#this took me FOREVER but it was worth it!!

[liseytopia]

NEXT TO YOU ⋆⭒˚.⋆

SYNOPSIS — with billie finally back from tour, you find yourself not wanting to leave her side ever again.

PAIRING — billie eilish x fem!reader

CONTAINS — mostly fluff. homesick billie n lovesick reader <3

WARNINGS — none wow this is maturity

DEAR READER — merry christmas @r7leee :3 this one is for u babe!! keep the fic exchanges going this is sm fun

WORD COUNT — 0.7k, short and sweet :3

the first few weeks with billie gone were tolerable. before she went on tour for her chart-topping album 'hit me hard and soft', she mentioned to you that it would be a long time. begrudgingly, you replied that you could survive without her.

but on the last week she'd been gone, you were starting to second guess yourself.

it was the day she was flying back into los angeles and you swore you were pacing the rooms of your apartment, checking your phone at least every two minutes, waiting presumably for hours for a text from your girlfriend to say that her flight landed.

you tried everything to pass time—watched your favorite movies, did some baking, deep cleaned the entire apartment and even made a few new playlists, but nothing was taking your mind off of her and it seemed like no matter what you did, time was only extending.

while you were on your phone, scrolling away on the couch, you saw a notification pop down from the top of your screen. it was a text from billie. you clicked on it immediately, surprising even yourself with your quick reaction timing.

plane just landed :) can't wait to see you, darling

you replied back, omw right now, i miss you

you shot up instantly from the couch and ran to your front door, sliding on your shoes in a perfunctory manner and making a beeline to your car. the drive to the airport was around half an hour but you were anxious the entire time, not to mention excited. you hadn't seen billie in what felt like forever, and you couldn't wait to be in her arms again.

you messaged again when you parked the car, and she told you what section was in. you waited impatiently for her to come down the walkway and meet you. your leg was bouncing uncontrollably as you gazed down that hallway. she would be walk down there any minute.

after what seemed like lightyears worth of time, you glanced up from your phone that you became once again preoccupied with, and saw billie's figure walking your way in the distance.

your phone was long forgotten, along with your earbuds and whatever other belongings you brought with you, because you were up instantly and running down the building to billie. your legs sprinted her way, and billie's suitcases and bags were additionally left behind as she ran straight to you.

your bodies collided in a tight hug, your arms up around her neck and hers around your abdomen. you couldn't help but tear up into her shoulder as you held each other.

"billie, it's been so long.." you whisper-sobbed against her hoodie fabric. the scent embedded into it was what you longed for and missed all this time, it felt so surreal to have it again.

she giggled against you, though it still sounded like she was going to break into tears. "i told you it would be, babe," she teased.

"oh, shut up.."

billie's grip on you only tightened. she never admitted it, but she missed you just as much as you missed her, if not more.

she suddenly pulled away from you and when you lifted your head from her shoulder—your face coated in tears—she pressed a long, deep kiss into your lips. that action alone was enough to convey all her longing and love for you, even just as a reminder.

once billie decided she was done, she cupped both of your cheeks with her hands and rubbed some of the tears away from your eyes with her thumbs. "aww, my love.." she mumbled as her own eyes teared up more. she began to pepper small kisses all over your face, not even caring if anyone was watching the show of pda. she kissed your tears away gently, as if dedicating her love to each kiss.

your hands took her own face and brought her lips back to yours. the kiss was short but deep, filled with all your passion for her.

"wanna be next to you forever, baby," you mumbled against her lips, your thumbs subconsciously rubbing her face.

"i guess i could do with that," she replied, teasingly acting like she didn't want to.

you giggled and kissed her one last time for the time being. "you're such an idiot."

if u enjoyed, please feel free to like, reblog, or leave a comment! only kind comments and actual constructive criticism will be tolerated <3

check out my masterlist for more!

© liseytopia 2024: do not copy, translate, or steal my work.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceres Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

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

Tags: Angst, 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). So the next three chapters will be the first endings. 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)

All Works Masterlist

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[frostara]

Challenges

Cregan Stark x Karstark!Female

Synopsis: It takes some time to get to know each other, and lots of words to understand.

Wordcount: 2k

Tags: characters miscommunicate at first, but overall fluff, Cregan is 17, Astrid is 15

Notes: Hi! This could be read as chapter 2 for this work, but does pretty well on its own. All thanks to one person who asked for a second part - I hope you'll like it </3 I wanted to describe Cregan and Astrid the way they are - youthful people, with their own beliefs that are sometimes wrong (Astrid is so silly I love her) and quick to change temper. I worked on this drabble a little harder and hopefully, it was worth it!

Winterfell was like a living being—always alert and ready, yet calm and composed. It thrived with the quiet bustle of its people, the rustle of dry bushes, and cold of its stone walls. A guarded place, where the only thing Astrid had to worry about was herself. At least for now.

One moon have passed since she was wed to the Lord of the Winterfell, and yet, she felt rather wary of him. Cregan, whom she called so yet in her mind, was always surrounded by either maister-at-arms or castellan, which left her seeking his attention that he could not give.

