#toxic poly save me... save me toxic poly...

[bubblewhale]

I binge watched arcane, loved it, so imma yap about it 💙🖤

Even tho this show has literal canon yuri and heavily implied doomed yaoi (what's up Jayvik nation) with a potential poly ship (Mel)... no, guess who i fixated on. Oh you guessed? That's right, on the Zaunites.

Champions of the underdog, Jinx, Silco, Victor and Sevika are my favs.

I adore how they showed Jinx's inner world and episodes, i would argue that she's one of the best bpd reps i've ever seen in media. As a queer older sister with daddy issues myself, i was screaming at Vi to do better for half of the show, also i have a strong dislike for cops so... love you Vi but, girl, that could never be me. And that's ok. I also always play long range gunslingers (guns, not shotguns) in games so, yeah, Jinx is my punk baby.

I love everything about Silco and how complex of a villain he is, and i love his and Jinx's (albeit toxic) father-daughter relationship.

Love her relationships with Ekko and Isha, too.

Victor is such a lovable character for me. I hc him as asexual bc there is no way he, in all those years, has not made a move on Jayce. Please. Viktor's sassy, assertive and has two functioning eyes. And don't even get me started on how Jayce is a dog on a leash for anyone and everyone, especially romantically with Mel. Viktor would walk him!!!! Anyways.

I like how Viktor is such an extreme rep of grit and determination in his own way - being from the undercity and of course - chronically ill, both things being outwardly visible/noticeable on him. The discrimination against him is blatant throught the show. Finally, I can't explain enough how much not only do I love him but truly find him intensely attractive for his witty, genius, stubborn personality (and looks too, that man is so beautiful). Gender envy is real, too.

(He got to meet Jayce in every timeline, so i guess he still won in the end ? 😭)

And last but not least, Sevika. That glorious bitch. I honestly thought she would just be a miniboss for Vi to flex against, but the Silco loyalty test was what's truly made me her fan. Jinx being her long range support was so satisfying to me! Towards the end it started to feel like they were true family.

I was thinking about how the four of them all had different approaches to fighting/leadership. Jinx did it with terrorism (fear), Silco with criminal endeavour (drugs), Viktor with magical power (technology) - all ways of manipulating and controlling others, and every one of them was stopped/saved by love in the end.

- think Silco dying instead of selling out Jinx, Viktor making Jayce stop him, Jinx taking Vander out with her as she relized her sister will never be truly free as long as they're there for Vi to keep trying to save.

In the end, it was Sevika's loyalty that finally put her at the chairmans table. It truly goes that the most stubborn bitch wins, and she deserved it.

Even after watching all the fanart for years i still had no idea where this show would take me, but i loved it every second of the way.

💙🖤

[floralovebot]

I remember reading older fanfictions about Helia/Trix friendships and I found their dynamic really interesting! I can’t find it anymore but there was a post about Helia befriending them in his first year (and most likely the Trix’s first year as well if I remember correctly they were seniors in season 1) as a little act of rebellion from Red Fountain.

I had this hc of Helia being friends with them and particularly close to Icy then having a fallout once he realises what they are up to. Maybe he found out or unknowingly helped them discover they were descendants of the Ancestral Witches, or alerted them about Stella’s scepter and out of guilt he quit rf and disappeared! Then he came back because he knew but he never said anything and it ended up almost causing the destruction of Magix.

I like the idea of Helia not telling anyone he knew the Trix personally then them finding out later on! The angst potentiall!! But then again I don’t think the Trix would keep quiet about it either!

AAGGHHH i've read fics like that too!! there was one a while back about like 14 year old helia meeting the trix and becoming friends with icy specifically! and then when he came back from art school, he couldn't believe they were the witches who destroyed everything. there may have been a scene with him going through the tunnels to cloud tower to confront them but i might be thinking about something else?

anyway! i love those fics :') icy/helia is such a guilty pleasure pairing of mine. he's such her type! just without the crazy murderous personality. plus i love the darcy/helia friendship dynamic as well (besties who judge together!!) and stormy/helia dynamics would be SO chaotic like she would stress him out so much. but i can also see stormy letting out her cute side around him more since he wouldn't judge her for that

AHH it's just so much fun - it's definitely one of my favorite helia fanon tropes.

tbh i don't think he would ever purposely help them or withhold information from rf, but i can see him wanting to believe they're still good and trying to get info on his own first/change their minds. the idea of helia helping them realize they're descendants of the ancestral witches is INSANE i love that!!

and yes! i feel like helia wouldn't want to tell anyone he was close to them or at the very least he would make it sound like they were barely acquaintances and not actual friends. saladin would probably know, but i can't imagine helia wanting to tell the specialists or winx. and a dramatic reveal later on is so good!! but at the same time, the trix would never let him live it down!! they'd immediately reveal that info once they know helia is back at rf Or friends with the main groups. like,, OUGH it's so hard to figure out how the reveal would go yknow?

i love dramatic angsty reveals but i also think it'd be so funny if they just spiderman memed each other

[vanyafresita]

just watched challengers........ where i can get what they have ?

[cookies-after-dark]

The shadowvanilla poly posts had me thinking… imagine wrecking one of those two with the other. :3

In particular… you and Pure Vanilla lovebombing Shadow Milk with lots of praise (he absolutely deserves it after the events of Ep. 8 :< you can’t tell me he doesn’t have some sort of praise kink) while destroying his holes <3

I adore Shadow Milk as much as the next guy, and as someone who episode 8 has destroyed me in particular: Shadow Milk Cookie absolutely does NOT deserve to be praised, and in fact I think he should be bullied even harder. I mean this in a very silly, affectionate, unserious way. Shadow Milk Cookie was even MORE pathetic after that episode and seeing his disheveled hair both broke me and made me want to break him.

That being said, you're absolutely right that Shadow Milk Cookie is an absolute glutton for praise. It soothes his insecurities and inflates his cosmically large ego at the same time, AND gets his cock leaking and hard as stone. I bet one of his favorite activities is keeping you on a leash of his puppet strings, yanking you down to your knees at level with his weeping tip, and asks you in a singsong voice to tell him how special he is.

If this is a wholesome route where you and Pure Vanilla are in an actually healthy relationship with Shadow Milk, I'd swap out the 'lovebombing' with just regular ol' praise (I save the lovebombing for more toxic relationships. like yandere) and I feel like that gets Shadow Milk going just as much. ESPECIALLY if you and Pure Vanilla are both holding him up, squished in between you two as you both thrust wildly in his ass and pussy at the same time. (Shadow Milk pussy truthers, I summon you)

Shadow Milk can't even retort when he's resigned to moans, gasps and chokes. He can't get a word in without the two of you fucking him so roughly that his thighs smack audibly, and throughout it all Pure Vanilla is purring at how gorgeous he is like this. What a wonderful, sweet partner he is. And you're in the other ear, telling him how lucky the two of you have such a handsome, strong Beast to protect them.

