates figure out why

warnings: childhood neglect, trauma, angst, financial poverty, etc

the excitement rings through the barca locker room like electricity, bouncing off the walls and between your teammates.

the holiday break is just around the corner, only one training session and ninety minutes of football separating everyone from flights to faraway places like back home, home-cooked meals, and quality time with loved ones that only get to see them from the stands at important games.

it is a cheerful chaos—laughter echoing, jokes being thrown back and forth, and plans being laid out like promises.

"we’ll be in norway,” mapi grins, slinging her arm around ingrid as she sits beside her.

“ingrid’s parents already have the cabin ready. a real winter wonderland, i shall say.”

“it’ll be nice to be home,” ingrid adds softly, her smile as calm and steady as always.

you sit at your locker, head tilted down as you lace your boots, pretending to be engrossed in the task as their words float around you.

it feels safer to keep your eyes on your hands, watching how your fingers move—pull, tighten, tie. over and over again. anything to distract yourself from the sting in your chest.

you feel it every december. that heaviness. that punching ache in your ribs when people start talking about their families, their holiday traditions, and their childhood memories.

you can’t relate. you never could.

to your left, keira and lucy are chatting animatedly about spending christmas in england, lucy teasing ona about the inevitable cold since ona will be going with her. to your right, patri and claudia are arguing over who will get more gifts from their loved ones, both wearing matching grins as they playfully push on each other.

but you? you just exist in the in-between, silent, invisible.

the noise grows louder. the locker room feels smaller. your throat tightens, that familiar burn rising behind your eyes. you push it away. this is not the time to fall apart.

alexia’s voice cuts through the chatter again, light and teasing as she looks ahead at you.

“nina, you’ve been quiet. what about you? where are you headed this christmas?”

you freeze for half a second. it’s subtle enough to go unnoticed, but the question lingers in the air like a heavy fog. you glance up, forcing your expression into something neutral—something safe.

“nowhere special,” you say with a small shrug, trying to keep your voice steady.

“just staying here at home. might catch up on needed sleep without needing to wake up for training.”

“no plans with family?” mapi asks, brows furrowing slightly.

you hate that. you hate when people ask about your family. after leaving your home to live in paris, where you played for a season and a half with psg (before leaving when the barcelona offer came up in 2021), you stopped talking to your mother who wanted nothing to do with you.

your answer has never changed, and yet, every time it feels like a fresh wound being prodded.

“yeah,” you mutter, looking back down at your laces.

“just after christmas though.”

thankfully, mapi doesn’t press further. her attention shifts back to ingrid as she brings up the norwegian christmas markets, and you’re left to sink back into your silence, drowning in it.

you look over at the corner of the locker room to see esmee, your girlfriend, looking right at you. jana sits beside her, laughing about a joke sydney made while esmee notices the sadness in your eyes.

the look in your eyes can be hidden from the team, but you can’t hide it from esmee.

she notices—of course she does—because she knows you better than anyone, even after just eight months of being together. normally, you’re her sunshine, a steady source of warmth no matter what the day brings.

you’re the first to crack a joke after a tough training session, the one to steal food off her plate at team dinners just to see her roll her eyes, the one who sneaks kisses when no one’s looking and holds her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

but now? now you’re quieter, smaller. you smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and your laughter sounds hollow when it finally comes.

“i don’t have to go, you know,” she told you last week as you sit together on the couch, her thumb tracing gentle circles over the back of your hand.

“i can stay here with you.”

you shake your head almost immediately, forcing a smile as you press a kiss to her knuckles.

“no, es, you should go. your family wants to see you. they miss you.”

you don’t tell her the rest—that you don’t want her anywhere near the dark place that december always drags you into. she’s too bright, too good, to get caught up in the emptiness you feel during this time of year. so you push her away gently, telling her you’ll be fine, that you’ll call her every day and send pictures of maple– your cat— curled up at the foot of the bed.

esmee doesn’t look convinced. she squeezes your hand tighter, leaning her forehead against yours.

“you’re not fine,” she whispers, eyes searching yours.

“i am, esmee.” you say.

you’re just tired, you convince yourself. however, the words stick in your throat because you know she won’t believe them. this is the first december you’ve spent together, the first time she’s seen you like this, and it terrifies you—being vulnerable in front of someone you care about so much.

you’ve always hated christmas. as a kid, it was just another reminder of everything you didn’t have. no presents waiting under a tree. no stockings hung by the fire. no warm meals shared at a crowded table.

instead, you had an empty house, cold and quiet.

your mom always worked. always. christmas, birthdays, weekends—it didn’t matter. “we need the money,” she’d say coldly, pulling her coat on as she hurried out the door, leaving you behind.

sometimes, she’d forget it was even christmas until days later.

“we’ll celebrate next year,” she’d promise. but next year never came.

you can still remember what it felt like to see the other kids at your academy, showing off their shiny new boots, their expensive kits, their gear from nike or adidas. their parents would stand proudly by the sidelines, bundled up in warm coats, smiling as they cheered.

then there was you, wearing a pair of cleats one size too big—scuffed, worn, bought secondhand with the crumpled euro bills you’d earned from mowing lawns or shoveling snow after training each afternoon. you’d tuck your hands into the pockets of your thrift-store jacket to hide the holes in the seams.

your academy teammates didn’t know how lucky they were.

you hated them for it, sometimes. hated their laughter, their joy, their easy lives. mostly, you hated yourself for feeling like you didn’t belong. for being the girl who showed up every day with nothing to show for it but grit, raw talent, and determination.

now, years later, that feeling lingers.

you’ve worked hard—harder than anyone—to get here. to wear the barcelona crest on your chest. to play alongside some of the best players in the world. to prove to yourself, and to everyone else, that you deserve this.

no matter how much success you achieve, no matter how many goals you score or games you win, you can’t outrun the past.

christmas will always be a reminder of what you never had.

you pull your boots off, methodical and slow, as the locker room continues to cheer around you. your teammates don’t notice the way your shoulders slump or how you turn away slightly, shielding your face.

“hey,” a voice says quietly beside you. it’s aitana, sitting beside you since her locker is beside yours. her tone is softer than usual, like she’s noticed something.

“you okay?”

you nod quickly, too quickly.

“yeah. just tired.”

she doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. aitana never does. she just nods and goes back to her boots, letting the moment pass without making it heavier than it already is.

you’re grateful for that.

you finish changing, moving through the motions on autopilot, your mind elsewhere. the noise in the room feels muffled, like you’re underwater, and when you finally leave the locker room, stepping out into the cold december air in your new training gear, you inhale sharply—like you’ve been holding your breath all along.

the sun is already setting as you leave training hours later, streaks of orange and pink blending with the darkening sky. your breath comes out in clouds as you walk toward your car, hands stuffed deep into your coat pockets.

you stare at the horizon for a moment, watching the city lights flicker to life in the distance. it’s beautiful, you think absently. and yet, it makes you feel so small.

tomorrow, the break begins. your teammates along with your girlfriend will board flights, heading off to homes filled with warmth, love, and laughter.

and you? you’ll stay here. alone.

you’ve grown used to loneliness over the years. it’s familiar. like an old coat you can’t bring yourself to throw away.

that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

you sit in your car for a long time before starting the engine, the radio playing faintly in the background. a christmas song—cheerful and bright—fills the silence, and you quickly shut it off, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

you hate christmas. you hate the way it makes you feel. like you’re still that little girl, watching the world through a window, longing for something you’ll never have.

turning on the radio, you hear, “walking around the christmas tr–” before slamming your fingers on the mute button. there was no christmas tree in your apartment, nothing in your space shows that it is even december.

not like alexia’s apartment that clearly shows that is is the holiday season. the scent of cinnamon candles and fresh pine greet esmee like a warm hug as she visits alexia.

soft music plays from a speaker in the corner, and the living room is an organized mess of wrapping paper, ribbon spools, and tape dispensers scattered across the coffee table.

“es!” mapi’s voice is the first to cut through the scene, grinning up from where she’s sitting on the floor, tape stuck to her sleeve.

“about time you showed up. come help me wrap ingrid’s gift before she figures out what it is.”

“you’re impossible,” ingrid mutters beside her, laughing as she ties a bow on someone else’s gift. maybe vicky’s since esmee saw the ipad that the younger girl asked for.

esmee smiles at the couple teasing eachother, kicking her shoes off and settling onto the floor, careful not to disrupt the organized chaos. across the room, olga – alexia’s girlfriend – sits on the couch beside alexia, scissors in hand as she trims the edges of wrapping paper, while salma sprawls nearby, half her attention on the gift she’s wrapping and half on her phone.

“is mine here?” esmee teases after a moment, eyes narrowing playfully at the pile of brightly wrapped boxes beside alexia.

“it’s already done,” alexia replies without looking up, focused on folding the paper perfectly around a large box.

“you’re not getting any sneak peeks until new year’s eve like everyone else.”

“como no,” esmee groans dramatically, earning a laugh from salma and mapi. she leans back on her hands, soaking in the cheerful atmosphere for a moment, but the weight in her chest pulls her down before she can fully enjoy it.

the smile fades from her face, and her gaze drops to her lap.

“what’s wrong?” alexia asks, finally noticing the shift in her demeanor.

esmee hesitates, chewing her bottom lip. “it’s... about y/n.”

the room quiets slightly, everyone’s attention turning toward her. mapi raises an eyebrow, already halfway to smirking as she leans into ingrid.

“trouble in paradise?”

“no, no,” esmee says quickly, shaking her head.

“it’s nothing like that.”

olga sets down her scissors, studying esmee carefully.

“then what’s wrong?”

esmee swallows hard, fiddling with the corner of a ribbon.

“i feel like... i need to stay in barcelona for the holidays. with y/n. she’s—she’s going to be alone.”

alexia frowns slightly, confused.

“no, she’s not. she told me she’s going to see her mom and family eventually.”

esmee’s heart sinks, her brows furrowing as she glances up at alexia. “that’s not true,” she says softly, shaking her head. “she hasn’t spoken to her family in nearly five years.”

silence falls over the room like a heavy blanket. alexia looks stunned, her brow creasing deeply as she processes esmee’s words. salma sets her phone down, staring in disbelief, while mapi and ingrid exchange quiet glances.

“she told you that?” alexia asks carefully, her voice softer now.

“yeah,” esmee nods, her voice steady but heavy with concern.

“she doesn’t want anyone to know. i think—i think she told you that lie so you wouldn’t feel bad for her. she hates christmas. she’s always hated it. i don’t know why, but i can assume that it has to do with her family.”

“joder,” mapi mutters under her breath, rubbing the back of her neck.

“y/n’s gonna be alone? she didn’t tell anyone?”

“she wouldn’t,” esmee says, guilt rising in her chest as she looks around at them.

“she acts like everything’s fine, but it’s not.”

ingrid exhales slowly, her face softening with quiet understanding. “we can’t just leave her like this,” she says firmly.

“esmee’s right—she shouldn’t be alone.”

“what do you suggest?” alexia asks, her voice sharper now, edged with determination.