Though, Astrid would be forever ungrateful if said that she was entirely alone. She had grown quite fond of maester Alvin, an old grey-haired man, but skilled and cunning like no one. He often inquired after her well-being with genuine courtesy and shared his wise thoughts, for which she was forever grateful.

Yet the companionship of one old master could not fill the void of loneliness. Her handmaidens, taught to serve their lady quietly, rarely spoke unless adressed directly. To make them speak freely was a challenge, but one she welcomed.

"My Lady, Lord Cregan sent me to let it be known that he awaits you in Godswood, and I am to accompany You on Your way," said Ethel as she entered chambers after a gentle knock. She was a pretty girl, not much older than Astrid, and probably the one she was fond of.

"Right. Well then, let us not keep the Lord waiting," - Astrid replied, standing perhaps more quickly than intended, letting Ethel drape a warm cloak over her frame to shield her from wind in this chilly weather.

As they made their way, her nervousness spilled in questions she bothered Ethel with: "Was Lord in a good mood? Did he seem upset with anything? Was he alone?" She could swear on all Old Gods that Ethel was laughing at her, but skillfully maintained her composure. Though, Astrid was too nervous to pay attention to that, pressing on. Luckily, the walk was short, and soon they were able to see the red leaves that framed the massive tree. Ethel bowed and turned her back, leaving Astrid to herself.

She took a moment to steady herself before stepping closer to where Cregan stood. She felt cold seep through her body, making her shiver. Heart tree was there, proudly emracing everything with its branches as if hiding from the sky. He looked like a real Stark, in a place he was always supposed to be. And Astrid was just a huble guest, even if being his wife. Light wind was playing with his dark hair, moving leaves casting shadows on his stern face.

"My Lord wished to see me?"

He turned to face her, his black eyes softening slightly as a polite smile tugged at his lips. "I did. I wish to know how my Lady fares."

Cregan walked towards her, and it was only then that she noticed a crimson leaf he was holding in his hand. She returned his smile, though uncertain of what to say. He seemed to be unbothered by silence that layed between them, as he studied her appearance. During their wedding he barely payed attention to her. Perhaps, that was why he was observing her so carefully now.

"I am very happy to be here," - Astrid nodded to her words, as if to make sure he believed her. "Winterfell does not cease to amaze me."

Cregan hummed to himself, not really putting his mind to her words. He seemed lost in thoughts, and these thoughts were far away from here. Far from her. She felt subtle sting in her when she thought of it. Why did he call her, if he still did not care about her being?

He was still holding the leaf in his callused hands, twirling it with his fingers when he brought it to her, putting it in her braided hair.

"Red suits you well. Has anyone told you that before?"

He murmured, seeming to be pleased with his work, running his fingers along her braid, his lingering touch leaving Astrid speechless. Her eyes widened as she tried to hide her confusion. He was gentle, almost reverent, and it warmed her heart in a way she never felt before. Was this the first time he truly saw her as a wife?

"No, my Lord. I believe you are the first to notice."

Cregan took his hand away from her hair, offering his elbow for her to grab. "Very well. Let us walk, I would not wish for you to get cold while standing here," - as he put his hand on his sword.

Astrid hesitated a moment before wrapping her fingers around his clothed arm, feeling the soft fur and fabric of his cloack, contrasting with his cold and rough to touch sword, accepting the offer. It pleased her more than she cared to admit to spend time with him in the godswood, a sacred place. Though it was still a mystery to her, what made him be so attentive to her today?

It was very quiet there, only rare birds chirping and leaves rustle could be heard. Astrid took a deep breath, enjoying frosty and fresh air that smelled of wood and earth. She found this moment very peaceful, this walk was a sweet gesture and it was not nice of her to doubt her husbands kindness.

"I have been thinking about our marriage," Cregan began after a while. "It seems to me that I have not fulfilled my duties to you. For this, I ask your understanding, and, perhaps, your forgiveness."

Cregan turned his gaze to her, awaiting what she has to say. She was now taken aback by his words. A suspicious thought was starting to form in her head - his previous behaviour could not be judged, it fitted his position. But these gentle words now were not sounding like the ones he would actually say. An odd feeling took place in her, yet, she could only listen to him right now.

"It is no secret to me how tiring your position may be," she started carefully. "And I could never hold it against you."

She studied his face, searching for any sign of anger or discomfort. Yet a gnawing curiosity urged her to push further. Astrid evased any other words from him, now being curious to get an answer for her thoughts:

"My Lord, if I may ask, did someone suggest that you speak to me like that?" - she stopped, making her husband follow her action, now facing each other. He was confused, and he could not hide that, making it obvious he was not prepared for such confrontation. Astrid believed there was also a hint of irritation in his expression.

"In what way are you implying this?" he asked, his tone guarded but lacking the harshness she feared.

Cregan even forgot to adress her properly. It made Astrid smile ever so slightly, now making her scared that she could offend him with her words.

"Do not misunderstand me, my Lord, but your actions are...rather opposing your character, which makes me suggest that you might have sought an advice about our relationship from someone."