It gets Shadow Milk Cookie to cum much faster than he'd ever admit. Batman couldn't torture that out of him.

[jevilowo]

MY OPINIONS ON VARIOUS TF2 SHIPS

For funsies

SCIENCE PARTY:

fun ship, but they're GodComplex4GodComplex and I fear that would only end in disaster

TOASTED SANDVICH:

if there is one heavypyro fan on this stupid baka planet it is me. shout out to menacing quiet individuals who like violence but have a soft side fr.

BLOODY SUIT:

literally The Original toxic yaoi rivals to lovers red blue combo ship. speeding bullet and napoleon complex fans WISH they had our shared update and corresponding voice lines

BATTING HELMET: (scout n solly)

i just think it's really funny trust me on this one guys. have you seen them in the fourth comic it's a constant "yes, and" bit between the two of them. soldier's love language is choking people out.

HIT AND A MISS: (scout n pauling)

like most ms pauling ships, i'm only into it if scout's a cool lesbian. which he is not most of the time.

RED OKTOBERFEST:

AAAAAAAAAAAAA literally the ship of all time save me heavymedic save me. if they don't smooch in the next comic i will become jay pinkerton's personal sleep paralysis demon.

SPEEDING BULLET:

my feelings on it are Complicated. twas my first love (otp) in this fandom, but the overabundance of twinky uwu scout and daddy dom snoipah has built up some resentment on my part. call me back when people stop making up imaginary life problems for sniper to comfort scout over.

NAPOLEON COMPLEX: (Spy n Engie)

literally just rarjack if they were boys and not horses to me and i'm not even an mlp fan. it's alright, just doesn't really stick out to me.

SPYMA:

LITERALLY THE POWERCOUPLE EVER TRULY A LOVE STORY FOR THE AGES or at least the version that exists in my head is. i have so much made up spyma lore it's crazyyy. bonus points if they're polying up they cule with sniper it's quickly becoming my favourite genre of fanart (i have seen at maximum three)

SUPPORT SANDWICH: (spy n sniper n medic)

in my opinion, it is healthy for everyone to have at least one ship they just like bc they think it's hot. for me, that is support sandwich. not much else to say on that the fics are all banging go look them up.

SNIDOS: (sniper n GLaDOS)

hell yeah.

ADMINPAULING:

i used to like it a lot, but timelining implies ms pauling's been working for helen since her mid teens at the latest so i no longer like it. 4chan leaks my beloathed pleaseee don't make them kiss i think it would kill me in a bad way

URINE SAMPLE: (medic n sniper)

there's a lot of werewolf and vampire stuff for these two on ao3 which is pretty fun. and i'm way more likely to find sniper angst under the medicsniper tag than sb and bs which is always a plus.

FRENCH TOAST: (spyro)

have you seen that one animation where pyro gives birth to spy's child and gordon freeman is there at one point. yeahhhh. the ship's pretty cute tho spy would be sooo soft for pyro they'd light his cigarettes for him.

BOOTS AND BOMBS:

THE FORBIDDEN RED/BLU ROMANCE GOES CRAZY I ADORE IT. same team bnb is pretty banging too. bonus points if they're polying up they cule with zhanna.

SPYPAULING:

HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE. imagine. spy x pauling. yuri. that will be all.

SWORDVAN:

SWORDVAN MY LOVE!!! idk what it is about demo and sniper together but HELL YEAH TOP 5 SHIPS FR FR. shout out to the guy still writing monsterous intent, they're like single handedly carrying the swordvandom.

TEXAS TOAST:

I used to think "this is cute" but then my friend got really really into it and that hyped me up into "THIS IS ONE OF THE BEST SHIPS OF ALL TIME" territory. bonus points if they're yuri! shout out to Technicolor California, my current favourite fanfic of all time (it overtook running blind in the interal rankings). oh yeah insert mandatory "no hate to engie and pyro father son dynamic preferers" message here lol.

Ok that's enough I will cover more at some point maybe.

[staytinyville]

Stay Alive Masterlist

" Came like a Miracle, Look like a miracle, Just like Miracle, Those few words...."

Synopsis: When you started working at a pharmaceutical company, you didn’t realize where it was your life was heading. After getting a patient mix up, you meet seven men who would didn’t seem to want any other nurse that wasn’t you. When you start to know them, you notice things that made you question if they were really human. No matter what excuse they would give though, you would always go home with a heavy heart. The day the truth is revealed to you, things take a turn for the worst.

Pairings: BTS poly!ot7 x Reader

Genre: Mystical Creatures AU, Fluff, Romance, Angst, Fantasy

Warnings: Smut in future chapters, toxic work environment, abuse

Taglist: I have decided to write smut chapters. However it’s just one per member. Maybe some things here and there. With that being said. I will not have a taglist on those chapters for fear of having minors tagged. My books are mostly for a general audience because smut isn’t my main writing. However with the very small number of chapters I will probably do, it’s best to not tag anyone. I understand some of you have ages but I don’t want to struggle with picking out each adult blog. Thank you for understanding.

A/N

(1) -- (2) -- (3) -- (4) -- (5)

(6) -- (7) -- (8) -- (9) -- (10)

(11) -- (12) -- (13) -- (14) -- (15)

(16) -- (17) -- (18) -- (19) -- (20)

(21) -- (22) -- (23) -- (24) -- (25)

(26) -- (27) -- (28) -- (29) -- (30)

(31) -- (32) -- (33) -- (34) -- (35)

(36) -- (37) -- (38) -- (39) -- (40)

(41) -- (42) -- (43) -- (44) -- (45)

(46) -- (47) -- (48) -- (49) -- (50)

" Those few words that saved me I'll be by your side after many nights..."

Taglist is officially closed!

[eclipseberrycake]

Two for One Special

AN: GUYS YOUR BRAINS ARE SO WRINKLED IM KISSING THEM ALL

This was also a request! So thank you Anon! I was doing some research (By the way, huge huge shoutout to @snowysyndrome and @sammylkcho both of y'all RND things had me just shaking in my seat bro) and yeah, y'all are starved.

I know my sister, who got me into the game, explained that shippers treat them like two different people so I'm assuming with both of them it's more like a poly! ship than anything else. Either way I'm excited to toy with this dynamic!

☁ Man introductions are so hard for me and idk whyy

☁ Like most times i just start writing and oops a plot pops out but i need an intro to get there and I just...never have one gnogng

☁ I think RnD would like either a healer toon or a extractor toon. Since they can distract on certain floors, they know the dangers of distracting and wouldn't wish that on their partner.

☁ Razzle and Dazzle both have very different love languages as well.

☁ I saw it mentioned that Razzle is a very affectionate toon, and yk what? I agree...to an extent. Here's my twist, lol, on them.