“we go to her,” mapi says immediately, pushing herself to her feet as if the decision is already made.

“right now. if she won’t talk to us, we’ll make her.”

“she’s going to hate me,” esmee says quietly, worry flickering across her face as she stands, too.

“she doesn’t want anyone to know. she’s going to be so upset that i brought you all into this.”

alexia crosses the room in a few strides, stopping in front of esmee and placing a hand on her shoulder. her expression is calm but resolute, a quiet authority in the way she looks at her.

“she won’t be upset at you,” alexia says firmly. “i won’t let her be.”

esmee lets out a shaky breath, nodding slowly as the others begin to gather their things. the cheerful hum of the evening is gone now, replaced by a silent determination that hangs thick in the air. alexia is the first to head for the door, already pulling on her coat, and one by one, the others follow—mapi, ingrid, olga, salma.

as esmee pulls her own coat on, she sends up a silent hope that you will understand. she knows how fiercely you guard your heart, how much you hates people seeing the parts of yourself that are broken.

esmee also knows that you deserve more than an empty apartment and silence on christmas day.

back to you– the steam still lingers faintly in your bathroom, curling around the doorframe as you pad out into your apartment, feeling the lingering warmth of your everything shower settle into your skin. your matching red plaid pajamas feel soft and clean, clinging to you in that perfect way that only comes after freshly washed laundry.

you won’t admit to anyone that the red plaid feels a little festive—that maybe, on some level, you allowed yourself to indulge in something resembling the season.

your hair is pulled back in a loose, low braid, wisps escaping around your face, and your apartment is spotless. floors vacuumed, counters wiped down, blankets folded neatly on the couch. if you couldn’t have christmas, the least you could do was make sure the space felt fresh and ready for the new year. clean, organized, empty. just like you wanted it.

you hum quietly as you step into the kitchen, reaching for the bowl of fruit on the counter. you’d planned to snack a little while watching a movie tonight, something non-festive—maybe a thriller like friday the 13th– anything that didn’t mention families or magic or joy.

before your hands can reach the fruit bowl, there’s a knock at your door.

you frown slightly, the sound cutting through the quiet apartment like an unexpected jolt. you assume it’s esmee—she’d mentioned she might come by to say goodbye before she left for the netherlands in the morning.

“coming,” you call softly, feet shuffling toward the door.

when you swing it open, your breath catches in your chest.

standing in the hallway, crammed into the small space outside your apartment, are esmee, mapi, ingrid, alexia, salma, and olga. esmee stands closest to the door, just beside mapi, her expression tinged with worry that makes your stomach turn.

everyone else has the same look—soft, cautious, and far too knowing.

“what’s—” you start, forcing a smile to smooth over your features.

“what are you all doing here?”

“surprise?” mapi tries, her voice lighter than the rest, but even she falters when your eyes narrow slightly in confusion.

“can we come in?” alexia asks softly, her tone careful.

you nod slowly, stepping aside to let them file in one by one. salma gives you a small smile as she passes, and olga pulls you into a quick hug—her familiar warmth a brief comfort.

“it’s good to see you,” she says, and you force another smile, nodding.

“you too. it’s been a while.”

as the door clicks shut and you turn back to face them, the knot in your chest tightens. their expressions don’t match their usual energy—not the teasing, playful banter you’re used to. instead, they’re quiet, gentle. worried.

“is everything okay?” you ask, scanning the room as they settle awkwardly around your small living space. you go on sit on your grey colored sectional couch as everyone follows you.

alexia is the first to speak.

“y/n... are you really going to see your family this year?”

the question hits you like a punch to the gut. your heart drops, and your eyes immediately dart to esmee, who looks at you apologetically. you don’t even need to say it—your expression screams “did you tell them?”

esmee shifts slightly, opening her mouth to speak, but mapi cuts in before she can.

“she can’t save you from this conversation,” mapi says gently, though there’s no humor in her voice.

“we know you lied.”

you take a small step back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “i’m fine,” you say quickly, the words rushing out before you can think.

“i don’t have christmas plans, and that’s okay.”

“it’s not okay,” ingrid says firmly, her voice soft but resolute.

“y/n, it’s clearly not fine.”

you feel the walls closing in, your heart pounding in your chest. the room feels too small, the air too thick. flight or fight mode kicks in—you want to run, to get away from their prying eyes and gentle words that feel like they’re picking you apart piece by piece.

“there’s nothing wrong,” you stammer, shaking your head as you back toward the couch.

“i don’t know what you’re all talking about. i’m fine—”

“hey,” esmee’s voice cuts through the panic, soft but steady, and when you look at her, the tension eases ever so slightly.

“it’s okay. nobody here is judging you, okay? you’re safe. you’re not in trouble for lying to ale.”

her words ground you enough to sit down, curling into the corner of your couch. you hug your knees to your chest, wishing you could shrink into yourself, disappear completely.

you don’t want to be here, in this moment, with all their eyes on you.

“i just hate how everyone gets to have a good holiday except me,” you mumble, the words spilling out before you can stop them. your voice wavers, cracking slightly as the truth seeps through the cracks in your armor.

ingrid is the first to move, crossing the room to sit beside you. she doesn’t say anything—just wraps an arm around your shoulders, holding you gently. olga comes next, kneeling on the floor beside the couch and resting a hand on your arm.

“what do you mean by that?” olga asks softly, her voice a careful whisper.

alexia moves to sit in front of you, dropping to her knees so she can look up into your face. her expression is open and kind, patient in the way only alexia can be.

“what happened, y/n?”

you close your eyes tightly, your fingers digging into your knees as you try to fight back the sting of tears. you don’t want to tell them. you don’t want anyone to know. but the words are already there, clawing their way out, demanding to be heard.

“i never had christmas, my birthday afterwards did not seem important either..” you whisper finally, your voice so small it’s almost lost to the room.

“i don’t even know what the happy feeling is supposed to feel like.”

alexia’s brow furrows, and mapi leans forward, her voice quiet but gentle.

“can you explain?”

you take a shaky breath, the air trembling as it leaves your lungs.

“growing up... it was just me and my mom. we didn’t have money for christmas. no tree, no presents, nothing. she worked all the time—she had to. bills came first. even with that, she was never nice to me. she made it seem like i was asking for too much.”

your throat tightens, but you force yourself to keep going, to let it out.

“when i was in the academy, all the other kids would come back after christmas with new cleats, new gear, new jerseys. i’d still be in hand-me-downs from thrift stores. i’d use money i got from doing yard work to buy boots that were a size too big to make sure i could fit in them for a few seasons– because it was all i could afford.”

the room is silent as you speak, the weight of your words settling over everyone like a blanket. ingrid’s arm tightens around you, and olga gently rubs your arm as tears sting the corners of your eyes.

“i hated it,” you admit, your voice breaking.

“i hated watching everyone else have families, have traditions, have... love. i hated feeling like i did something wrong, like i wasn’t good enough to deserve it.”

you bury your face in your knees, unable to look at them. your shoulders shake slightly as you try to keep yourself together, but the truth is out now, raw and ugly, and you feel exposed in a way that terrifies you.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” esmee says softly, sitting on the floor beside alexia now.

“none of that was your fault, y/n.”

you don’t respond, but the tears slip free, hot and silent against your skin. you feel alexia’s hand settle on your knee, grounding you, and ingrid presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“it’s not fair,” you whisper.

“it’s not fair that everyone else gets to be happy except me.”

“but you deserve to be happy, too,” alexia says gently, her voice firm with conviction.

“you deserve love, and joy, and traditions, just like everyone else.”

“we can’t change your childhood,” salma adds softly.

“but we can change this year and every year after this one.”

you lift your head slightly, looking at her through blurry eyes.

“what do you mean?”

“you’re not spending christmas alone,” ingrid says simply, brushing a tear from your cheek.

“none of us are going to let that happen.”

“you’ll come with me and olga,” alexia says.

“we’re having dinner with her family on christmas eve, and you’re coming. no arguments.”

“and before you say no,” olga adds quickly, smirking slightly, “it’s not a pity invite. it’s a ‘we want you there because we care about you’ invite.”

you look around the room, at all of them—esmee, alexia, mapi, ingrid, olga, salma. their faces are open, kind, and so full of love that it makes your chest ache.

“you don’t have to do this,” you say quietly, but esmee shakes her head.

“we want to,” she says softly.

“you’re not alone anymore, y/n. you have us now, you have me.”

something shifts in your chest at her words, the weight you’ve been carrying for years lifting

you don’t know what christmas will feel like this year, but maybe, just maybe, it won’t be so bad.

esmee shifts beside you, reaching for your hand, threading her fingers through yours as you lay your head on her chest. her touch is soft, steady, and when you glance at her, you see something unwavering in her eyes—love, determination, all of it laid bare.

“i’m staying in barcelona,” she says quietly, her voice gentle but firm.

your brows furrow immediately, and you sit up slightly.

“esmee, you don’t have to—”

“no,” she cuts you off, shaking her head with a small smile.

“i’ve already decided. my family is coming here instead on the day after christmas. we’ll celebrate together, and you’ll be with us.”

you open your mouth to protest again, the instinct to push her away rising, but before you can say anything, alexia’s voice chimes in, calm and final.

“again, that’s not up for debate,” she says softly, kneeling back onto the floor to look at you, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“you’re family to us, y/n. esmee’s family loves you just as much as we do. and that’s final.”

you glance back at esmee, your heart tightening, your walls cracking just a little more as her thumb rubs soothing circles over your knuckles.

“you’re not alone anymore,” she says again, her voice barely above a whisper.

“this year, you’ll have a real christmas. with me. with my family. with our family.”

you stare at her for a moment, overwhelmed by the weight of her words, by the love in her gaze that feels so foreign yet so familiar all at once.

"okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as the beginnings of a smile tug at your lips.

“okay.”

esmee leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as alexia gives your knee one last reassuring squeeze. the rest of the room seems to exhale in relief, the energy softening into something warm and safe, like a blanket wrapping around you.

for the first time in years, you let yourself believe it.

you’re not alone.

and this year, christmas will be different.

masterlist

#barcelona femeni #fc barcelona #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #esmee brugts #alexia putellas #aitana bonmati #mapi leon #ingrid engen #salma paralluelo #olga rios

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nanamineedstherapy · 13 days ago

Text

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy Horror, Unhinged Husbands, Emotional Chaos, Desperation, Chasing the Uncatchable, Cursed Relationships, Polyamory Drama, Sorcery Meets Reality. Major Content Warnings: Graphic depictions of distress (physical and emotional), mentions of stalking behaviors, power imbalances, body horror (pregnancy), intense angst. Other Warnings: Crack moments in otherwise serious situations, manipulative tendencies, morally gray characters.