She tried her best to sound friendly and not too arrogant, but confused look on his face eased her worries - he probably could not be angry with her now, that he looked so amusing. Astrid awaited patiently, when he finally spoke up.

"First of all, do not jest with me in such a way," he replied, his voice firm but lacking true anger. "I may be your husband, but my behavior is none of yours to question."

He glanced away, looking in direction of a bird that landed on a low-hanging branch nearby. The pause gave Astrid a moment to collect herself, and she only smiled at her thoughts, now being more confident to continue.

"Forgive me," her tone sincere. "I only wanted to make sure I understood the situation well." She reached out, lightly tugging on his sleeve to draw his attention back to her. The gesture startled him, and instinctively, he caught her hand in his. For a moment, they stood frozen, her smaller hand caught in his. He did not let go, and his grip, though firm, was not harsh.

Wind sent another gust as couple of bright red leaves fell from tree, falling at their legs. Laying onthe ground, they could be mistaken for small pools of blood. It sent a shiver down Astrid's spine, the movement was visible for Cregan. It made him snap from frozen state as he let her hand hung in the air, bringing his own to his sword, slight embarrasment from an intimate moment made him cough, as if to shift their attention away.

But Astrid still was confused. Was she right then? Perhaps, her behaviour made it impossible for her Lord to seek her company? She felt nervousness fill her heart once again, making her clasp her hands together on stomach, as if trying to calm herself down.

"Maester Alvin is someone you could consider guilty," Cregan's voice cut through silence, breaking the formed pause.

"Though, I believe, his intentions were kind."

"Should I be grateful for it then?" she bit on her inner cheeck, fidgeting with cold fingers. Astrid felt emarrased: she probably looked so stupid right now; her concern made her act very rude, or atleast, that is what she believed.

"You could at least try to not to be mad at me."

He rubbed the back of his neck, as if looking for the right words. The situation they currently trapped themselves in was quite awkward. Astrid hummed softly at his words in an attemp to answer, but words would get stuck in her throat.

"I am not mad, my Lord" - it was all she could mutter, before quickly facing him away. She was definetly not acting like a modest lady right now. But who was to blame for that?

"Cregan."

Astrid blinked, turning her head back at her husband.

"Call me by my name. You are my wife, you have such right." He shrugged, an unsure smile tugging at his lips.

This time, he held out his hand to her.

"I believe we will have many days to continue this argument, if you wish that," she took his hand, now holding it gently, but with a firm grip, returning his favour as she unconsciously smiled herself.

"But we had spent more than we should have time here. Let us head back to castle, before anyone starts looking for us."

Their way back was more pleasant, as the silence that followed them was now a welcomed one, sometimes interrupted with quiet laughter.

[lvnleah]

— rory’s first christmas | our little love series 🎄

merry christmas! 🤶🎄

find the twelve days of Christmas masterlist here!

You arrived at the house in Whitby just as the sun began to set. The car ride felt like it took forever—four hours of “Are we there yet?” and “How much longer?” had even made Myle seem a little tired. But now you were finally here, and it was worth it.

The front door swung open, and Rich stood there, grinning down at you. “There’s my favourite little troublemaker!” he said, holding his arms out wide.

You giggled, running toward him with Twix clutched under your arm. “I’m not trouble!” you declared, though the smile on your face probably didn’t help your case.

“Oh, I bet you’re not,” Rich said, scooping you up into a big bear hug that made you squeal. “Myle been the one giving your mums trouble on the way here then?”

“Myle’s good! She’s better than Mamma in the car, she complained a lot!” you said with a grin, twisting to look at Viv.

Viv gasped, pretending to be offended. “What did I do?”

“You kept saying ‘watch out, Beth!’” you said, copying Viv’s voice and waving your arms dramatically. “And Mummy said you’re a backseat driver!”

Beth burst out laughing while Viv raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you are definitely trouble,” Viv said, but her smile gave her away as she shook her head and carried the bags inside.

You followed Beth into the living room, your eyes going wide as you spotted the Christmas tree in the corner. It was taller than the one at home, covered in twinkling lights and shiny ornaments. “It’s so big!” you gasped, running over to admire it. 

“Not as big as you,” Beth teased, ruffling your hair as she joined you by the tree.

“I’m not big, I’m little!” you said, spinning around to look up at her.

“Oh really? Who was it that ate an entire chocolate bar in the car and said they were still hungry?”

“That was Myle!” you said quickly, giggling as Beth shook her head.

“Right, Myle’s got hands now, has she?” Beth shot back, grinning as she crouched down beside you. “Come here, Roo. I wanna show you something.”

She pointed to a few ornaments tucked near the middle of the tree. They weren’t shiny like the others—one was a little wooden snowman with paint chipping off, and another was a felt stocking with stitching that looked a little wonky.

“These are from when I was your age,” Beth said, pulling the stocking off the branch and holding it out to you. “Made this one all by myself. Can you tell?”

You tilted your head, inspecting the uneven stitches. “It’s messy,” you said honestly.

Beth gasped, “Messy?! Excuse me, Miss Perfect, but that took me hours.”

You giggled again, your fingers running over the felt. “It’s kinda good, though.”