☁ I think Razzle is very open with his affections, announcing them for all the toons to see and hear. He's beaming with pride as he presents them with boxes of chocolates or maybe a bandage he bought when he noticed you didn't have enough tapes. He's shouting praises as he passes behind you, the twisteds on his tail even if you couldn't tell based on his giant grin.

☁ Razzle is a very "Words of affirmation" kind of toon, because it's something that he can do so everyone knows just how much he worships you! You are his spotlight, his main star. He just wants to treat you as wonderfully as you treat him and his brother. Is that so much to ask?

☁ SPEAKING of his brother, Dazzle. Oh Dazzle.

☁ I think he's just as affectionate as his brother personally! Being connected to someone who's as affectionate as Razzle kind of eases him into the whole thing and by the time you get together, he's well-versed in what kind of affection works for him and how he wishes to show affection.

☁ He's a huge physical touch person, imo, and an acts of service partner! When your in the elevator, it does not matter what Dazzle wants as it's his turn with the legs and he needs to be by you. Not that Dazzle is complaining of course.

☁ He's constantly by your side when he's not off distracting. You do machines together because having more eyes on the look out than not is crucial to him, plus when it's his turn with the brain cell, he's a fast extractor so you don't need to be in the line of fire more often than not.

☁ He has a good eye too, so if there's a valve or jumper cable on the floor like, half way across the map, he probably spotted the smallest bit of it, immediately redirecting himself, his brother and by extension you to go get it. It's immediately handed to you nonetheless, and he won't take no as an answer, literally going out of his way to pick up gumballs to fill up his inventory space, much to Dazzle's chagrin.

☁ But, Dazzle does need a little extra fawning over. He gets insecure in himself really and doubts whatever he thinks you see in him. Between you and his brother though, it never lasts long and he's always smiling your way soon after, trailing after you like a lost puppy.

☁ Both are absolute buffoons in love by the way. They literally trip over each other when seeing you pass by.

☁ The spend hours gushing with each other over a thing you said or did, despite the fact the other was right there.

☁ They don't get jealous either, unless it's from each other. Not in the toxic, weird way either. Like if you press a kiss to Razzle's cheeks because they swooped in and saved you from a twisted, Dazzle is immediately whining softly for one of his own, despite the giggles in the elevator.

☁ If you come up on Dazzle's side to hold his hand while walking to the other machine, Razzle is complaining loudly about the unfairness and is demanding dibs the next floor their distracting on.

☁ But my favorite thing about these two is they canonically don't fight and prefer to hear each other out. So needless to say, communication is huge with these two. They listen and they don't judge.

☁ And as Rodger points out, they have two contrasting opinions. So if you ever find yourself in a tizzy with another toon, these two are easy to talk to and offer several perspectives on the problem while helping you discuss how you yourself is feeling.

☁ One of their favorite things to do is to wrap themselves around your back and have their chins on each of your shoulder. So Dazzle on one side and Razzle on the other, keeping you trapped as they press a flurry of kisses to your cheeks, shoulders, temples, literally anywhere they can reach.

☁ Y'all gonna turn me into an RND simp with this damn, wish that was me.

☁ OH HEY- They are SUCH fun uncles by the way. I feel it in my bones. They don't have a canonical interaction with Toodles, but like, c'mon. They're so good with her, I KNOW it.

☁ Razzle is obviously the fun, exciting Uncle, using Toodles to tease you knowing you could never stay made at them. He'll pick her up and hang her over you so Toodles can toy with your cheeks and hair, pulling her up out of your reach when you try to retaliate.

☁ Dazzle is the calmer, rock of an uncle. The one Toodles goes too when she needs someone to talk to that isn't Rodger, or when the tension of her extended family gets to be too much.

☁ I imagine Dazzle is happiest when he's got you, his brother, and Toodles all nearby.

☁ I'm not saying imagine sitting on the couch, with Dazzle reading a story as Toodles falls asleep in his lap, you on Razzle's side as you play some game like cat's cradle or something, but I'm also not...not saying that.

☁ Seeing their twisted is...an experience for them.

☁ Lol you thought I'd forget about that bad boy? Not a chance.

☁ Every time they hear the rattles of it being awoken, a part of them positively shrivels at the aspect it could've been you caught, only to realize it was Sprout doing it for the Agro-tapes. Sprout's good about making sure everyone nearby knows he's doing it and keeping watch until the Twisted returns to it's slumber, so they know if nothing else, you're safe.

☁ But still, the aspect of you getting caught by it makes them uneasy, especially if they're distracting and can't get to you without risking everyone else.

☁ It's happened once before.

☁ There was a machine in the ring of vines, right near the twisted, and you had assured Brightney you could get it so that way in case Razzle and Dazzle distracted near there, she wouldn't be caught without a way to run out.

☁ That however left you in the line of fire instead, proven when Teagan, having been spotted by a twisted accidentally ran in the part of the circle hidden by a wall, waking up the twisted.

☁ It snapped too quick for you to react, catching your leg and tripping you just on the boundary of their reach.

☁ Even from across the map, Razzle and Dazzle could hear your cry of pain, immediately turning tail from where they were distracting a twisted clone of Poppy. Tisha was right there to pick up where he left off, quickly shouting at him to go and that Ginger was somewhere on that side too and could help.

☁ He shouted a thanks before taking off, immediately finding Ginger on the way. She had heard you too, ready to offer her assistance in anyway she could.

☁ They found you scrambling to get out of the boundary, Razzle and Dazzle quickly pulling you against them as their twisted form snarled, yanking against the weight holding them down. The image terrified them at the thought that any version of them could even think about hurting you.

☁ Between them, they shakily allowed Ginger to heal you, thanking her profusely before walking you back to elevator. Connie would take over the machine and that would be that.

☁ The run was ended soon after that, Razzle and Dazzle both taking you to Sprout And Cosmo as well to confirm you were alright. Both gave you a clean bill of health, along with Ginger doing so as well, finally easing their poor hearts.

☁ After that they would both need lots of love and extra affection that night to assure them that you are truly okay.

☁ But as I said previously for Razzle, both just want to make you as happy as you've made them.

[ilikereadingthisiswhatilike]

The Lost Boys

A List of poly lost boy stories. None of the stories are mine. Give the creators love.