A/N: My Christmas gift to you ≧◠‿◠≦✌ Let me just say: I’m not sorry for the emotional rollercoaster you’re about to board. The safety harness? It’s Gojo/Nanami brand of dysfunction. Prepare yourselves for sorcery-fueled absurdity, body horror vibes, and enough angst to fill an Infinity Room. Also, if you’ve ever wanted to see Gojo wrestle with drunk Norwegian women or Nanami quietly descend into bread-obsessed madness, you’re in the right place. Buckle up. And yes, you’re allowed to throw virtual tomatoes at me in the comments.

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

Chapter 4 - The Gravity of Running

But no one could outrun Gojo Satoru and Nanami Kento.

Denmark was off the table. Nanami knew you’d never hide in his ancestral grandmaland, so they aimed for Norway instead—specifically, a place you’d once mentioned wanting to visit.

This brilliant deduction led to their current predicament: boarding Gojo’s private jet at 2 a.m. for a 12-hour flight to Oslo.

Gojo had his tousled white hair peeking out from beneath his hood, the fabric of his oversized hoodie hanging loosely over his broad shoulders and accentuating his athletic build. His sweatpants clung just enough to hint at the strength beneath. He wore photochromic, transparent-framed glasses .

Nanami, too, sported an oversized hoodie that draped comfortably over his muscular frame. His normal world green-tinted Cannin glasses rested casually on the bridge of his nose, just visible beneath his hood, while his hair fell softly around his forehead. Both men wore slightly baggy sweats, adding to their relaxed vibe.

The plane, Gojo’s luxurious Bombardier Global 7500 , gleamed with sleek leather seats, gold trim, a full kitchen and a bar so well stocked it could supply a frat house for weeks.

Unfortunately, none of it could save the two men from their current downward spiral as they tried to commit substance abuse to drown their feelings, but instead they were the stars of the most unhinged reality show no one asked for.

Hour 3:25 AM

The cabin was quiet except for the occasional hum of the engines and the steady clinking of utensils. Or it would have been quiet if Gojo wasn’t demolishing an entire cart’s worth of desserts.

“Where do you think she is?” Gojo asked.

Nanami, five glasses of scotch deep, stared at him. “Maybe she’s on a beach. With a book. No loud idiots.”

Gojo gasped. “Are you calling me a loud idiot? I’m your husband, Nanami. Respect the bond, or I’ll bend you right here and add you to the mile-high club.”

Nanami didn’t flinch. “Respect the bond? You mean the one where I tolerate your endless noise? Bend me, and I’ll file for divorce the second we land. Along with a restraining order.”

“Then I’ll levitate you forever and do that thing you like,” Gojo waved his fork. “But I’ll forgive you because I’m a generous fairy like that.”

The plane jolted with turbulence, and Gojo clutched his dessert tray.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice softer now, “she left because we took her for granted.”

Nanami paused, then sighed. “Maybe it’s because you ate her last imported chocolates.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his hoodie. “You swore you’d never bring that up again!”

Nanami drained the rest of his scotch, gesturing to the flight attendant for another. “It was mutiny.”

Gojo teased again. “You know, if we don’t find her, I’m just gonna move into your apartment. I call the big bed.”

Nanami groaned, closing his eyes; Gojo had forced him to sell that apartment ages ago because he was worried Nanami would run away. “Go to sleep, Gojo.”

“You go to sleep,” Gojo retorted, his words slurring as his head lolled from all the sugar.

Hour 4:10 AM

“I’m stress eating,” Gojo declared, stuffing a tiramisu into his mouth. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Nanami glared at him over the rim of his scotch glass; it was his 8th or 18th—who knew anymore. “You’ve eaten everything except the in-flight magazines.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Gojo said, mouthful of frosting.

The flight attendant approached cautiously. “Sir, we’ve run out of desserts. Perhaps—”

Gojo's ripped off his glasses. She jumped. His radioactive eyes seemed to bore into her very soul, like a genetically mutant from the Umbrella Corps lab, struggling to comprehend the mundane world beyond the confines of his oversized hood. “What do you mean, run out? There’s a whole Gojo Clan dessert inventory on this flight!”

She blinked. “Sir, that’s… not meant for passengers. That was a gift, as you declared earlier.”

“Guess what?” He said. “They mine now.” Holding his own desserts hostage.

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should’ve left you in Tokyo.”

“You couldn’t have,” Gojo said smugly, shoving mousse in his mouth. “I’m the sugar to your bitter.”

Nanami’s reply was drowned out by turbulence, which sent his scotch splashing onto his lap. He sighed, leaning back into his seat. “I should’ve ordered vodka.”

“Don’t blame the scotch for your crotch crisis,” Gojo quipped, taking a swig of Nanami’s drink before he could stop him.

The turbulence worsened, and the cabin lights flickered. Gojo glanced at Nanami, his grin weak. “Do you think this is a sign?”

“A sign of what?” Nanami deadpanned, swirling his next glass of scotch.

“That we’re bad husbands.”

Nanami froze. “You’re just now realizing that?”

Gojo slumped against his seat. “I mean, yeah, but I’m trying. I even brought dessert for her!”

“You are inhaling all the dessert.”

The turbulence jostled them again, and this time, Nanami spilled a bit of his drink on Gojo’s sleeve.

“You know,” Gojo started, wiping at the stain, “if this plane goes down, at least I’ll die with a tummy full of cake and regret.”

“Good,” Nanami muttered. “Because if we survive this flight, I’m leaving you in Norway.”

“You say that, but then show up like Batman when you think I’m in danger,” Gojo smirked, leaning closer.

Nanami didn’t respond. He’d fallen asleep, the glass still in his hand.

Gojo blinked, nudging him lightly. “ Min min ?”

Nanami stirred, mumbling something unintelligible before straightening abruptly. “What did I miss?”

Gojo grinned. “Just turbulence. And the shocking revelation that beneath that muscle mass, you’re really just a big softie who’d probably cry at a frog video.”

Nanami muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “I married the frog.” Gojo smirked, satisfied.

Hour 5:15 AM

Gojo now sat manspreading with a tower of dessert plates now teetering on the tray in front of him. He bit into a chocolate tart with the energy of a man trying to solve world hunger through sheer caloric intake. “You know if we don’t find her, I’m just gonna eat my feelings forever. This is who I am now. The Dessert Man .”

Nanami was now sitting hunched over a plate piled high with an assortment of bread—baguettes, croissants, ciabatta, even a slice of pumpernickel he was aggressively buttering. “You can’t eat your feelings. It’s not sustainable.”

“Says the man eating enough bread to open a bakery,” Gojo waved a forkful of tiramisu at him.

Nanami tore into a white chocolate-stuffed croissant like it owed him a kidney. “Bread is practical. Dessert is diabetes.”

“Bread is boring,” Gojo said. “You’re boring. This is why she left us.”

Nanami's jaw froze mid-bite, lips glistening with garlic butter, his regular human world glasses sliding. "She bailed because you can't keep your mouth shut for five seconds, and you eat like a raccoon on a trash binge—minus the charm and coordination."

Gojo gasped. “How dare you? I dine with the flair of a royal peacock!”

Nanami grabbed a slice of rye and spread a thick layer of cream cheese on it. “I’m starting to think we deserved this.”

“Excuse me,” Gojo snapped, licking frosting off his fingers. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be the stable, boring one. Why are you spiraling?”

Nanami waved a baguette at him like a baton. “Because I’m married to you. That’s reason enough.”

Gojo squinted at him, then burst out laughing, crumbs flying into Nanami’s face. “You love me, Ken Ken. Just admit it.”

Nanami wiped his face but smeared more butter on it. “I love silence more.”

Nanami shoved a Swiss roll in Gojo’s mouth before he could retort, and they continued their loop of stress eating and drinking, only to spontaneously doze off mid-bites. The silence was punctuated by the occasional jolt of turbulence that sent them both jolting awake, looking like startled deer.

Hour 7:05 AM

Gojo slurred, about to go into a sugar-induced coma. “ Nono.” He tried to get Nanami’s attention by nudging him but used too much force and ended up pushing him into the window. “Do you...” Hiccup . “Do you think… do you think she’s cold? Like, colder than me?”

Nanami sipped his Flamingo Fizz—the same drink he’d mocked Gojo for years ago, now guzzled from a bottle he’d bullied the flight attendant into making. His face was a strange mix of tipsy philosopher and bread-obsessed gremlin. “You’re not cold,” he muttered, voice rasping like a tired kazoo. “You’re… a heat urchin.” Yes, that was definitely the word.

Gojo squinted at him, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

Gojo’s fork clattered to the floor. He leaned down to grab it, only to lose his balance and end up sprawled across the carpet. “HELP. MAN DOWN.”

Nanami continued sipping. “No.”

“Some husband you are,” Gojo grumbled, hauling himself back into his seat. “Do you think she’s laughing at us right now? Like, somewhere out there, she’s probably sitting by a fire, drinking tea, and laughing because we’re a mess.”

Nanami took a contemplative bite of sourdough. “We are a mess,” he said finally. “But we’re her mess.”

Gojo nodded sagely, his head bobbing as his eyes started to droop. “Yeah… her mess…” His voice trailed off as he slumped forward, face landing squarely in a half-eaten pie.

Nanami stared at him, unimpressed, before his own head began to droop. “We’ll… we’ll find her…” he mumbled, falling asleep mid-sentence with a Vienna bread still clutched in his hand.

A flight attendant sighed from the galley, his arms crossed. “Do they ever act normal?”

His coworker, balancing a tray of more desserts, snorted. “Normal? These two? One’s eaten 75% of the dessert inventory, and the other’s chugging alcohol like it’s a juice box. I walked in earlier, and the white-haired one was trying to shotgun a whole party cake.”

“And the bread guy?”

“Won’t stop asking for ‘just one more roll.’ I swear he’s got a bread tower going over there.”

The first attendant peeked out from behind the curtain, eyebrows shooting up at the sight of Nanami’s precariously balanced bread pyramid. “Oh my god. Is he using butter and cheese as glue?”

The plane jolted again, and Gojo startled awake, lifting his head from the pie with frosting smeared across his face. “TURBULENCE. WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!”

Nanami jerked awake. “Where’s the fire?” he mumbled, blinking blearily.

The attendants sighed.

Gojo leaned over to Nanami, his voice conspiratorial. “Do you think they’re judging us?”

“They’re absolutely judging us,” Nanami replied, grabbing another slice of Pane di Altamura and slathering it with butter.

Gojo sighed, grabbing another pudding. “Whatever. At least we’re rich.”

The two clinked their glass and bottle—Nanami’s now filled with an experimental cocktail of pink flamingo and butter. The plane hit another patch of turbulence, and they both tipped sideways, slurring incoherent nonsense as they fell back asleep mid-toast.

When the plane hit another bump, it was a sight to behold: Gojo was snoring with his face buried in Nanami’s armpit above his hoodie while Nanami was sliding off the seat in his sleep.

Hour—Sometime Closer to Landing

"Do you think we should stop them?" one attendant asked, glancing out to see Nanami trying—and failing—to balance his entire drink tray on his head while simultaneously attempting to perform a kickflip in his seat. Gojo, in his infinite wisdom, had decided the best way to contribute to the moment was to start an impromptu squillo routine, swinging his hands around in wide arcs.