“Oh, thanks so much,” Beth said, rolling her eyes. She pulled another ornament off the tree, this one a glittery ball with your name on it. “Now, this one’s brand new. Grandad picked it out just for you. What do you think?”

Your eyes lit up as you grabbed the ornament carefully. “It’s mine?”

“Yours,” Beth said. “But you have to hang it up yourself. That’s the rule!”

Viv appeared then, carrying one of the suitcases. “What are we hanging up?”

“Roo’s ornament,” Beth said, watching as you turned to look at the tree, deciding where it should go.

“Put it right at the top!” Viv said, but Beth shook her head.

“Too high. If she puts it there, she’ll grow up thinking she’s a giant.”

You turned to her, your hands on your hips. “I am a giant!”

Beth burst out laughing, pulling you into a hug and tickling your sides. “You are ridiculous, you know that?”

You squealed, twisting away. “Stop, stop!”

“Alright, alright. Come here, I’ll lift you up so you can put it wherever you want,” Beth said, hoisting you up as you held the ornament carefully.

“Here!” you said, pointing to a branch near the middle.

“Good choice, Roo!” Beth said, holding you steady while you slid the ornament onto the branch.

When she set you back down, you turned to Viv and grinned. “Now it’s perfect.”

Viv nodded. “It’s definitely perfect now.”

“Mummy, what’s this one?” You asked Beth, pointing to a little star. 

It was a slightly lopsided ornament of a star made out of popsicle sticks, painted in uneven gold with bits of glitter clinging to it, and a ribbon loop at the top.

“Oh, that’s an old one,” Beth said, reaching out to take it off the branch. She held it in her hands for a moment, her smile softening. “I made this with Nana June and Uncle Ben when I was little, just a bit older than you I think!”

“With Nana June?” you asked curiously. You knew her name and a lot about her. She was always talked about in your house. 

Beth nodded, crouching down so she was on your level. “Yeah, with my mum, your Nana June. It was Christmas Eve, and we had a little craft kit she bought at the shop. Ben wanted to make a snowman, but I insisted on the star. Said it was more ‘Christmassy.’”

“Did you fight?” you asked, giggling because you knew what Beth and Ben were like. 

“Oh, absolutely,” Beth said with a grin, tickling your side lightly. “Ben said my star was rubbish, so Nana June made him make one, too. His wasn’t any better, by the way.”

You giggled, “It’s kinda wonky,” you observed.

“Wonky?” Beth gasped, “You’ve got so much to say about my crafting skills tonight, don’t you? Little miss perfect!”

You giggled harder, holding the star up to Viv. “Look, Mamma, Mummy made this, and it’s wonky!”

Viv crouched down beside the two of you, pretending to inspect the ornament like it was some kind of antique. “Hmm… I don’t know, Roo. It’s got character. I think it’s perfect!”

Beth pointed at Viv. “Thank you! Finally, someone who appreciates fine art.”

You tilted your head at the star, turning it in your hands. “Nana June helped you?”

“She did,” Beth said, her voice softening again. “She helped me hold the glue, and she made sure Ben didn’t stick the popsicle sticks to the table. She was really good at that kind of thing.”

Beth’s smile grew a little wistful as she brushed a piece of hair from your face. “She would’ve loved you, Roo. She always wanted grandkids. She’d have spoiled you rotten.”

“Like Grandad does?”

“Exactly like Grandad,” Beth said, laughing. “Probably even worse. You’d have so much chocolate, you’d bounce off the walls!”

Viv chuckled, slipping an arm around Beth. “We’d never get her to bed.”

You smiled, looking down at the star again. “Can I hang it up?”

Beth nodded, her hand resting on your back. “Of course you can. Pick a good spot.”

You looked at the tree carefully, finally deciding on a branch right near the front. You hung the star up gently, stepping back to admire your work.

“Perfect,” you said proudly.

Beth smiled, pulling you close and kissing the top of your head. “Perfect.”

“Right then!” Rich said, coming back into the living room, “Who wants hot chocolate?”

“Me! Me!” You said, jumping up from Beth’s lap, “I want hot chocolate!”

The next few days passed quickly with Beth, Viv and Rich keeping you occupied with Christmas activities and before you knew it, it was Christmas Eve. Your excitement was hard to contain as Christmas Day grew closer and closer. 

You were practically jumping with excitement as Beth handed you a wrapped box while preparing for a movie night. “What’s this?” you gasped, eyes wide as you looked from her to Viv.

“It’s your Christmas Eve box!” Beth grinned, settling onto the couch beside you. “Go on, open it.”

Ripping through the wrapping paper with enthusiasm, you let out a squeal of delight. Inside, there were new pyjamas covered in little reindeer, a packet of hot chocolate mixed with marshmallows, a small stuffed penguin, and a tiny jar of glittery “reindeer food.”

“Look at this!” you exclaimed, pulling out the penguin and hugging it to your chest. “And what’s this?” you asked, shaking the jar of reindeer food.

“That’s for the reindeer!” Viv explained, “We sprinkle it outside so they know where to land.”

You gasped, “Can we do it now?”