(X) = Smut

Like looking into a mirror @silassinclair Summery: Shy little artist introduces herself to the boys with a painting of all of them they realize they not only know what they look like but also have found their mate. Warnings: Language, Toxic Relationship Special Tags: Poly, Fluff

Crying in the Sand @chubbyreaderchan Summery: The Lost Boy’s mate has some old “friends” come to town. She wants to spend time with them without her boys but they end up destroying her self-esteem instead. The boys will not let them get away with it.  Warnings: Language, Blood, Angst, Body Image Special Tags: Poly, Fluff, Plus Size Reader

Anything For Love @ghoulgeousimmaculate Summery: You’re on your period and want to rest, but to your chagrin, Marko and the boys decide they want breakfast in bed. Warnings: Language, Blood, Angst, Kidnaping Special Tags: Poly

Spring Cleaning @phantomenby Summery: It is time clean the nest but the boys are not having it. Warnings: Language Special Tags: Poly, Fluff

Distance @anna1306 Summery: You know me better than anyone. you always have. You have no idea how much I love you. Warnings: Language, Special Tags: Poly, Gender Neutral Reader

Take My Breath Away. @houseofthxrnes Summery: They take you breath away. Warnings: Language Special Tags: Poly, Gender Neutral Reader, Fluff

Sweet thing @phantomenby Summery: Never walk home late at night or some one might try you out for a bite. Warnings: Language, Kidnaping, Stalking Special Tags: Poly, Gender Neutral Reader

On The Edge @random-imagines-blog Summery: You run into the Lost Boys as your own dangerous plan is nearing completion. Warnings: Language, Abuse, Murder, Blood Special Tags: Poly, Dark

Pregnant @luminnara Summery: The Lost Boys fall head over heels for the (human) reader...who is already pregnant. Warnings: Language, Past Abuse, Pregnancy Special Tags: Poly, Fluff

Beautiful Creatures @houseofthxrnes Summery: You can't keep your eyes off them. Warnings: Language Special Tags: Poly, Fluff, Gender Neutral Reader House Call @houseofthxrnes Summery: Sometimes they love visiting your house. Warnings: Language, Kidnaping, Stalking Special Tags: Poly

The Ride @anaemicvampire Summery: Paul and Marko are arguing over who’s motorcycle you ride on the back of. Warnings: Language Special Tags: Poly, Fluff, Gender Neutral Reader

Girly Girl @peacepey Summery: Reader a girly girl among goths. Warnings: Language, Angst Special Tags: Poly, Fluff, Hyperfem

Bite Me @darlingverse (X) Summary: An accidental bite leads to you discovering a new kink—after all, what's the point of having vampire boyfriends if they won't bite you? Warnings: Blood Special Tag: Blood Kink, Poly

Shark Week @ghoulgeousimmaculate (X) Summery: You’re on your period and want to rest, but to your chagrin, Marko and the boys decide they want breakfast in bed. Warnings: Language, Blood Special Tags: Poly, Fluff, Period Sex

Last Night @madnessr Summery: You remembered the day you died vividly, and what had started as one of the best nights of your life quickly turned sour. Warnings: Death, Language, Blood Special Tags: Poly, Multichapter, + Michael

If You Give A Vampire A Cookie… @britany1997 Summery: Reader runs a bakery and the boys have a sweet tooth. Warnings: Language Special Tags: Poly, Fluff, Hyperfem, + Michael

Two's Company - What The Hell Is Six? @bloodywickedvamp  Summery: Reader is dating Michael Emerson and they're fed up with his uncharacteristic behavior towards his family and them since moving to Santa Carla Warnings: Language, Emotional Neglect, Angst Special Tags: Poly, Multichapter, + Michael

When The Sun Gets Higher @queenofsantacarla Summery: You are the Emersons’ last hope to save Michael. To bad the boys want her just as much. Warnings: Language, Blood Special Tags: Poly, Multichapter, Gender Neutral Reader, + Michael Love me? Love me not? @the-faceless-bride Summery: The boys neglect Reader. So when Reader when meats Michael they are conflicted. The boys are not happy. Warnings: Language, Emotional neglect, Emotional Cheating, Toxic Relationship Special Tags: Poly, Multichapter, Gender Neutral Reader, + Michael

Stalkers @phantomenby Summery: You can help but feel eyes on you everywhere you go. Warnings: Language, Stalking Special Tags: Poly, Gender Neutral Reader, + Michael

[hp-hcs]

Hmmm how about a poly oneshot with bully Draco and Lorenzo who hates the reader for being with the golden trio and mainly potter ?? They hate how touchy and blushy harry gets around their darling and vice-versa. They hate how everyone thinks you two are together and you don't do anything to clear up the rumor. They hate how you're always in his dorm and they hate seeing your lipgloss mark left on harry. But God do they love you and can't take it anymore 🤭🤭

oooh, interesting! love to see that you’re a hoe for drama (lovingly)

hate how this turned out but wtv

lipstick — yandere! enzo berkshire & yandere! draco malfoy x gn! gryffindor! reader

tws: toxic/possessive/obsessive behavior, slut shaming, implied sexual content? (question mark?)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Look at stupid Potter. With his stupid scar, and his stupid friends, and his stupid Y/N.”

“His?” Enzo laughs. “Y/N is not his.”

“Not if we can help it,” Draco mumbles.

The pair watches in silence as you throw a snowball at the ginger weasel, ducking behind Harry when the bloodtraitor tries to retaliate.

Harry scooped you up in his arms, like a valiant prince coming to save the day.

They can both hear your clear laugh, even from the other side of the courtyard. It makes them both seethe with anger.

~~~

“C’monnnn,” you pleaded, tugging at Harry’s arm. “I have friends other than you. I wanna talk to Luna and Pansy and Blaise.”

Harry rolled his eyes, not putting up much of a fight as you dragged him into the Great Hall.

It was a new thing this season, to promote house unity, or whatever. The heads of houses had come up with the idea; tea, cocoa, and cookies in the Great Hall every Friday evening. Everyone welcome.

The Great Hall is dimmer than usual, not all of the floating candles lit. A few dozen student of all houses mingle and meander.

A group of kids sat on a blanket on the cool stone floor, almost as if it were a picnic.

Another group had thrown blankets and sheets over part of the ridiculously long tables, creating a blanket fort underneath.

You headed straight over to where Luna was painting Pansy’s nails. They greeted you with laughter as Luna’s unsteady hand got orange nail polish all over Pansy’s knuckle.

You gasp. “Harry! Let me paint your nails! Pleaseeee?”

He shrugged, looking over the myriad of colors laid out. He picked one up and held it out towards you.

“Snitch gold, for luck.”

You laugh, accepting the bottle and pointing for him to sit down.

“You don’t need luck, Harry. You’re you.”

Across the room, two Slytherins clocked Potter’s shy grin and bright blush.

~~~

You sat down with your friends, a wicked game of truth or dare already in full effect. As predicted, Gryffindor had won their game against Hufflepuff, resulting in a very large house party. You’d noticed a few Ravenclaws around and wondered how they got in, until you saw the Slytherins, the lions’ main suppliers of firewhiskey and good times.

“I dare you…” Ginny trailed off as she thought. A wicked grin spread across her face. “I dare you to wear that failed blue glitter lipstick that me and Cho made.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please. That’s easy.”