Hour—Sometime even more closer to landing

Gojo, now completely oblivious to the fact that he had frosting lodged in his hair and across his face, had his one leg draped over a dessert tray like a cat who had just been fed his weight in treats. He was stuffing his mouth with the same grace as a baby who needed to be fed by telling it, ‘ Here comes the chu-chu train .’

I still don’t get it,” Gojo muttered between bites. “She just... left. No fight. No warning. Just poof! Abracadabra! Bam! Disappeared like a fart in the wind. Not very demure.” Burp . “Is it because I’m too much? We were good , right? Like, we were normal before, I swear. I mean, I’m the best, right? You'd agree. She just... couldn’t handle the heat, Nanami. It was too hot for her.”

The smell of butter and booze mingled in the air around Nanami like some cursed scent. He squinted at Gojo like he was analyzing the deep mysteries of the universe. "She didn’t leave because we were bad... She left because... because she had to escape the heat . You’re like a…” He paused, trying to understand the magnitude of his own wisdom. “You know... one of those little things that explode if you get too close.”

Gojo blinked, his head tilting back as if he was hearing the meaning of life. “Yeah. I’m explosive and damn hot.”

Nanami sighed. "I'm cold." He tore another chunk of bread. "And. Calculated. I don't break."

Gojo waved his dessert-sticky hands around like a windmill. "Calculated, my ass! You can't even calculate the right amount of butter on your bread! It’s obscene!"

An attendant peeked through the crack in the curtain. “I swear to God, five minutes ago one of them was chugging straight from the chocolate fountain.”

Nanami suddenly snapped to attention from his dozing off. “You think you’re better than me, huh?”

Gojo paused. “Better than you?” He was so full of smugness it could rival his domain. "Please. Wanna fight?”

At that precise moment, Gojo’s fingers twitched—almost involuntarily—as if something had triggered an electric shock in his brain. “Too late!” He snapped his fingers, and a flurry of tiramisu and macarons levitated into the air. He started to fall back asleep mid-fight.

“Don’t do it, Gojo," Nanami grumbled, his cursed energy shifting as his technique began to hum to life. The very air around him seemed to shimmer.

Gojo suddenly woke up with a snort. “Wait! Nanami, don’t—DON’T use that technique!”

But it was too late. Nanami, with the precision of a drunk surgeon, unleashed his Domain Expansion. The golden grid of perfect symmetry expanded around them, snapping with the weight of its own force. Gojo’s whiskey glass rattled against the table, the precise balance of the universe shifting under Nanami’s power.

Gojo’s eyes sparkled in drunken delight. “Nice try, buddy,” he slurred, twisting his fingers. “But I’m Infinity-ing your fractured space.”

Reality itself seemed to bend as Gojo’s domain erupted. Nanami’s grid of perfect balance twisted like a rubber band as the two domains collided—whiskey, pastries, and bread flying through the entire cabin.

The flight attendants sighed, having worked for the Gojo clan; they were used to it.

It was a miracle the two men were only unleashing their domains in low volume because one had decided it would ‘ scorch the bread.’

The jet hit another bump, sending the two sorcerers toppling sideways. Nanami slid off his seat, clutching his bottle of Flamingo Fizz, his last connection to sanity.

Gojo, however, had less dignity—he landed face-first in Nanami’s ass. That was the moment Gojo decided to blow raspberries in the curve.

Nanami crawled away in disgust, scowling.

Hidden behind the curtain, one flight attendant whispered, “This is why I drink.”

“I’m switching careers,” the other deadpanned, ducking as a baguette flew past.

“Take me with you,” the other replied, watching Gojo snore, holding Nanami’s leg like a dog that won’t leave you alone.

The other rolled her eyes. “I don’t even care anymore. Let them wreck the plane. It’s probably still safer than their relationship.”

Hour—God knows when, time had lost all meaning.

The plane jolted, sending a plate of half-eaten sweet bread skittering across the tray table. Gojo snatched it mid-slide with the reflexes of a man who valued carbs more than common sense.

“She used to help us get along nicely. You know,” he said, “now I think food is the only thing holding our marriage together.”

Nanami didn’t even look up. “Yes, you are insufferable.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his hoodie. “How dare you? I’m the heart of this marriage!” He stood. “Without me, it’s just... silence.”

“Which is exactly what I want,” Nanami muttered, tearing into a Bâtard.

The plane jolted, sending Gojo sprawling onto Nanami’s bread tower. “Help me, Husbando!” Gojo yelled, his face buried in baguettes.

Nanami stared at him, unimpressed. “Get off my bread.”

“Never,” Gojo mumbled, making himself comfortable.

Nanami grabbed a croissant and lobbed it at Gojo’s head. Gojo’s Infinity shimmered faintly, stopping the pastry midair. He plucked it out of the air, looking scandalized. “Did you just throw bread at me?”

“You deserved it,” Nanami took a slow sip.

Gojo looked genuinely offended. “This is assault. I’m calling an adult.”

“You are an adult,” Nanami deadpanned.

“Exactly!” Gojo threw the croissant back, but it was cut down by Nanami’s ratio blades without him even moving a finger.

Meanwhile, in the galley, the flight attendants huddled near the coffee machine, whispering.

“Fifty bucks says the blond one passes out first,” one said.

“No way. The white-haired one’s been on a sugar binge since he got on. He’s going down any minute,” another replied, scribbling names on a napkin.

“What if they both pass out at the same time?”

“Then we split the pot.”

Their quiet betting was interrupted by Gojo’s yelling from the cabin. “I’ve secured the snacks. Nanami, don’t touch them unless you want to face my void!”

“After I gave you my cinnamon roll?” Nanami looked heartbroken, making Gojo immediately hold him close.

The flight attendants stared, slack-jawed, as a tray of éclairs hovered ominously above the men’s heads.

“I quit,” one of them muttered, turning toward the coffee machine.

“Is it too late to call in sick?” one whispered, watching Gojo suddenly serenade Nanami.

The other shrugged. “After this flight, I’m switching to cargo planes. No snacks, no drama.”

Soon both men were passed out—Gojo with his face sideways in another bowl of mochi ice cream, Nanami clutching a half-eaten yakisoba pan like a teddy bear, half his face covered with his hoodie—two special-grade sorcerers, completely obliterated by their own no-thoughts-smooth-brain-moment , battling the forces of reality itself over petty arguments and a missing wife.

Hour—Landing

The private jet rolled to a smooth stop on the Oslo runway. Both men were in deep sleep, but their cursed techniques were very much awake—and making life difficult for everyone else.

“Why are we even trying?” one of the male flight attendants muttered, eyeing the flickering crackle of Gojo’s Infinity with trepidation. The other gestured at Nanami, whose Ratio Blades hovered ominously near his hands, ready to slice anything that got too close.

The pilot shook his head. “I’m not touching that. Send the women.”

“What?!” the female flight attendants chorused, glaring at their male colleagues, who were now firmly rooted behind the safety of the galley door.

“Just... poke them gently,” one of the men offered.

“Poke them? With what? A ten-foot pole?”

Eventually, after a heated debate, one brave flight attendant inched toward the slumbering sorcerers with a dessert fork in hand. She extended it toward Gojo like a knight wielding a sword. “Sir?” she ventured cautiously, tapping his shoulder.

Gojo’s Infinity flared, sending a startling ripple of energy through the air. “Not the desserts!” he stirred, still asleep, drooling over Nanami’s stomach.

The attendant stumbled back, glancing desperately at her colleagues. He was plain untouchable—so unwakeable by default.

Nanami's hand clutched Gojo’s head closer like it was his phantom pregnant belly. “Ahh, bread,” he muttered with a sleepy smile.

The attendant then aimed her fork towards him with misplaced courage and dared to tap his arm.

The fork never made it.

Ten centimeters from his skin, it disintegrated into metallic confetti as Ratio Blades snapped into existence, their glowing edges then stretched further, humming ominously like murder was their sole purpose in life. The attendant squeaked, leaping back as if she’d narrowly escaped being diced into human sashimi.

“Forget it,” she hissed. “We’re calling ground security.”

Before anyone could escalate, one attendant clapped her hands loudly. “Gentlemen, we’ve landed, and there’s fresh bread waiting outside!”

Nanami’s eyes snapped open immediately. “Bread?”

Gojo stirred, wiping drool from his mouth. “Is it sweet bread?”

The attendants exchanged relieved looks as the men groaned, stretched, and finally shuffled off the plane.

The drive to Nanami’s grandmother’s house was quiet, save for Gojo humming and fiddling with the car’s radio. Nanami stared out the window, mentally bracing himself.

Nanami didn’t want to do this. Not because he was afraid of his grandmother’s cousin—a retired army woman with an intimidating poker face and a propensity for offering unsolicited life advice—but because he knew bringing Gojo anywhere was like handing a toddler a live grenade.

They arrived at a modest but sturdy home surrounded by a well-kept garden. Before Nanami could knock, the door swung open.

“Kento?” The woman standing in the doorway was tall and broad-shouldered, her silver hair tied back into a no-nonsense bun. She looked them over, her sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly. “And who is this... tall man?”

Gojo offered a hand, leaning into her personal space like a golden retriever. “I’m Gojo Satoru! The better-looking husband.”

She ignored the hand, crossing her arms. “Husband?” Her gaze shifted to Nanami. “And you didn’t think to warn me about this?”

Gojo grinned wider. “Oh, didn’t Kento tell you? He’s married to me and someone else. Polyamory is very in right now.”

The woman stared at Nanami like he’d just announced he was defecting to Mars. “I didn’t even know you were married, let alone to two people.”

Nanami sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m sure it is,” she said, stepping aside to let them in.

The interior of the house was as orderly as the woman herself. Gojo immediately flopped onto the couch, his long legs sprawled out.

“Shoes off,” she barked.

Gojo froze, then scrambled to comply, grinning sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am.”

Nanami stood stiffly by the door, unsure where to begin. “We’re here to look for our wife.”

“Your wife?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nanami nodded, ignoring Gojo’s delighted “Yes.”

The older woman’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something—amusement? Annoyance? “You can stay here.”

Gojo’s grin widened. “Thanks, Grandma! You’re the best.”

“I’m not your grandmother,” she replied curtly, already walking toward the kitchen.

Gojo leaned toward Nanami, whispering loudly, “She likes me. I can tell.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please behave.”

“Define ‘behave,’” Gojo said, kicking off his socks and reclining on the couch.

From the kitchen, her voice rang out. “If he puts his feet on my furniture, I’ll break them.”

Gojo immediately sat up. “Point taken.”

Once she was pouring tea for them, Gojo asked. “So, when Kento was little, did he always have that stick-up-his-butt attitude, or was it a recent development?”

Nanami’s grip on his teacup tightened dangerously. “Satoru!” For the first time he was less worried about Gojo and more worried about what his grandmother would say.

“Oh, he used to be sunshine,” the woman said, her voice dry. “Good in studies and arts. Not many friends, but was still cheerful. Developed discipline when he became a teenager.” She said the last part eyeing Gojo.