“In a bit,” Beth said, smoothing down your hair. “First, let’s get you into your new pyjamas and make some hot chocolate.”

You dashed upstairs, Viv following close behind to help you change. It didn’t take long with you rushing her. Moments later, you returned, practically tripping over your own feet in your excitement.

“Look! I’m a reindeer now!” you declared, showing off the little antlers on the hood of your pyjamas.

“You’re adorable,” Beth said, grabbing her phone for a quick picture. “Alright, hot chocolate time.”

You ran into the kitchen with Beth and Viv following close behind, you made Beth grab a chair so you could help Viv and be a little chef. Once the hot chocolate was made and gone, you, Beth, Viv and Rich bundled up in coats and scarves to head outside. Viv held the jar of reindeer food while Beth held your hand and led you outside. Together, you sprinkled the sparkly mixture across the snowy lawn.

“Do you think they’ll like it?” you asked, looking up at Viv.

“They’ll love it,” Viv assured you, crouching down to help you spread the last handful. “This will guide them straight to the house.”

Back inside, you helped Beth set out cookies and a glass of milk for Santa, carefully placing a carrot next to the plate. “For the reindeer,” you explained seriously as if Beth didn’t already know.

Finally, it was bedtime. You climbed into your bed, clutching the penguin from your Christmas Eve box and Twix, your face lit with excitement. “Will Santa really come?” you asked as Viv tucked the blankets around you.

“Of course,” Viv said, sitting on the edge of your bed. “But only if you’re asleep.”

Beth sat on the other side, holding a storybook. “How about a Christmas story to help you settle?”

You nodded eagerly, and Beth began to read, her voice warm and animated. But every few sentences, you interrupted with a new question.

“How will Santa find me here?”

“Will the reindeer eat the carrot?”

“What if Myle and Rona scare him away?”

Viv stifled a laugh while Beth patiently answered each question. Finally, your eyelids began to droop, and your questions slowed. By the time Beth closed the book, you were snuggled deep into your blankets, the penguin and Twix tucked under your arm.

“Goodnight, Roo,” Beth whispered, kissing your forehead.

“Sweet dreams, mijn meisje,” Viv added, smoothing your hair.

As they slipped out of your room, they exchanged knowing smiles. “Think she’ll stay asleep?” Beth whispered.

“Not a chance,” Viv murmured, but her smile was fond.

Downstairs, they got to work. Presents were carefully arranged under the tree, with a few special ones labelled From Santa. Viv arranged them while Beth teased her for overthinking it. Stockings were filled with small treats, and a handwritten note from “Santa” was propped up against the mantel by Rich. 

When everything was ready, Beth stood by the tree, her expression softening. “She’s going to love it,” she said quietly.

“She will,” Viv agreed, slipping an arm around Beth’s waist. “Your mum would have loved this too.”

Beth nodded, blinking back tears. “It’s just hard, you know? First Christmas without her.”

Viv hugged her tightly. “She’d be proud of you, liefje. You’re giving Rory the kind of Christmas she’d have wanted.”

The house was still alive with the warmth of Christmas Eve as Rich emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray of snacks. “What are you two doing sneaking around the tree like that?” he teased, eyeing Beth and Viv as they fussed with the presents.

“Making Christmas perfect, Dad,” Beth replied, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Santa’s got high standards.”

“Does he now?” Rich chuckled, setting the tray on the coffee table. “Well, you two might want to wrap it up before our little elf sneaks back down here.”

“She would’ve loved Roo,” Beth said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Spoiled her rotten, probably.”

“Absolutely,” Rich agreed, pulling Beth into a one-armed hug. “She’d be so proud of you, love. You and Viv are doing a brilliant job.”

Beth leaned into him, her eyes glistening. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Alright,” Rich said, clapping his hands together to break the moment. “Enough of the soppy stuff. Who’s got room for mince pies?”

Viv raised an eyebrow. “You mean the ones Rory said were ‘yucky’?”

Rich laughed, shaking his head. “That kid. More for me then. But you better save her a slice of that chocolate log, or there’ll be trouble tomorrow.”

“She’s already trouble,” Beth muttered, but there was a fond smile on her face.

The three of them shared a quiet moment, the glow of the Christmas tree casting soft light over the room. Eventually, Rich yawned and stood, stretching. “Alright, I’ll leave Santa’s little helpers to finish up. Don’t stay up too late—you’ve got an early morning ahead of you.”

Beth stood, giving her dad a quick hug. “Night, Dad.”

“Night, love. Night, Viv.” Rich headed upstairs, leaving the two of them to admire their handiwork.

“You ready for bed?” Viv asked, slipping her hand into Beth’s.

Beth nodded, glancing at the tree one last time. “Yeah. Let’s make tomorrow perfect.”

Christmas morning began exactly as expected.

Your squeals echoed through the house as you sprinted into Beth and Viv’s room, jumping onto their bed with a burst of energy. “Wake up! Santa came! Mummy, Mamma, wake up!”

Beth groaned, pulling the blanket over her head. “Too early, Roo…”

Viv peeked out from under her pillow, laughing softly. “Santa doesn’t come this early in the morning.”