“For the whole day tomorrow.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m not afraid. Bring it on.”

~~~ “Draco!” Enzo hissed as he harshly elbowed his friend in the ribs.

“Ow. What?” He followed Enzo’s finger, pointing straight at the Gryffindor table. “What am I looking at?”

“Potter.”

Harry James Potter was furiously scrubbing at his skin with a napkin as you, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were all practically howling with laughter.

Sure enough, you were true to your word, wearing that ridiculously tacky lipstick that stood out like a beacon when surrounded by all of that garish red and gold.

Harry let out a visible sigh, tossing down the napkin and sitting back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest in an obvious sulk.

Right there, smack dab in the middle of his cheek, was a perfect blue stain from a kiss.

Draco’s ears burned with rage.

“Nope. Come on, Enz. We’ve waited damn long enough.”

~~~ “It’s not coming off, guys,” Harry whined.

“Why do you think we called it failed?” Ginny laughs, the blue smudge on his cheek looking quite comical. “That’s what happened when we tried to wear it.”

You snicker. “You look good in blue, Harry,” you teased, enjoying the faint blush that settled over his cheeks.

You suddenly felt a heavy hand come down on your shoulder, tightening to the point where it was almost painful.

You whirled around, surprised to see two Slytherins you’d barely talked to.

Harry sneered at the sight of his long-time rival, Malfoy. “What do you gits want?”

They both ignored him, as if he wasn’t there at all.

“We need to talk to you,” Enzo snapped, his hand on your shoulder tightening even more as he all but dragged you out of your seat.

You stumbled after him as Draco propelled you forward with a firm hand on the small of your back.

The two boys dragged you out into the hall, away from prying eyes. Draco wasted no time before shoving you up against the wall in a secluded alcove.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, kissing Potter?”

“W-what?” You stammered, your brain not yet having caught up with the situation.

Enzo scoffed. “Whoring yourself out to anyone who blushes at you, huh?”

“What?”

“How long have you been sleeping with him, hm? How long?”

“Wh- Harry? We’re friends!”

“Friends, huh? Friends?” Enzo scoffed.

“Yes!” You snapped. “Who d’you think you are, questioning my- mmfph!”