“Called it,” Gojo said smugly.

“Though I didn’t expect him to marry someone so… loud.”

Nanami sighed heavily. “We’re not here for this. We’re here to look for our wife.”

“You’ve mentioned misplacing your other spouse,” the woman said, her tone sharp.

Nanami sighed. “She’s not misplaced. We’re searching for her.”

Gojo perked up, leaning forward. “She’s smart, kind, gorgeous—like me.”

The woman looked at Gojo, her expression unreadable. “Good for her, but if she’s avoiding you, I can’t say I blame her.”

Later that night, Nanami stood outside, the cold Norwegian air biting at his skin. He stared out at the dark forest beyond the house, his jaw tight.

Gojo had followed Nanami, hands stuffed in his pockets. “You think she’s okay?”

Nanami’s chest ached with guilt and heavy regret. “I don’t know. But we’ll find her.”

Gojo’s voice was bittersweet. “Yeah. We will.”

Then, because Gojo couldn’t leave a moment untouched, he added, “And when we do, she’s going to yell at you first. You know that, right?”

Nanami sighed, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll take it.”

You had thanked Higuruma for showing up when he did; he had always been a great mentor to you during your time at university. You lost contact with him after he completed his master's and left to go back to Japan while you were just starting your second year. It wasn’t until you moved to Japan and added him to your company’s retainer that you reconnected. It was an added bonus that he was now a jujutsu sorcerer, which had come in handy for you at the perfect moment. Haibara had held them off nicely. He was ex-MI6 and had been introduced to you by Megumi’s father a long time ago.

But the second time, it was worse.

You spotted him first—Nanami, tall, composed, his eyes scanning the crowd like he was searching for something he knew he had lost. Your heart stopped; a cold shiver ran down your spine.

You ducked into an alley, clutching your coat tightly around your stomach. The pain was an immediate, sharp throb that made your breath hitch. The twins were active now. The feeling of their movements inside you, sharp, like claws raking at your insides, as if they were fighting to escape.

You pressed your hand into the wall of the alley, trying to steady your breath. Your other fingers dug into your coat, but it didn’t help. The air felt suffocating. You couldn’t stop shaking. You couldn’t stop thinking about them, about him.

You slipped past the alley into side streets, desperately trying to lose him. The pain inside you was unbearable—each movement, each step, felt like it might tear you apart. But you couldn’t stop. You had to get away.

You could feel him getting closer. He was a shadow that clung to your every move, like he was always just a breath away from finding you. And the worst part was, you knew he would. Eventually, they would find you.

Too bad you couldn’t get the same security team you had hired for your company because they did not specialize in the world's literal strongest sorcerers, or so you had always thought. You had only been able to dominate that fight because they were not using their cursed techniques; if they had, no one would have stood a chance against the both of them.

Besides, the security detail would draw too much attention in this country, and you were living without any form of bare minimum luxury just to keep your head low.

Then the third time, you weren’t so lucky.

It was an evening when the sense of unease crept up on you. You were walking to the pharmacy because your pregnancy pain made you run out of medicines fast. You were trying to blend into the crowd of Tromsø, Norway, hoping that today would be different. Maybe you could make it through without feeling like you were being hunted.

But the air shifted, like a subtle warning. Your hand instinctively went to your stomach, feeling the familiar pressure of the twins inside you, their presence both comforting and terrifying.

You looked around. Nothing. The street was crowded, the world moving too fast for anyone to notice you. Yet, something wasn’t right.

And then you saw him.

Gojo.

He was lounging at a café near the entrance of the store, looking completely at ease, as if he hadn’t been searching for you for months. His long legs stretched out under the table, his sunglasses glinting in the aurora borealis high in the sky. He wasn’t looking at anyone in particular—until his gaze locked onto you.

You froze.

It wasn’t a simple glance. He saw you even though you were covered in an absurdly oversized coat, beanie and mask. His eyes were trained on you. You could feel the weight of his gaze like a sniper locking in.

“Sweetheart,” he mouthed from the distance, his features smooth, taunting, and way too familiar.

His grin was there, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes, even behind the tinted lenses, felt like they were cutting through you, dissecting you. It was the same grin he used to give you when he thought he had you cornered, when he was in control. And now, he was. He knew it, and he wanted to enjoy it.

The cold, calculating way he said it—like he’d been waiting for this moment, like he had all the time in the world—it made your stomach turn. You could feel the weight of the moment, the slow burn of realization creeping over you. He had found you.

You had been momentarily frozen, but you didn’t wait. You didn’t hesitate. The second he stood up, you turned and ran.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as your feet pounded the pavement, but no matter how fast you moved, the fear gnawed at you, making your limbs feel like lead. The city blurred around you, a dizzying whirl of colors and sounds, but you could still feel his presence—close, like a shadow following you, getting nearer with every step.

“Sweetheart!” His voice rang out again, a command, not a plea.

You could hear the faintest trace of amusement in his tone, but underneath it, there was something darker. It was as if he was enjoying this chase, enjoying the fear he was instilling in you.

You ran faster, but the air around you felt suffocating. It was like the world was shrinking, like every step you took was pulling you closer to him, not further away. Your breath came in sharp gasps, and you could feel the twins inside you, their frantic movements mirroring your panic. It was almost like they could sense the danger too.

You pushed yourself harder, but it was no use. You knew it.

Gojo wasn’t just a man; he was a god, something you couldn’t outrun.

His laughter reached you, soft but dangerous, and you could almost hear the smugness in his voice. He wasn’t out of breath. He wasn’t struggling.

You were.

“I told you,” he yelled, his voice smooth like velvet but laced with something more sinister. “You can’t hide from me.”

And you realized then—he was toying with you. He knew you couldn’t escape. He knew that you were trapped in this game, and no matter how fast you ran, he would always be one step behind, waiting for you to make the wrong move.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. But deep down, you knew the truth.

He would catch you.

Just then, salvation appeared in the most unexpected form.

A group of loud, drunk college girls stumbled onto the road from a bar, their laughter echoing like a wall of sound. They moved in a chaotic huddle, arms slung around each other, bottles in hand, their energy radiating like static electricity.

You squeezed yourself between them, moving further into their huddle, trying to hide your face more so that no one would recognize you. Little did you know the girls had noticed you already and made a decision.

Gojo, in his desperation to catch up, didn’t notice them until it was too late.

“Move,” he snapped, his usual charm stripped away by the urgency in his voice. He sidestepped the first girl, but then another turned, and before he could react, the entire group swarmed him like a pack of wolves. A few of them, oddly enough, taller than Gojo.

“Hva gjør du?” One of them slurred, narrowing her eyes at him. (“What are you doing?”)

“Er han etter noen?” another asked, her tone suspicious. (“Is he after someone?”)

Gojo blinked, caught off guard by the unfamiliar language. “What?” he barked, his gaze darting over their heads, desperately trying to catch sight of you.

The tallest girl leaned closer, her face flushed from alcohol, and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Hvem jager du, hæ?” (“Who are you chasing, huh?”)

“I don’t know what you’re saying!” Gojo snapped, frustration lacing his tone. “I don’t speak—whatever that is!”

They giggled, but it wasn’t friendly. It was mocking, deliberately dragging out the moment, their chatter growing louder, each word a dagger aimed at his composure. They knew he wasn’t local when they had known English; they just wanted to piss him off.

“Han ser ut som en stalker!” (“He looks like a stalker!”)

Gojo’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. He knew what the word stalker meant, a bitter accusation that stung more than he cared to admit. He was not a stalker; he was a protector, and he would do whatever it took to find you.

He glanced over their heads again, scanning for you, but you were gone. His heart raced, a mixture of panic and anger bubbling under his skin. “Move,” he growled, his easygoing demeanor cracking under the weight of his mounting frustration.

“Hva om vi ikke vil?” One of them said, crossing her muscular arms defiantly. (“What if we don’t want to?”) The challenge in her voice only fueled his irritation.

“You think this is a game?” His voice low and dangerous. “I’m not here to play nice. I’m looking for someone, and you’re in my way.”

The girls exchanged glances, their laughter fading slightly, but the defiance remained. Gojo could feel the tension in the air, thick and charged, as he fought to keep his composure.

Meanwhile, you had ducked into an alley; you needed to catch your breath. The twins restless movements inside you a reminder of why you couldn’t afford to stop.

“Here,” a voice said, startling you.

You turned to see one of the girls from the group—her hair a mess of blonde waves, her cheeks rosy from the cold and alcohol. She held out a large overcoat and a knitted muffler, her expression soft and kind.

“You need to go,” she said, her English heavily accented but clear enough. “Take this.”

You hesitated, your lips parting to protest, but she shook her head firmly and draped the coat over your shoulders. The weight of it was grounding, the warmth immediate.

“Thank you,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes as you wrapped the muffler around your neck.

She smiled, her hand briefly brushing your arm. “Gå nå,” she urged, her voice gentle but insistent. (“Go now.”)

You nodded and slipped into the shadows, blending into the cityscape. You had never been more grateful for a stranger in your entire life.

“Let me go!” Gojo snapped, his voice cutting through the drunken laughter. His white hair messy, and his cool demeanor shattered. The girls only tightened their circle around him, their grins turning feral.

“Why are you chasing her?” One of them asked, her voice sharp and accusatory.

“I’m not—” Gojo started, surprised by their sudden English, but another cut him off, stepping forward. She was taller than him by at least a few inches even in her flip-flops, her gaze unflinching.

“She looked scared of you,” she spat, jabbing a finger in his face. “What kind of man chases a woman through the streets?”

“She’s my wife!” Gojo exclaimed, his hands raised in exasperation.

“Your wife?” another girl sneered, her eyebrows shooting up. “Sure, buddy. And I’m the queen of Norway.”

“Look, I’m serious!” He barked, trying to step around them, but one of the girls—easily as tall as him and broad-shouldered—blocked his path. “I need to find her.”

“Yeah, so you can terrify her more?” One of them yelled.

“She’s gravid, you creep!” another girl chimed in, her tone venomous. (“Pregnant”)

The tallest girl, clearly their ringleader, crossed her arms and smirked. “You know what? I think you’re a stalker. And I think someone needs to teach you a lesson.”

Before Gojo could register anything they were saying in their heavy accent, she lunged at him, throwing a sloppy but surprisingly powerful punch. He ducked, but another girl was already swinging a kick at him.

“What the hell?!” Gojo yelped, sidestepping her attack.

Nanami had been searching the area, his tie loose under his heavy overcoat and his patience wearing thin, when he heard the commotion. Turning a corner, he froze at the sight of Gojo fucking Satoru fending off a mob of angry, drunk women.

“I left him alone for five minutes.” He muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple. He moved closer, trying to make sense.

One of the girls, towering over even Nanami, had Gojo in a headlock while another was shouting, “Call the cops! He’s clearly unhinged!”

Gojo was really trying not to use his infinity and crush them, but that would draw too much attention, and they had already messed up big time with the fiasco at their wife’s company.