“Yes, he does! He’s already been, silly Mamma!” You insisted, bouncing on the bed. “I saw the presents!”

Beth reluctantly sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Alright, alright, we’re up. But you’ve got to cuddle first. Five more minutes, Roo.”

You huffed dramatically but crawled between them, your giggles making it impossible for Beth and Viv to keep up their sleepy charade.

Soon, you couldn’t contain yourself anymore. “Can we go now? Please, please, please?”

Beth laughed, pulling her out of bed. “Alright, let’s go see what Santa brought.”

The three of you padded downstairs, Myle bounding ahead, her tail wagging furiously with Rona’s.

When you saw the living room, you froze, your mouth dropping open. The room was transformed: stockings were full, presents were piled high, and the Barbie Dreamhouse you had asked for a few days short of Christmas sat assembled next to your new bike.

“Santa came!” You squealed, your voice full of awe.

Rich appeared in the doorway, coffee in hand, grinning at the sight of you. “Told you he wouldn’t forget you, Roo.”

You ran to him, “Grandad, look at my bike!”

Beth and Viv exchanged a smile, watching as you darted around the room, inspecting every detail.

The rest of the morning passed in a whirlwind of joy. You carefully unwrapped your gifts, squealing with delight at each one. Myle and Rona happily chewed their new toys, adding to the chaos. 

Your excitement grew as you unwrapped each present, you played with each one for a little bit before moving on to the next. 

Beth chuckled as you abandoned a new stuffed giraffe mid-squeeze to race over to the dollhouse. “Look, Mummy! It’s got an elevator! It goes up and down!” You moved the tiny dolls around with enthusiasm, your little hands barely big enough to hold them.

Viv crouched beside you, helping adjust one of the tiny chairs. “Wow, Santa really outdid himself, didn’t he?”

You nodded seriously before spotting another wrapped box with your name on it. “Oh! What’s that?” you exclaimed, dashing over to it and dropping the doll mid-play.

Rich laughed from his spot on the couch. “She’s like a whirlwind today.”

Beth settled next to him, “She’s always a whirlwind.”

The next gift revealed a bright blue set of walkie-talkies, and you gasped. “Mummy! Mamma! We can talk to each other!”

“Do they work through walls?” Beth teased, taking one.

“Let’s try!” you said, already running to the kitchen. “Can you hear me, Mummy?”

Beth pressed the button, her voice crackling through. “Loud and clear, Roo.”

Your giggle echoed back over the line before you darted back into the room, abandoning the walkie-talkie to tear into yet another gift. This one held a craft set, complete with glitter, stickers, and markers.

“Can we make something now?” you asked, eyes wide with excitement.

“Later, mijn meijse,” Viv said with a soft smile, gently redirecting you to another toy. “We’ve got plenty more to open first.”

And so the morning went—each new toy captivating you for just long enough before your attention was caught by another shiny bow or brightly coloured box. By the time all the presents were unwrapped, the living room looked like an explosion, wrapping paper and ribbons scattered everywhere.

The day passed quickly and before you knew it you were sitting at the table with Beth, Viv, Rich, Ben and his girlfriend Olivia having Christmas dinner. 

You sat at the table, legs swinging under your chair as you happily munched on a piece of turkey. The table was filled with food—roast potatoes, stuffing, Brussels sprouts (which you avoided like the plague), and gravy.

Beth leaned over, “Roo, is that all the potatoes you’re eating? I thought you said you were a potato monster.”

You giggled, pointing at the small pile on your plate. “I am a potato monster! Look, I ate three already!”

Ben chimed in, smirking. “Only three? A real potato monster eats at least ten!”

“Ten?!” Your eyes widened in mock horror. “That’s too many, Mummy!”

Beth grinned. “Maybe you’re just a potato trainee then. Not a full monster yet.”

You crossed your arms, trying to look serious, “I am a real monster!”

“But if you don’t finish them, Santa might take back the Barbie Dreamhouse,” Ben added. 

“Ben!” Olivia scolded, nudging him with her elbow.

You looked up, wide-eyed, clutching your fork. “He wouldn’t!”

Beth laughed so hard she nearly choked on her drink. “Roo, don’t listen to Uncle Ben. He’s just jealous Santa didn’t bring him a Dreamhouse.”

Ben raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop.”

The teasing subsided for a while as everyone enjoyed their meal. You leaned into Viv’s side, “Mamma, they’re silly.”

Viv kissed the top of your head. “They are, but they love you.”

As the evening wound down, you curled up on the sofa between Beth and Viv, clutching your new stuffed giraffe with Twix beside you. You fell asleep and cuddled up to Viv’s side after a long day of trying out all of your new toys. 

“I think she’s out,” Viv laughed, brushing a bit of your hair out of your face. “Shall we carry her up to bed?”

Beth nodded, standing up and carefully picking you up in her arms, cradling you close. “Let’s get her tucked in. It’s been a big day for our little munchkin.”

Viv followed, grabbing the stuffed giraffe and Twix that had slipped from your grip as you snoozed. The three of you made your way up the stairs, the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights still visible from the living room.