Draco surged forward and kissed you harshly.

~~~

Enzo Berkshire, Draco Malfoy, and Y/N L/N all stumbled into Defense Against the Dark Arts twenty minutes late, their clothes rumpled and their skin stained with blue lipstick.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader x Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento F!CHRO Reader x Higuruma Hiromi

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage. Chapter Summary: You’re a tech trillionaire, seven months pregnant, and stuck in a poly marriage with two emotionally stunted sorcerers—one of whom bakes stress mochi and the other files legal threats like love letters. You just wanted a family. What you got instead was Vogue, trauma-induced threesomes, a raccoon with Dior contracts, and men who learn about perineal tearing at 2 AM. A/N: ✨ You ever wanted to be pregnant with twins after a hysterectomy while also dodging Anna Wintour, managing a trillion-dollar empire, and navigating your husbands’ emotional affair with each other? Yeah, me neither. But the story wanted it. Expect chaotic slow burns, serious emotional reparations, hyper-specific domestic rituals, unfiltered girl group chats, sexy but sad kitchen scenes, and Keji the butler who probably has an MI6 file. Thank you for reading. Please scream in the comments like you're being emotionally waterboarded by Nanami’s voice and Gojo’s TikTok crimes.Tags: Soft!Gojo, DILF!Nanami, Crack Treated Seriously, Found Family But They're The Ones Who Need Finding, Soft Horror, Late-Stage Capitalism Wives, Trillionaire Wife AU, Special Grade Parenting Simulator, Canon Typical Gojo Satoru Delusions, Nanami Kento is So Tired Please Let Him Rest, Post-Hysterectomy Pregnancy, Cursed Pregnancy (Literally), Feral Albino Raccoon Content, Vogue Feature, Fashion as Warfare, Stress Baking, Baby Monitor Angst, Domestic Violence (Emotional, Not Physical).

Previous Chapter 21 (alt ending 2.12) - What the Living Do - Part 2 - (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 22 (alt ending 2.13) - Things Broken Are Still Yours - Part 1

Threatening Anna Wintour (Mixed POVs)

Vogue Tokyo, penthouse suite.

It smelled like eucalyptus, high-budget anxiety, and the ghost of someone who wore Tom Ford Noir de Noir in the elevator but didn’t survive the meeting.

Anna Wintour didn’t come to people. But she’d come to you.

They’d transported you like a biohazard asset—elegantly. Not a wheelchair. That would photograph poorly if someone breached security. You were reclined in a Scandinavian birthing lounger, the kind designed for rich Northern European women who wanted to feel everything and regret it later.

You were seven months pregnant. And nothing about your body felt yours anymore.

Anna didn’t look at you. Not at first.

She greeted Gojo Satoru like he was a charismatic cult leader meeting a failed actor who still believed in him.

Hugged Nanami Kento with one arm and no warmth—like one might greet a lawyer they’d once lost a case to.

Then she sat opposite you in that ridiculous Eero Aarnio-inspired chair—white, sculptural, and deeply unserious—her sunglasses still on, and began the polite version of We own the narrative now.

Nanami stood behind you in soft Loro Piana—a Toxic Hunter green pullover, black slacks, and leather-soled house loafers that whispered wealth. One hand rested on your chair. The other in his pocket—calm, but not idle. He was a quiet cabin in an oncoming storm. Everything about him screamed, I’m not the villain�� but I’m also not here to save you.

You wore a matte black floor-length dress—long sleeves, no shape. A silent fuck-you to the maternity-core fantasy they wanted to plaster across headlines.

Gojo sat on the frog-meets-chanel-shaped chair beside you, in black Zegna pants and an Electric Sapphire Brunello hoodie that probably cost more than a Tokyo apartment. His hand rested lightly against your thigh. No jokes. No idiocy. Stillness, like he was waiting for someone to earn his violence.

Anna noticed. Of course she did. She noticed everything.

“I’m only here,” she said, crossing her legs like this was her suite and not yours, “because the investor asked. He’s expressed very specific interest in your company’s direction. And in you.”

You blinked. Once. It tracked. The same egotistical ghost your CHRO had been dodging for weeks.

This wasn’t about interest. This was power. He’d asked. The kind of ask that came with stock manipulation, press suppression, and enough shadow influence to derail stealth mergers. You hadn’t met him. You hadn’t spoken.

When he tried bypassing your CHRO, Nanami had declined the meeting six times.

Gojo had declined it seven. And threatened legal obliteration.

He’d suggested this to your CHRO. Just one sit-down. One Vogue feature. One moment of softness. No war stories. No origin trauma. Just… you.

Nanami leaned in, voice even, “Who is it?”

Anna smiled faintly. “He’s anonymous. Which is why he’s powerful. But he’s not the problem.”

Gojo looked up. Still as a blade. “Then what is?”

Anna looked at you. For the first time. Like you were both capital and contagion. “You are,” she said. “You’re the story. You disappeared mid-IPO. Rejected venture capital. Kept your life private for years. And now—this.”

Her eyes flicked to your stomach, but only for a second.

You didn’t flinch. “I’m not a phoenix. I don’t rise. I crawl.” Like Lucifer—and I bite when touched—was the part you omitted from speaking aloud.

Anna’s lips tilted. She liked that. “Your husband told me that if we frame you as unstable, he’ll make Vogue disappear.”

Gojo perked up. “He meant that literally, by the way.”

She didn’t laugh. “He also said if we imply she’s softened—he’ll leak many celebrities homes’ raw footage.”

Nanami’s hand flexed on the chair. “And if you mention this pregnancy—”

“You’ll ‘regret it.’ Yes.” She continued, sighing. “Your legal team is relentless. And correct.”

She wasn’t wrong. Between your CHRO and Higuruma, Vogue Tokyo would be litigated into a cautionary tale. Especially in Asia, where Vogue was desperate to be taken seriously. Japan had resisted them. Only India and Korea gave them partial legitimacy.

You didn’t want this. You’d said so. Clearly. Interviews at home were something you’d avoided like the bubonic plague before.

Gojo touched your hand. His palm was warm. Too warm.

You looked at him. “You’re feverish.”

He didn’t answer. Just smiled—too many teeth. Like if he blinked, he’d bleed.

Anna broke the silence. “We’ll spin it properly. But you need to fly in after a week of the interview air date. For one conversation with him. One hour. The investor has made it clear he wants it in person.”

“No,” Gojo snapped immediately.

Nanami was already shaking his head.

Your hand tightened around Gojo’s as you took a measured exhale; your ribs hurt. “I can’t fly. I’m high-risk.”

“We’ll charter the top floor of St. Teresa’s. ICU on standby. Gyno from Zurich. Midwives from Seoul. We’ve already pulled schedules.”

Nanami’s voice was low, conversational. “You’re pushing too hard and in the wrong direction. Besides, she requires specific kinds of specialists to treat her, not anything remotely related to hippie-core. You simply can’t bribe a uterus to behave.”

Anna took off her sunglasses, a sign of trust from a woman as guarded about her intentions as her. “We never said your team couldn’t accompany her. However, your wife is worth trillions. Tech, patents, AI, blockchain logistics, cross-cultural branding, medical gaming. She’s half-myth, half-corporate witch. Do you know what the investor said to me?”

You didn’t move. “What?”

“That if she walked into his boardroom, the entire stock exchange of at least seventeen nations with ultimate deterrents would follow.”

Silence. Dense. Even Takahashi, curled at your feet with a hot water bottle strapped to his belly like he too had pregnancy cramps, stilled. You kept stroking his head. For you, not him.

What did he mean by “nations with ultimate deterrents”?

Not superpowers—too broad. Not G20—too sterile. Deterrent. A boardroom euphemism, polished smooth for recording devices. But in this world, only one deterrent moves markets without saying its name.

Nuclear states.

The investor hadn’t misspoken; he’d done his research.

He’d chosen the phrase like a man laying down a card face-up, watching who flinched. Seventeen stock exchanges, each tied to a silent arsenal. And his wife was the spark that could make them follow.

Anna knew. Of course she knew. That’s why she’d said it.

Gojo’s grip tightened on your hand. Not at the threat. At the gall.

He had clocked it in, then spoke finally. “You don’t know what she’s carrying.”

His kids could alone level nations even if they weren’t strong enough yet, but Gojo knew where they would be with proper training.

It wasn’t a warning. It wasn’t even about the twins.

A distraction. They knew twins were a footnote. The real payload was the implication that she—that you—could wield nations like a currency. And Anna Wintour’s little interview? Just the actual footnote.

Anna smiled. “No. I don’t. But I suspect.”

She didn’t confirm. Just raised her wine.