“Excuse me,” Nanami said, his voice calm but firm.

The ringleader turned to him, sizing him up with a skeptical look. “And who are you? Another stalker?”

“I’m his… umm… husband,” Nanami replied, adjusting his glasses. “We’re looking for someone important to us.”

“Oh, so it’s we now?” another girl sneered, stepping closer.

“She’s our wife,” Gojo groaned, his voice muffled as he struggled to free himself from the headlock.

The girls laughed, a mix of disbelief and derision.

“Both your wife?” One of them repeated, clutching her stomach. “What kind of messed-up polygamy cult is this?”

“She’s gravid!” another girl shouted, her face twisted with fury. “You’re chasing a gravid woman?” (“Pregnant”)

With Nanami’s Norwegian being rusty, neither of the men understood why you were being referred to by a man’s name.

“She ran away from us!” Gojo snapped, finally breaking free.

“Gee, I wonder why.” One of the taller girls quipped, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

From your house's window, a few blocks away, you watched the scene unfold. The muffler around your neck felt like a lifeline as you saw the two men you once loved now completely at the mercy of a group of MMA-trained sorority girls.

And for the first time in weeks, you smiled—a small, vindictive smile.

“Enough!” Gojo shouted. “She’s our wife. We’re not trying to hurt her; we’re trying to bring her back!”

The ringleader narrowed her eyes. “And you thought chasing her through the streets was the way to do it?”

“I wasn’t thinking, okay?” Gojo admitted, his voice breaking with frustration.

Nanami stepped forward, his expression weary but sincere. “She’s not safe on her own. We’re trying to protect her.”

“Yeah, sure,” One of the girls muttered, rolling her eyes.

“I’m calling the cops,” the tallest one announced, pulling out her phone.

“What? No, don’t—” Gojo started, but it was too late.

A few hours later, Gojo and Nanami sat in a cramped holding cell, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Gojo’s sunglasses were gone, his hair a mess, and his shirt torn at the collar. Nanami looked equally disheveled, his tie missing, his shirt wrinkled.

“This is your fault,” Nanami muttered, glaring at Gojo.

“My fault?” Gojo shot back. “You didn’t exactly help!”

Outside the cell, the girls were giving their statements to the police, their laughter echoing down the hallway.

“Polygamy,” one of them snorted. “Can you believe that? At least come up with a smarter lie.”

Gojo buried his face in his hands. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Nanami sighed, leaning back against the cold wall. “No, this is what we deserve.”

Around 45 mins later, the clanging of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Both men looked up as the officer unlocked the door, and in stepped Nanami’s grandmother, her sharp gaze cutting through.

She said nothing at first, her presence alone making both men sit up straighter.

“Out,” she ordered, her voice low and cold.

Gojo stood, his grin faltering under her glare. “Hi, Grandma. Long time no see—”

“Not. A. Word,” she snapped, and Gojo immediately closed his mouth, hands raised in surrender.

Nanami followed silently, the weight of impending doom heavier than any cursed spirit he’d ever faced.

The walk from the station to Nanami’s grandmother’s house was silent, save for the faint crunch of gravel beneath their feet. Gojo glanced sideways at Nanami, but his husband’s face was unreadable, a stoic mask that gave nothing away.

“Inside,” she said, opening the door. No pleasantries.

Gojo hesitated for half a second, then followed Nanami inside, his grin faltering under the weight of her gaze.

The house smelled of wood polish and faintly of coffee. The warmth of it didn’t extend to her tone as she turned sharply. “You,” she barked, pointing at Gojo. “Stay here.”

Gojo blinked, glancing at Nanami like a scolded puppy. “But—”

“Stay.” Her voice left no room for argument.

Nanami gave Gojo a small nod, his expression unreadable, before following her into the kitchen.

“Kento,” she started, her voice cutting through like a whip, “what were you thinking?”

Nanami stood straight. “Grandmother—”

“Marrying him?” She interrupted, her tone scathing. “You, used to say it yourself that man has no discipline. No restraint. He dragged you into jail, Kento. Jail. And that’s not even the worst of it.”

Nanami’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Her eyes narrowed, her voice lowering. “Do you know how humiliating this is? For you? For me? For your wife?”

Nanami stiffened, his gaze flickering.

“Yes,” she said, catching the subtle shift. “The one you abandoned for him.”

“That’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me,” she snapped, her voice harsh. “You ignored her for months, Kento. Both of you. And now she’s gone, and you’re chasing her like fools, destroying her reputation along the way. That mess in Tokyo? Her company? You think the internet hasn’t noticed?”

Nanami flinched as though her words had struck him physically.

“You didn’t tell me a thing,” she continued, her tone unrelenting. “About the chaos you and that man-child caused. Do you know what they’re calling her online? A failure. A joke. Because of you both.”

Nanami’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “That’s enough.”

She stepped closer, her eyes boring into his. “No, it’s not. That woman deserves better. Better than him. Better than this.”

Outside the kitchen, Gojo leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Her words filtered through the door, each one landing like a punch to the gut. His eyes hollow.

“I will not tolerate you defending him,” she continued, her voice sharp and unyielding. “He is reckless, selfish, and the reason you’re in this mess. Divorce him, Kento. Fix this. Settle with her. At least she might forgive you.”

Nanami’s voice was low, but firm. “You don’t know her. And you don’t know him.”

Her gaze hardened. “I know enough.”

Nanami stepped out of the kitchen, his movements stiff. He didn’t look at Gojo, didn’t say a word, just grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the door. He knew Gojo would have been hovering.

“Wait, Kento—” Gojo started, but Nanami’s grip tightened.

She followed them to the doorway, her expression a mask of cold disapproval. “You’ll regret this,” she said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of certainty.

Gojo looked at her, his usual bravado flickering back to life, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks for the pep talk, Grandma.”

Her glare was icy. “Don’t call me that.”

“Noted,” he replied, forcing a smirk as he leaned closer to Nanami.

Nanami’s hand tightened around Gojo’s wrist, his steps brisk as he led them out into the cold night.

Gojo finally broke the silence. “She hates me.”

Nanami didn’t stop walking. “She doesn’t know you.”

Gojo chuckled, but it was bitter, lacking his usual warmth. “Maybe she’s right.”

Nanami slowed, his grip loosening slightly. “About what?”

Gojo hesitated, then shrugged. “About me being the reason for... everything.”

Nanami stopped, turning to face him. “It’s not just you. I’m too.”

Gojo searched his face, but Nanami’s expression was unreadable.

“Both of us messed up,” Nanami repeated, his voice quieter this time.

Gojo walked in silence after that, the distance between them feeling heavier than ever.

You couldn’t stay here anymore; you had to leave Norway if your kids were ever going to have a chance at life. Which led you to where you were right now.

The outside airport entrance, a cacophony of announcements, rolling suitcases, and hurried footsteps. You moved through it like a ghost, your oversized coat and scarf hiding the strain on your body. Every step felt like wading through water, your legs trembling under the unfamiliar weight of your own frame.

The twins shifted inside you, their restless movements like something alive and alien, pushing against your ribs, twisting your insides. You could feel it in your bones, in the way your skin stretched too tightly, in the way your breath came shallow and ragged.

You pressed a hand to your belly, trying to steady yourself, but it only made the unease worse.

“Just a little further,” you whispered to yourself, the words barely audible over the din of the airport.

But then you saw him. One of the only few people who used to come to drop your husbands off after missions.

Ijichi stood near the security checkpoint, his nervous energy unmistakable even from a distance. He wasn’t alone. Men in crisp suits hovered around the airport, their sharp eyes scanning the crowd.

Your heart sank.

You turned sharply, pulling your hood tighter, ducked your head and walked faster, weaving through the crowd. The pressure in your abdomen tightened, the twins reacting to your rising panic.

By the time you reached the cab stop, you were gasping for air, your body rebelling against the strain. The cold Norwegian air hit your face like a slap, but it did nothing to cool the heat crawling up your spine.

They were everywhere. The Gojo Clan had blanketed the airports—and probably train stations and highways too—like a net, waiting to trap you the moment you made a wrong move.

You didn’t have a chance.

You sighed and got into a cab to head back to your apartment. You’d just stay inside and never go out, getting everything ordered.

Your legs ached, your swollen feet screaming. The twins kicked and twisted, their movements erratic and relentless, like they were fighting each other for space.

Your scarf slipped, and you tugged it back up, the fabric rough against your flushed skin. Every breath felt heavier, your chest tight, your throat dry.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were shaking. You fumbled with the keys, your fingers numb, and stumbled inside. The door closed behind you with a hollow thud.

You dropped your bag and leaned against the wall, sliding down with the support of the shoe rack, until you were sitting on the floor. Your hands pressed against your belly, trying to soothe the inside, but it was futile.

The twins kicked harder, the sharp jabs making you wince. Your stomach felt too full, too stretched, the weight of them pressing down on everything. You could barely breathe, barely think.

You tilted your head back against the wall, tears slipping down your cheeks as the hopelessness settled in. You couldn’t leave. You couldn’t stay. You were trapped, caught between them and the growing horror of your own body.

The scarf around your neck felt suffocating, and you yanked it off, tossing it aside. The cool air hit your damp skin, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped.

You closed your eyes, one hand gripping the edge of your coat, the other clutching your belly as if you could somehow hold yourself together.

But the weight of it all—the twins, the chase, the impossible love you’d tried to escape—was crushing.

And there was no way out.

You slept on the floor that night, surrounded by nothing but loneliness.

You thought you had outrun them, that you had hidden well enough. But as the days passed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were getting closer. Each moment, each shadow in the corner of your eye, sent a spike of panic through your chest. Every time you thought you were alone, you wondered if they had found you. You kept your head down, kept yourself locked inside, but there was no escaping them.

One afternoon, it started with the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside your apartment. Quick, sharp taps against the floor—too measured, too familiar. You froze, clutching the edge of the counter, trying to steady yourself. The babies shifted violently inside you, as if they could sense the danger. Your stomach tightened, and you gasped, forcing yourself to remain still as you clutched your belly beneath your nightgown, one of the few garments that still fit you these days. You held your breath, praying that they wouldn’t notice you.

The doorbell rang. Once. Twice.

You didn’t move. Not a muscle. You couldn’t.

“I know you’re in there,” came a voice, rough and low, almost like a growl. You felt your pulse quicken.

Nanami.

Your neighbor had changed the locks, you’d moved the furniture around, and kept yourself out of sight as much as possible. But there he was, on the other side of the door. You could hear the quiet crack of his knuckles, the tension in the air as he stood there, waiting. He was here.

“I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay,” he called out, the words heavy with guilt but laced with something darker. You could almost hear the frustration in his voice, the desperation. He wasn’t going to give up.

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the pain in your stomach flared. You squeezed your eyes shut, clutching your stomach as the babies twisted and churned, their movements becoming erratic, like they were responding to the stress, the pressure.

You had to leave. Now.

But before you could even think about making a move, you heard it—the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. The window.