Once in your room at Rich’s, Beth gently laid you down in your bed, tucking the covers around you. Viv placed the giraffe beside you, its soft fur brushing your cheek with Twix. You stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, but quickly settled back into a peaceful slumber.

“Goodnight, Roo,” Beth whispered, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

Viv smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Sweet dreams, mijn meisje.”

As they turned off the light and quietly closed the door, they exchanged a look—a mix of love and exhaustion. “She’ll be up at the crack of dawn again tomorrow,” Beth murmured with a laugh.

Viv chuckled, wrapping an arm around her. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[mfdragon]

Your Vlad comic has me dangerously close to watching Danny Phantom and I am not sure how to feel about that

It is a precarious fork in the road you find yourself in.

Should you not watch it, your life will continue as normal.

BUT should you choose otherwise, you will be thrusted back into some true early 2000s aesthetic and humor that took over kids’ hearts and changed their lives forever. Then you will get absorbed by the uniqueness of it all and have a good time until you reach an incredibly disappointing third season; in which case you will find 20 years worth of fandom content and aus that have permanently fixed and gloriously evolved the show to near perfection.

Choose wisely 👁️ 👁️

[galaxy-stardust]

Simon Ghost Riley x you

Part 9

"I want you"

I couldn’t keep living with the lie. Every glance my husband gave me, every moment we spent in the same room, only amplified the guilt I felt. It was unbearable, and yet, part of me resented it—the way he could look at me with love and not see the chaos tearing me apart inside.

That evening, as we sat across from each other at the dinner table, the silence stretched too long. My food sat untouched, and I could feel his eyes on me, his concern palpable.

“What’s going on with you?” he finally asked, his voice soft but steady. “You’ve been different for weeks now. Distant. Is it work? Is it us?”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. This was it. There was no going back.

“I need to tell you something,” I began, my voice shaking. “And it’s not going to be easy to hear.”

His brow furrowed, his fork clinking against his plate as he set it down. “What is it?”

“I met someone.” The words were out before I could stop them, and the weight of them hung heavy in the air between us. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. And now…I don’t know what to do.”

His face fell, the color draining from his cheeks. “You…you met someone?” he echoed, his voice breaking. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’ve been unhappy,” I said, tears welling in my eyes. “For a long time. And I didn’t even realize how much until he came into my life.”

The pain in his eyes was devastating, and I hated myself for putting it there. “Do you love him?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, the truth as raw as the emotions coursing through me. “But I feel something for him—something I can’t ignore. Something I’ve never felt before.”

He sat back in his chair, his hands running through his hair as he tried to process what I was saying. “So what now?” he asked, his voice tinged with anger and hurt. “Are you leaving me? For him?”

“I don’t know,” I said again, my voice cracking. “But I need to figure it out. I need time to think—to figure out what I want.”