Then, a folder, tapped against the table. “We run the piece next week. After the interview. The investor will be watching. So will others. If you decline—Vogue withdraws. International perception matters.”

Gojo’s grip on your hand turned bone-white.

Anna stood.

As she passed, she murmured, “You’ll be styled in obsidian mesh and digital lace. The throne’s already on set.”

Gojo stood slowly. Eyes on her back. “If she breathes near her—”

“She won’t,” Nanami said, already moving to your side. “But the investor already is.”

You were going to be eight months pregnant and airborne—against medical advice, against common sense, against the wishes of two special-grade men whose capacity for mercy shortened the more they loved you.

---

It was raining, not dramatically—just enough to make the city blur. The sort of evening where car lights smudged against windows, and even skyscrapers seemed quieter than usual. Somewhere in one of the penthouses Gojo had bought on impulse but now called home, the kind with smart glass and Scandinavian furniture you pretended to like, two men sat on a couch they’d once ruined during a particularly aggressive argument. One had removed his sunglasses. The other hadn’t taken off his shoes. Both were watching you on the baby monitor.

You were asleep, curled around a pregnancy body pillow that Gojo had dubbed “Side Piece #3,” one hand resting protectively over the rise of your belly. Even your breathing had started to sound different.

Gojo’s thumb hovered over the screen. “She sighed in her sleep again.”

Nanami didn’t look. “Was it that sigh again?”

Gojo cracked half a smile. “Yeah.”

Another silence. Not the comfortable kind. The heavy, scraping kind. 

Gojo shifted, knuckles resting against his jaw. “I read the whole group chat again.”

Nanami’s brow twitched.

“All of it.”

“Of course you did.”

Gojo’s voice dropped. “She didn’t reply to a single message.”

“No. She didn’t.”

“She was gone. Three months pregnant and gone. And we didn’t even know.”

Nanami nodded slowly, jaw tight.

There it was. Finally. The shame.

The silence sat longer this time, like a ghost refusing to be exorcised. You were right: they had emotionally cheated. You were there, in the house, in their bed. And somehow, they’d only had eyes for each other—twin suns orbiting a shared trauma neither could name aloud. Suguru had been dead for years, but after that mission, the echoes had come back louder.

Gojo had barely come home after the Parade of the Hundred Demons. Nanami knew why. He’d simply let the man into his bed. Let him bleed. Let him stay.

Nanami finally spoke. “She was there. We weren’t.”

Gojo swallowed. “She was wearing my hoodie. I didn’t even look at her. Just walked past. Like she wasn’t—”

“You were grieving.”

“So were you.”

“We grieved with each other,” Nanami said softly. “When we should have grieved with her.”

Gojo’s throat worked. “Do you think we ever made her feel like a prop? Like the soft thing we came home to when we needed comfort?”

“She was already CEO when we met her,” Nanami said. “She was never the soft thing.”

Gojo laughed. It wasn’t happy. “She cried over melted ice cream last week. I had to bribe a 24-hour store to make a delivery.”

“She said my name in her sleep last night.”

“She said mine two days ago.”

They looked at each other.

“Do you think she has a favorite?” Gojo thought aloud.

“If you ask her,” Nanami murmured, “you’ll die.”

Gojo leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, as if that could hold him up. “Kento, I keep thinking about that picture.”

Nanami frowned. “What picture?”

“From week one,” Gojo said. “You took that blurry one of her asleep with her hand on the bump. I keep going back to it. That’s when it started. The forgetting.”

Nanami closed his eyes. “You’re wrong. It started before that. We just didn’t see it.”

They sat in it for a long time—the rot they’d let spread through the foundation. What started as space turned to absence. What started as unspoken grief became willful blindness. You had carried their children alone for months while they built a shrine of guilt around each other.

“I miss flirting with you,” Gojo said suddenly.

Nanami looked at him, trying to understand what he meant.

“Proper flirting. Like when we’d argue over who gets to take her out on Fridays and then kiss behind her back.”

“She always knew.”

Gojo smirked. “Of course. She tracked our locations for sport.”

A flicker of something lighter passed between them.

“You think she still thinks about leaving?”

“She does, but she won’t say it out loud.”

Gojo exhaled. “We deserve it.”

Nanami looked away. “She told Shoko if we did it again, she’s walking. And taking the raccoon.”

“Not Takahashi!”

Nanami gave a rare half-smile. “You should start packing.”

A door creaked. They both froze.

You stepped into view, barefoot. Dressed in one of Nanami’s old button-downs and Gojo’s oversized silk robe, your belly leading before you like a slow tide. The silk clung to your hips, sheer in the hallway light, glistening faintly with sweat. Gojo looked like he’d seen God, and she was angry.

“Can one of you get me ice cream?” you asked, stifling a yawn.

Gojo shot up, halfway into a sprint. “I’ll get it—”

“No.” Your voice was soft but anchored. Not brittle. Not hormonal. Just firm. And exhausted.

You walked in and lowered yourself between them on the couch with a maternal grunt. They parted for you like you were some kind of holy disturbance, a tsunami who sometimes wore a sundress. Nanami steadied you as you shifted, his hand gentle on your elbow. Gojo placed a cushion behind your back without being told.

You sighed. “I want to talk.”

Nanami stopped breathing.

You let your head fall back against the couch. The strain on your face had been carefully concealed for weeks now, but tonight you didn’t have the energy to wear grace like a mask. Not after the Braxton Hicks contractions earlier. Not after the quiet, the kind that felt like goodbye before anything was gone. You weren’t stupid; you knew there was a clear chance of you not making it out of the delivery room, so you did what you thought was right.

“I never had a problem with you two loving each other,” you began, voice low. No accusations. Just the kind of sadness that settles when anger has long since burnt itself out. “But I’m not a side quest. You can’t forget me just because the main plot hurts.”

Gojo opened his mouth.

“No interruptions.” You weren’t harsh. Just done performing softness for men who could weaponize it.

Nanami’s hand found yours. You let him hold it. His fingers were cold.

“I don’t know what went wrong with you two,” you said, eyes closed. “I don’t even want the full story anymore. But I’ve decided to forgive you both. This time.”

Gojo leaned forward slightly, his knuckles white against his thighs. Nanami had stopped blinking.

“But if it happens again,” you said. “I walk. No theatrics. No beatdowns. No chasing me across countries. No trying to get custody of Takahashi or the twins.” That was in no particular order but Takahashi too was in therapy because of you. “Just a clean, well-lit courtroom. And a legal notice. Understood?”

They nodded. Like men before a firing squad.

“And you’re both still going to jail,” you added.

Gojo blinked. “Like actual—”

“You hurt people,” you said. “My people. My staff. They did nothing wrong but follow my instructions. I already filed the report with Higuruma. He’s reviewing sentencing options.”

Nanami didn’t speak. His hand tightened around yours.

Gojo looked down like he was trying not to get hard.

“That being said,” you exhaled, massaging your belly, “we hope to shorten it with more community service, hefty fines, public statements, etc. But I’m not taking liability for either of you; I have my children to think of now.”

They didn’t argue. Gojo even looked weirdly aroused.

And then you finished, casually, “Now someone please rub my feet.”

Nanami was on the floor in seconds, pulling your ankle into his lap. Gojo pressed a kiss to your temple as if it might buy him time. You didn’t stop him. But you didn’t lean in, either.

“You’re glowing,” he whispered.

“I’m sweaty,” you replied.

“I like it.”

Nanami rolled his eyes. “You would.”

But the words didn’t have teeth. Not now.

Not when Gojo was watching Nanami like he was seventeen again, bruised and brilliant, a private heartbreak in a boy with starched cuffs. Not when Nanami didn’t flinch under the gaze. Not when your pregnancy had rewired the gravitational laws in the room—and they were both finally aware they orbited you, not each other.

You felt it. That tension. That fear. The emotional minefield they hadn’t crossed in months. Not since they found out you had left.

And yet.

You looked at them. Tired. Full. Knowing. “I never minded when you kissed him,” you said softly.

Nanami’s thumb stilled on your ankle. Gojo looked at you, unsure.

“But I do mind being forgotten.”

You leaned back, gave them space to absorb it.

Gojo reached out first. Not to you. To Nanami. His hand hovered a second—then cupped Nanami’s jaw, thumb brushing across the bristle of stubble like muscle memory.

Nanami didn’t flinch. He just met Gojo’s eyes. And didn’t look away.