Gojo.

You cursed under your breath. The bastard was here too.

A faint laugh echoed from outside the window—a sick, mocking sound that sent a chill racing down your spine. “You can’t hide forever, sweetheart.”

He laughed as if everything you had endured was nothing, as if you were merely pretending to fight with him and your act was over because he said so. It was as if your feelings and experiences were nothing more than a ploy for attention. The absurdity of it gave you whiplash, igniting a fury that boiled within you.

The window creaked as he slid it open. Your stomach lurched, and you felt the overwhelming urge to curl into yourself, to disappear. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Not again.

“Shh, they won’t hurt you,” you whispered to the babies, trying to soothe them, but your voice trembled with the fear you couldn’t contain. “Just stay calm. Mama will protect you.”

You gripped the edge of the open kitchen counter, the marble biting into your skin, as you forced yourself to breathe through the pain. The babies pushing at the walls of your body like they were trying to escape, trying to break free. The pressure was too much.

Gojo’s voice was too close now. He was inside the apartment. You could hear his footsteps, feel the air shift as he moved around the space, searching for you.

You scrambled back, desperately searching for a place to hide, but there was nowhere left. The apartment felt too small, too suffocating, as if the walls were closing in on you. You pressed yourself against the wall, trying to make yourself as small as possible, your heart hammering in your chest, each beat echoing the fear coursing through your veins.

With no other option, you forced yourself into the empty cabinet beneath the counter. Crouching down was a nightmare in your current state, your body heavy with the weight of the twins growing inside you. The pressure on your abdomen intensified, and you could feel the babies shifting restlessly; they sensed the danger surrounding you. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the rising panic, but it was difficult.

You shoved the scarf you were wearing into your mouth to muffle any sounds, knowing that you had to stay quiet. The fabric felt suffocating against your ragged breaths, but it was a small price to pay for their safety. You could feel the tightness in your stomach, a reminder of the distress both you and the babies were experiencing. Every movement sent a jolt of anxiety through you, and you fought to keep your breathing steady, focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest.

You whispered soft reassurances to the twins, hoping they could feel your determination. “I’m here, and I’m fighting for you,” you murmured, even as your heart raced with fear. You could feel their little bodies moving, responding to your voice, and it gave you a flicker of strength. You were scared, yes, but you were also their protector, and you would do everything in your power to keep them safe.

As you crouched in the cramped space and closed the door, the world outside felt distant. You were surrounded by sheer darkness now. The fear was suffocating, but so was the fierce love you felt for them. You would fight through this, no matter what it took.

The front door’s lock was crushed in someone’s hand, and then the door flung open.

You held your breath. They were in the apartment now. Both of them.

“We know you’re here,” Gojo’s voice echoed through your bedroom, the smugness thick in his tone. “You can’t keep running from us forever.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, praying for the strength to stay hidden, to stay quiet. The babies moved again, harder this time, a sharp pain lancing through your body as they kicked and squirmed. You could feel the weight of them inside you, their frantic movements making it impossible to ignore the danger that was closing in.

They were too close.

Your small cabinet’s door swung open, and a testing hand reached out from the darkness, brushing against your arm.

Nanami.

You gasped, muffled by the scarf in your mouth, jerking away, but his reflexes were faster. The instant your skin accidentally grazed his, his hand turned, gripping your arm with an impossible hold.

“Don’t run from me,” he said, his voice low, rough with something dark, something broken. The intensity in his words sent a shiver through you, his turmoil bleeding into the air between you.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, his voice deceptively soft. A promise.

To you, it was a threat.

Your chest tightened. You wanted to scream, to fight, but the weight inside you—of the babies, the fear, the exhaustion—pinned you in place. Your breaths came shallow, your limbs trembling as desperation took over.

Before you could process, Gojo’s voice chimed through the suffocating tension.

“Got you.”

You didn’t even have time to react before his hand snaked around your leg. The two of them dragged you out of your hiding spot, your thrashing limbs no match for their combined strength.

They had found you.

“Running away doesn’t suit you,” Gojo said, his tone quieter than usual, dangerous.

A/N: And there you have it. My beloved, you are cornered, carrying the literal weight of emotional trauma and the twins of a whole new level of special grade. I hope you enjoyed the small glimpses of humanity (and insanity) from the men chasing her. I have decided to do two endings for this fic—one will be what I had originally written, which will be dead dove, and the other will be not-dead dove (sorry, I don't wanna spoil it, but I promise you will be safe in both, well, mostly). ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ) Let me know your unfiltered thoughts. Bonus points if you can defend Gojo eating the entirety of the in-flight dessert inventory. 👀

Chapter 5 - Something Soft, Something Sharp (Tumblr/Ao3)

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

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edankest · 1 year ago

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oh hey i've been here and that shit was neat

MBS 220 2001 date

#south dakota #black hills #chapel #norwegian log cabin #chapel in the hills #rapid city #stavkirke #borgund church #stabbur #midwest #rural america #small town #small town america

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postcard-from-the-past · 5 months ago

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Wooden cabin in Frognerseteren, Norway

Norwegian vintage postcard

#ephemera #photography #vintage #norwegian #briefkaart #carte postale #postcard #photo #sepia #ansichtskarte #postkarte #wooden #postkaart #cabin #frognerseteren #postal #norway #tarjeta #historic

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vestaignis · 2 months ago

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PAN TREETOP CABINS - АРХИТЕКТУРА ДЛЯ СОЗЕРЦАНИЯ ПРИРОДЫ.

Отель PAN Treetop Cabins, созданный архитектором Эспеном Сурневиком, находится в норвежском лесу и идеально подходит для сказочного отдыха.

Дома-Шалаши, принадлежащие Кристиану Ростаду и Кристине Мовинкель, расположены на высоте 8 метров над землей на стальных опорах, погруженных на 6 метров в скальную породу, что обеспечивает устойчивость при сильном ветре. Сурневик, который также является профессором Школы архитектуры Осло, черпал вдохновение в этом регионе, в частности, в комиксе финской художницы Туве Янссон с изображением сказочных персонажей по имени Муми-тролли. «Для меня это подлинное ощущение того, как нордический человек относится к большим расстояниям между поселениями в сельской Скандинавии, одиночеству, темным зимам и холодному климату».

Второй источник его вдохновения, очевидный в дизайне винтовой лестницы, ведущей в хижину, - это пожарная смотровая башня, которая, по словам Сурневика, является частью ландшафта в лесной полосе, окружающей северное полушарие. «Эти пожарные вышки построены так, чтобы в засушливые сезоны смотреть на огромные леса в поисках дыма и огня», - говорит он.

Архитектор Эспен Сурневик выбрал американскую типологию лоджа с А-образной рамой, потому что он «одновременно интимный по ширине и монументальный по высоте, и представляет собой нечто базовое в своей треугольной форме».

Наружная облицовка зданий из черного оксидированного цинка и стали помогает им сливаться с окружающим лесом. Каждый дом шалаш имеет внутреннее пространство длиной 9,5 м, высотой 5,5 футов и шириной 3,6 и может с комфортом разместить до шести человек. Уютная гостиная, мягкое настенное освещение и светлый пол из твердых пород дерева Энергоэффективные А-образные дома-шалаши обращены к солнцу и имеют большие застекленные фасады, пропускающие свет и тепло.

Для отдыха в домике есть антресоль с двуспальной кроватью, дополнительные спальные зоны, скрытые во внутренних стенах, небольшую кухоньку и камин, а также ванную комнату с туалетом и душем.Интерьеры облицованы сосновой доской, а текстиль в домах сделан из 100% местной шерсти. В качестве отопления есть дровяной камин и деревянные полы со встроенным электрическим отоплением. Из окон спального лофта открывается вид на верхушки деревьев.

«Мое видение состояло в том, чтобы создать что-то, что легко вписалось бы в ландшафт, не внося больших изменений в окружающую природу...» - говорит Сурневик.

PAN TREETOP CABINS - ARCHITECTURE FOR CONTEMPLATION OF NATURE.

The PAN Treetop Cabins by architect Espen Surnevik are located in a Norwegian forest and are ideal for a fairytale getaway.

The Treetop Cabins by Christian Rostad and Christina Mowinckel are located 8 metres above the ground on steel supports sunk 6 metres into the rock, ensuring stability in strong winds. Surnevik, who is also a professor at the Oslo School of Architecture, drew inspiration from the region, in particular from Finnish artist Tove Jansson's comic strip featuring the Moomins. "For me, it's an authentic feeling of how Nordic people deal with the long distances between settlements in rural Scandinavia, the loneliness, the dark winters and the cold climate."

His second source of inspiration, evident in the design of the spiral staircase leading up to the cabin, is a fire lookout tower, which Surnevik says is part of the landscape in the forest belt that surrounds the northern hemisphere. “These fire lookout towers are built to look out over the vast forests in dry seasons for smoke and fire,” he says.

Architect Espen Surnevik chose the American A-frame lodge typology because it is “both intimate in width and monumental in height, and represents something basic in its triangular form.”

The buildings’ exterior cladding of black oxidized zinc and steel helps them blend into the surrounding forest. Each cabin has an interior space measuring 32 feet long, 18 feet high and 12 feet wide, and can comfortably accommodate up to six people. Cozy living room, soft wall lighting and light hardwood floors The energy-efficient A-frame houses face the sun and have large glazed facades that let in light and warmth.

For relaxation, the house has a loft with a double bed, additional sleeping areas hidden in the internal walls, a small kitchenette and a fireplace, as well as a bathroom with a toilet and shower. The interiors are lined with pine boards, and the textiles in the houses are made from 100% local wool. For heating, there is a wood-burning fireplace and wooden floors with built-in electric heating. The sleeping loft has a view of the treetops.

“My vision was to create something that would easily fit into the landscape without making big changes to the surrounding nature…” says Surnevik.

Источник://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Hotel_Review-g3592302-d15293006-Reviews-PAN_Treetop_Cabins-Flisa_Asnes_ Municipality_Hedmark_Eastern_Norway.html/truestory.no/norges-20-fineste-tretopphytter/, //www.architime.ru/news /espen_ surnevik / pan_treetop_cabins.htm#13.jpg, //udom-spb.ru/articles/treugolnyy-dom-shalash-a-frame-kupit.

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meekamaye · 1 year ago

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Taking that long trip down my childhood to Grandma's Home

Written on August 20, 2016 · I have been thinking a lot lately about my grandparents. Probably because their home near Outing MN has been left to fall into disrepair and the last people to own the two cabins let them go into bankruptcy. The description of the second cabin does make me laugh because it is no more a rambler than my two story 1916 hip style Arts & Crafts is. It is basically a…

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#cabins #Cass County #custom windows #gossip #Grandma&039;s home #Knute #Lakeview Grocery #Minnesota memories #northern mn #Norwegian accent #old names #Outing MN

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theseptembersim · 17 days ago

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Fjord Hjem | Winter Wonderland Collab 2

MOO and debug used

Very excited to share my build for the #winterwonderlandcollab2 - A Norwegian cabin home with boat house thats all about hygge. Cosy up by the fire with a hot chocolate or gluwein and enjoy the tranquil snow atmosphere

World: Brindleton Bay Type: Residential Origin ID is TheSeptemberSim

If you would like to download this build please use the links below, or via my origin ID above. Although all my builds are no CC, I use a custom thumbnail so make sure 'modded' is checked to see this in your game.