He looked at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded, his voice tight. “If you need time, take it. But don’t expect me to wait around forever.”

~~~

The decision to leave wasn’t easy, but I knew I had to see Ghost. I had to talk to him, to understand what this was between us and whether it was worth risking everything for. The thought of flying—something I’d always dreaded—was almost enough to make me turn back. But the pull toward him was stronger than my fear.

The airport was a blur of anxiety and second-guessing. As the plane took off, I gripped the armrests so tightly my knuckles turned white, my heart pounding in my chest. Every second in the air felt like an eternity, but the thought of seeing him kept me grounded.

When the plane finally landed, my legs were shaky, and my nerves were frayed. I clutched my bag as I stepped into the bustling terminal, scanning the crowd for any sign of him.

And then I saw him. Standing near the exit, his tall frame unmistakable, his mask in place. Even in a sea of strangers, he stood out, his presence magnetic. My heart leapt at the sight of him, and for a moment, all my doubts and fears melted away.

We didn’t say much on the drive to his place. The tension between us was thick, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the weight of everything we had left unsaid.

When we arrived, he led me into a small, sparsely furnished apartment. It was utilitarian, with no personal touches—just like him. He stood across from me, his arms crossed, his gaze intense.

“You came,” he said, his voice low, almost disbelieving.

“I had to,” I replied, my voice trembling. “I needed to see you. To talk about…about us.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “So talk.”

I took a deep breath, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “I don’t know what this is between us, but I can’t stop thinking about you. About what we had. And I need to know if this—if we —could ever work. Because if it can’t, I need to let you go.”

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “You think I don’t feel the same?” he asked, his voice rough. “You think I haven’t been going out of my mind since the moment I left?”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” I shot back, my emotions boiling over. “Why didn’t you fight for me?”

“Because I don’t know if I can give you the life you deserve,” he said, his voice breaking for the first time. “I don’t know if I can be the man you need. My life—it’s dangerous, unpredictable. I’m always on the move. And I didn’t want to drag you into that.”

I stepped closer, my hands trembling as I reached for him. “I don’t care about any of that,” I said, my voice fierce. “I just need to know if you want this. If you want me.”

His hands came up to cradle my face, his touch surprisingly gentle. “I want you,” he said, his voice like a vow. “But it won’t be easy. We’d have to live in the shadows. We’d have to fight for every moment together. Are you ready for that?”

I stared into his eyes, my heart pounding. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I’m willing to try. If you are.”

For the first time, I saw a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Then we’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice steady. “Together.”

[foxgirl87]

YAY CHRISTMAS GIFTS YAY YAAAAAAY!!!!!

Close ups and tags under read more!!

@gert-the-disaster your sona, my liege

@vampsvitae Joy doctor 😇😇

@sp4c3fre4k stupid dumb idiot that took me forever to color

@nickmpreg STUPID DUMB IDIOT YAOI

@f1zzlest1ckzz Cat Worthing 💞

@arthurisscool Joy Overdose!Arthur 💊💊💊

@sp00ky-sh4rk0 STUPID DUMB IDIOT YAOI 2

@dustydoop Chelley 😇

@saturnz-skiez OJ!!

@faineantf black & white drunk Felix 🍻🍻🍻

@russiantwinkdestroyer9000 that twink you like so much (I forgot how to spell his name)

@moopbox Jolly Emci!!! 😁😁😁😁

[crystallizsch]

I DIDNT THINK THE COLOR-MY-TREE MESSAGES WOULD BE OPEN FOR EVERYONE AT ONCE— IT’S NOT THE 25TH FOR ME YET-

oughhhhhghh anyways very long all-over-the-place, one-thought-leads-to-another sappy message below. read it or not, it’s up to you hdbjss (and don’t worry i’m not putting any messages on blast they were private for a reason 😭) it’s morning for me so i’m just AGH

i wanted to write a general thank-you message but as soon as i started typing all the words i wanted to properly say left my cranium and said “hey let’s be vulnerable” and so here we are.

anyways HI HELLO HI every message means A LOT💥💥💥, thank you to everyone who took time to write one for me. from the simple greetings, the silly messages, and the sweet and vulnerable ones. i will forever remember you all and i’ll keep you in my heart safe and sound. 💖

HARD PIVOT this small part can be skipped but i think i’ve only vaguely and briefly touched on this on my main but christmas eve especially is extremely rough for me. it’s not christmas or the holidays’ fault necessarily, but it’s because one of my parents passed away unexpectedly. so uh not a good memory to put it lightly. i only turned 18 that time, but as the oldest kid, i was already expected to “stay strong” and be the second parent. i felt the overbearing pressure because my family is not really in a “privileged” enough position to even be given the time to grieve + i was in the middle of starting uni so fuck that LMAO.

(something something that’s prob why i relate to jamil a lot HFJDJS but that’s a topic for another day maybe) (anyways just some. necessary??? background context i suppose.)

so uh backstory time. i was there for twst en when it came out but stopped and only got reintroduced to it last year because of an irl friend. i’ve been hooked into it for months BEFORE i started posting at the beginning of this year.

(shoutout yuuna for being my first yuu and shoutout yuusha for taking over my blog, she was never meant to be dragged out of the basement).

i thought this tumblr thing was just gonna be a way for me to distract myself from grief and pressure and the constant thoughts of ending it all. i NEVER would have imagined that i’d be part of community.

i really thought i’d just post art and leave and that’s it. i never thought i’d have people encouraging my creative fixations. i never thought i’d start talking to people. i never thought i’d genuinely make new close friends online. i never thought i’d have impact(???) on people.

i’ve always wanted this blog to just be a fun time where i don’t have to take anything seriously without any pressure. (i’ve definitely gotten more comfy posting whatever and that really feels more freeing).

i never expected to make so many connections because genuinely i only interact without expecting anything back. and the fact people even reciprocated is SUCH a genuine surprise for me. all my experiences thus far is so unbelievable to me even to this day still.

from the bottom of my heart i am trying my best to be a good person, because i don’t think i am. which is why i try to be as kind to myself the way i refer to myself and my work, and that i try to uplift others whenever i can and make sure whatever they do or make will be worth it. i know this sounds so vain of me but if it helps people out and it makes me feel better, i think that’s enough.

also it honestly feels so dumb to realize and admit that technically-speaking, if it weren’t for twst and the following experiences it brought me, i wouldnt be alive rn hdhdj

so to the people who told me i’ve made their days a little brighter. to the people that told me that i’m one of their reasons for getting the courage to start posting/putting themselves out there. to the people who are just so kind and funny to me. and to the people in general who just decided that i’m worth it.

happy holidays!! i love you all, and thank you for being a part of my life no matter who you are 💜💝

[skylessknights]

GET TO KNOW ME: ♡ favourite wrestling feud/storyline - Swerve Strickland vs Hangman Adam Page

"You must be a masochist. You must want suffering or something. But guess what? I'll give you what you want."

[thequeenofmyownscreen]

You know the plan is going great when the DM does this :

[icantdothistodaybruh]

[0815bliss]

stop the cookie thief!!!

[indimiart]

the first kiss

[kbsd]

i was busy thinkin' 'bout boys ✨toye✨

[birdsandcake]

Breakdown and the Sultry Metal Vixen

[tsukinoshinjiu]

Dance in the Garden