Download (sfs)

If you would like to support me, use creator code:

THESEPTEMBERSIM

when purchasing on the EA app or thesims.com. Please note, this is not a discount code

youtube

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #ts4 nocc #sims 4 no cc #sims 4 buy mode #the sims community #sims 4 build #ts4 build #ts4 edit #residential #winterwonderlandcollab2 #Youtube

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societyfolklore · 28 days ago

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Quite Escape

December Daze Writing Challenge - Cabin-core!

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Summary: Tired of the constant noise, drama, and surveillance at the Avengers Compound, Loki and you decide to sneak away for a much-needed holiday retreat. Their destination? A hidden cabin.

Word Count: 2k (ish)

Warnings: / Warnings // Explicit Content // 18+, Minors DNI, smut, Fluff , fingering, Unprotected sex, praises kink. Not Beta read.

A/N: First fic! Woo! (my first entry for @the-slumberparty december daze challenge too)

The compound was never quiet. Even on the rare occasion when the team wasn’t actively fighting off a galactic threat or managing interdimensional chaos, the constant buzz of voices, clattering of tools, and Tony’s penchant for blasting Christmas carols at full volume filled every corner. It was starting to get the best of you.

As you leant against the kitchen counter, watching the snow drift lazily outside the window. It was beautiful, serene—a stark contrast to the chaos behind you. Thor’s laughter boomed from the living room as he and Clint argued over some game, while Tony’s voice carried through the halls, complaining about his latest invention malfunctioning. No matter how hard you tried to enjoy your cup of warm coffee nothing seemed to work.

“Do they ever stop?” you muttered under your breath pinching the bridge of your nose. You just wanted to enjoy the moment.

“Unlikely,” a smooth voice purred from behind you, arms coming around to wrap around your waist, his mouth planting soft kiss into your neck.

“When did you get back?” Turning in his arms. He looked like he belonged in a painting, with his raven hair framing his sharp features and his green eyes glittering like the northern lights. A warm smile spreading onto your face.

“Mear moments, think I’d do anything before coming to see you. Think I prefer you insufferable colleagues?” he replied with a faint smirk. “Though it seems I’ve chosen my moment poorly. Even this sanctuary isn’t immune to their noise.”

“No kidding,” you muttered, gesturing toward the living room. “I just wanted one quiet holiday. Is that too much to ask?”

Loki tilted his head, his gaze narrowing thoughtfully. “Perhaps not.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

A mischievous grin spread across his face. “Pack a bag, darling. We’re leaving.”

“What?” you asked, startled. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere… quieter,” he said cryptically. “Unless, of course, you prefer staying here with the Asgardian jester I have for a brother and his band of merry fools?”

“When you put it that way,” you said putting down your mug on the counter “how could I refuse?”

*~*~*~*~*

Loki’s ‘somewhere quieter’ turned out to be a snow-covered cabin nestled deep in a Norwegian forest. The journey had been seamless, thanks to his magic. One moment, you were standing outside the compound; the next, you were surrounded by towering pine trees, their branches heavy with snow.

“You conjured this?” you asked, marvelling at the cozy cabin. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and warm golden light spilled from the windows, illuminating the pristine snow.

“Actually, no. Surprisingly didn’t have to do any magic for this one, just stole one of Stark money cards.” Loki sly smile spread across his face.

Inside, the cabin was even more enchanting. A roaring fire crackled in the stone hearth, and the scent of cedar and cinnamon filled the air. Thick rugs covered the wooden floors, and a plush sofa sat invitingly near the fireplace. Loki had actually out done himself, the fact this had all been done with out magic by ‘mortal means’ made it all seem that little nicer.

“This is amazing,” you breathed, shedding your coat and taking it all in.

Loki shrugged as though it were nothing. “I’m glad you approve.”

Excited hands squeezed his arms, the decorations, the fire, even the smell of the place at a feel swelling in your chest that made your feel like you were living out some for of dream. Like stepping into a holiday movie and very soon your arms were wrapped around his waist.

“Oh, I definitely approve.”

“I aim to impress, darling,” he said, smirking running a hand across your cheek, his blue eyes staring down into your with that same intensity that made heat floor your cheeks no matter the situation. No one looked at you like that. “Now, you sit in front of the fire. I’ll get us something to drink, alright?” His thumb running over your bottom lip before pulling away leaving you a little breathless and only able to nod, picking up your bag and heading to the bedroom.

Sitting down on the couch you started to relax when Loki returned with two glasses of wine handing you a glass and putting his own down going to put your bag away, letting your relax and take in the cabins Christmas décor, the green garlands, the tree by the large windows, the lights twinkling, but mostly the enjoyable silence that only the crackle of the fire that filled up the place, When Loki came and sat back next to you it was almost a startle shock.

“Loki…”

“Gave you a scare there?” his hand taking the wine glass from you putting it on the coffee table, pulling you closer on the couch. “Too use to all that noise back at that ‘madhouse’..”

“Something like that..” You let out a long sigh looking over at him before you found Loki’s lip crashing into you with a hunger he’d been keeping at bay until now his hand went back to cup the side of your face his tongue sliding against yours as you allowed it entry as the kiss deepened as growl coming up from his chest as he pulled you into his lap, hand going under the soft sweater you wore. “Gods I missed you..”

“Missed you too.”

He was kissing her again quickly pulling your sweater from you so he you get hands onto your skin the fire casting a lovely glow across pale skin as Loki mouth moved to your neck making her squirm on his lap her skirt riding up as his hand went to her thigh sliding up smooth skin, before his warms wrapped around you dragging you down to the rug in front of the fire, his hand making short work of the rest of your clothes as he ground himself up against her.

“Been too long love..”

His mouth tasting along collarbone like he couldn’t get enough of the way your skin tasted on his tongue.

“Loki.”

The needy whine in your voice would of made you embarrassed if it have happened around anyone else, not Loki though, it only made him smirk against your skin as he kept kissing. Your hands started pulling at his shirt, the tremble in your hands as heat pooled in your stomach as you undid buttons the raven hair god pulling away sitting up to pull his shirt off his shoulders looking down you.

“So beautiful..”

His hand pushed your legs apart kneeling between them his hand running down your body stopong briefly to cup and squeeze at your breast before drawing lazy figners down your stomach. Your breathing getting tighter in your chest as need built. “So needy..”

Loki drew his hands down his loves figure, you breath grew increasingly filled with want. With each small touch creating small explosions on your delicate skin. The once cool undertone of your was now more reddish, heat building in your blood. He watch as your eyes gazed up at him with desire. His eyes only seemed to shift as he watched the beautiful girl squirm with his firm touch between her legs.

"Such a good girl, responding so well to my touch" He drew fingers along the wetness that had gathered along your folds. “Already so eager.”

“Loki I-“ you were cut off as he pushed two long fingers up inside into you “Auh!” Slick walls closing down tight at the invasions. The world stopped.

“So tight..” He curved his fingers.

“nghm” you whimpered before moaning as his thumb started moving in slow circles on your clit.

“That’s it darling, those are the noises we like isn’t it?” His voice purred triumphant.

“Oh god..” the sensation of his fingers pressing up against the spot along your front wall has you bending upward on the rug pushing slightly into his hand.

“That’s in darling, been a while.” Loki started to scissor his fingers pushing your wet wall open for him. “Mmm? Make sure you’re all nice a ready do we?” the sensation made you ache grabbing at the rug as your hips rolled into him hand, breathing hard as he watched your come part on the floor, that same hungry look on his face.

“Breathe darling.” He leant forwards pressing kisses into your throat, his teeth grazing over your exposed throat as his fingers pulled in and out of you at the steady maddening pace. It took everything in you to remember to breath as the sensation built the knot in your centre. Your walls fluttering and closing down on his fingers sending pleasure into your blood each time. “That’s it, let it happen..let me see you cum.”

The knot snapped and like a wave of heat spilt out over your skin as you panted through the bliss bought on from his figner Loki still moving them drawing out the sensation until your back settled back on the rug and he pulled them from you, his hands going to his own pants pulling them down freeing himself.

“Such a good girl, always giving me every perfect little noise from that pretty mouth of yours..” He crawled up over you his body pressing down as his hands hooked around your thighs, while you pushed hiair away from your face.

“I.. Loki, I need.”

“Oh we’re not done yet Presious.” He didn’t give you time to recover before you felt him pressing against your entrance, “Not when I’ve waited so long, and she needs her King..” He pressed in, the stretch of him causing a slight sting as he pushed you back open again, a long moan coming up from your throat.

“Loki..”

“I know what you need.” More of him pushing deeper, his hands pushing your thigh up giving him a better angle, you were helpless against him on able to let him take what he wanted from you. The feel of him filling your overwhelming. “You were made for this, made for me were you Darling.” He moaned into your ear, “say it darling..”

“I- made for you.” You got out as he finally fully sheathed himself in your wet heath, the act drawing deep moans from both of her, Loki’s hand running through your hair as your went down his back and arms. “God, I missed this..”

“So have I.” He slowly started to move, taking his time. Drawing his hips back in long fluid motions ensure you felt each inch, keeping himself pressed up into places that made you cry out his name. He pulled back to watch you arch and moan under him on the floor the glow of the fire making this all the more perfect for him. “Yes, darling. Just like that. Moan for me, let me hear you.” Your hopes rolling into him as his met yours.

“Made for me, such a perfect girl for her King.” He ground his own eyes shutting for a moment to control his own desire building as he felt your walls tighten and squeeze him. “So warm, so tight.”

“Loki please.” You whimpered again hardly able to breath let alone think enough to form a real sentence.

“Close already darling? Miss me that much?” He picked up the pace moving harder above you grunting as he pushed himself deeper, thrusting with the same need you had for him. “Oh pet, Norms yes, like that. Oh yes darling.”

“Loki,I mmmgh.” You got louder he moved harder, fingers sinking into his back as the knot formed larger and tighter and he moved inside you. “Loki, I god Fuck… FUCK!” the sensation of being filled by him ached and made it hard to breath and before the world shattered under you. Your legs shaking as your climax pulled you apart. Your core clamping down on him like a vice in hot sharp spasms making your pant and moan. “Erugh!”

“GODS!”

The sensation of you closing around him like you did had Loki coming apart, grunting and moaning into your ear as he thrusted sloppy ruts through his own climax as he spilt into you groaning. “Gods, darling..” He panted resting on his elbows his forehead pressed into your shoulder while you tried to catch your own breath “you’ll kill a man doing that..”

“mgnh..” Your whined not quiet able to speak yet. “I’ll try” It was still hard to breath “to be more mindful.” You got out as Loki groaned into your shoulder the fire cracking.

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