The kiss was slow. Chaste. Familiar. Like a song sung half-asleep, a language they hadn’t used in months.

You watched them and smiled. Hormones singing. Heart heavy and full,  with your hand on your stomach, the twins rolling restlessly beneath your palm.

Then your hormones took over.

“Okay, now kiss me,” you demanded.

They didn’t hesitate.

Gojo kissed you first, full of heat and guilt and aching want. Nanami kissed your neck, reverent and slow. Hands under the shirt, over your hips, under your belly, like he was trying to memorize the geography of what his betrayal almost cost.

Your fingers tangled in white hair and blond curls, anchoring them both to the present.

Then—

Gojo’s hand dipped low.

Nanami’s mouth traced your collarbone.

Both froze.

“Wait—” Gojo pulled back, breath hitching.

“We can’t—” Nanami’s hand stilled on your thigh.

You groaned. “I’m not going to break.”

Nanami backed off like a chastised schoolboy. “It’s not about that.”

“Yeah,” Gojo whispered, face half-buried in your shoulder. “We’re… trying to be better.”

“Cowards.”

“Responsible cowards,” Gojo corrected.

Nanami resumed rubbing your feet. Gojo fetched the damn ice cream. The night softened.

And maybe it wasn’t everything.

But maybe—for now—it was enough.

And maybe that was okay.

For now.

---

Penthouse’s Rooftop Garden

The next week, Nanami Kento, recently reinstated at what Vogue’s fact-checkers were still calling a private school for gifted children, sat by the glass railings of their Tokyo penthouse’s rooftop garden, sleeves rolled to the forearms. One hand gripped the lacquered handle of a faux katana—merch from a feudal-Japan RPG that your company had released years ago. It was the very game he had adored for years, the one he had been searching for at the gaming convention the day he first laid eyes on you, and, because of him, so had Gojo. Now, the katana rested under the table, mostly forgotten, as the woman on the call droned on, giving him a migraine.

Anna Wintour, live on screen, sipped something white-gold and expensive in a room that looked like it had air conditioning just for the scent of influence.

You were reclined nearby on the velveteen chaise Gojo had dragged out for you earlier, Takahashi draped dramatically over your belly like a sentient handbag. The silk Oh-my-God-Officer-what-do-you-mean-my-husband-is-dead robe sloped off one shoulder. Pregnancy had added gravity to your body and an unnatural calm to your eyes. You looked like a Bond villain with an MBA and a third-trimester spine problem, like you’d hacked capitalism from the inside, and now you were quietly bleeding under it.

Gojo was stress baking mochi, covered in flour, wearing an apron that said, “UNSUBMISSIVE. UNBOTHERED. UNHOLY.”

Anna spoke first. Her tone was as smooth as her sunglasses were sharp. “I want to clarify something upfront. This feature is a strategic rehabilitation piece. Not an exposé. That said, public curiosity is high. Understandably.”

Nanami leaned back, the movement deliberate, rolling his shoulders just enough to stretch the fabric of his tailored shirt across his chest. He adjusted his glasses with one hand—slow, like he knew she was watching—the other still resting on the katana under the table. “She’s on bed rest and carrying twins. She’s also medicated for pain, uncomfortable, and under enough scrutiny to make a lesser person collapse.” A pause, just long enough to let the threat linger. “If your article so much as implies she fabricated this pregnancy, violated her feminist values, or traded innovation for domesticity, I’ll ensure Vogue's reputation takes the fall.”

Anna smiled like she’d just been insulted in an exotic dialect. A flicker of amusement, then control. “She told The Verge four years ago she’d never have children. She referenced a hysterectomy.”

“She wasn’t lying.”

A measured pause. Even Gojo, rustling behind the outdoor island, stilled.

Anna's smile tightened. “So it’s true.”

You stared at Nanami. He didn’t meet your gaze, but you knew he felt it: Don’t confirm we’re sorcerers to Anna Wintour. Not even by omission.

Nanami inhaled, deep and deliberate, like he was calculating oxygen’s morality. His thumb traced the edge of his glasses—a calculated distraction. “She experienced severe medical trauma. That’s not public property.”

Anna gave a slight nod. “I agree. But Vogue isn’t the Daily Mail. We don’t chase gossip—we follow narrative arcs. And right now, your wife’s storyline is complicated. Disappearing before your... incident at her HQ, halting her IPO, rejecting activist investors, and refusing to explain the foundation shifts such as two new CEOs. It all adds up.”

Gojo peeked, dusted in rice flour like a cursed pastry. “Tell her—”

“Go back to your mochi.”

He huffed and retreated. The mixing bowl was suspiciously the size of a small basin.

Nanami’s voice returned, low and smooth, like a blade sliding back into its sheath. “What’s the real aim of this feature?”

Anna didn’t miss a beat. “There’s a new investor involved; they asked us to take this up—our angle is redemption through disruption. Your wife’s silence has created a vacuum. We’ll shape it. Focus on her achievements. The tech empire. The pregnancy struggles. The speculation about paternity. The... affiliations.”

Nanami’s tone dropped, but his posture stayed relaxed, one arm draped over the back of his chair like he owned the frame. “If you bring up yakuza or military clearance, I’ll litigate.”

Anna waved one hand. “Please. You’re not ex-military. And your husband isn’t just a teacher.”

You blinked. Nanami stilled—but only for a second. Then he smirked, slow and knowing, like he’d been waiting for this. “How’d you find out?”

Anna remained unbothered, “Because your wife once locked herself in a marble guest bathroom at the Cannes afterparty while drunk and laughing, and your husband levitated the broken door off its hinges when other celebrities tried helping. The mirror caught it.” She rested her chin on her fingers, barely a movement, before delivering the final blow. “Unpublished. For now.”

You groaned. “It was my dress. And they were insufferable.”

Anna smiled faintly. “We didn’t publish it. Yet. I consider that a favor.”

“Blackmail,” Nanami corrected, rolling the word off his tongue like a sip of expensive whiskey.

“Semantics.”

Then, pivoting with surgical precision, she continued, “Fine. Vogue will soften the pregnancy coverage. But we want Gojo Satoru’s first exclusive—shirtless and singing on a white piano—for a hybrid editorial-music video ad for Calvin Klein.”

Nanami didn’t blink. “Done.”

Anna’s brow lifted. “That was fast.”

“You were going to ask anyway.”

“Touché.” She tilted her glass. “And Kento—may I call you Kento?”

“No.”

She smiled, barely. “Well, you’ll be in the video too. Tailored suit. Stoic seduction. Women adore you. My assistant has a shrine.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, but there was no real irritation—just the faintest curl of amusement at the corner of his mouth. “God help us.”

“I already did,” Anna replied. “We’ll send a pre-list of questions. You’ll find them balanced: less fertility, more innovation. More her. It’s about time she was seen for what she built.”

Nanami’s eyes flicked towards you, just for a split second—a silent check-in. You gave a small nod. He caught it, like always.

“Include her tech patents,” he said. “The NFT architecture. Seoul’s gaming rehab center. The scholarships for women in STEM. And the wildlife conservation grants.”

Anna observed him. “Are you in PR... or just married to her?”

“Yes,” he said simply, the word dripping with smug finality.

You smiled, eyes lidded. Gojo returned, bowl in hand, and without hesitation dropped his head onto your chest, face first into cleavage like a man breathing his last. You ran a hand through his hair.

Anna didn’t comment. Only noted, “She’ll be styled by Olivier Rousteing. The theme is Queen of Code. There will be a throne.”

You picked up a mochi and lobbed it at Nanami. He didn’t flinch. His ratio blades sliced it mid-air, neatly plating it beside him, all off-camera.

“My wife requests Iris van Herpen,” he said calmly.

Anna’s eyes flicked upward. “She can have both. Fashion is war. I enjoy battle.”

Gojo, from your chest, mumbled, “Do I get a throne?”

Anna smiled without showing teeth. “We’ll see.”

An hour later, Nanami had more beef with Anna.

Anna sat in a chair that cost more than a suburban divorce settlement, her posture flawless, her gaze unreadable. The air between them was charged, still—like the moment before a lightning strike.

Nanami exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back just enough to make his shirt strain at the seams. His voice was low, deliberate, a velvet-wrapped threat. “Anna. We agreed. No invasive questions about the pregnancy. No speculative eugenics. No trauma exploitation. Not even subtext.”

Anna flipped through a spread, unfazed. “Kento, breathe. Just send over the revision request, and we'll talk.”

Nanami’s fingers drummed once against the table—a controlled show of impatience. “If you frame her as unstable, I will frame your investors for insider trading.”

Anna didn’t blink. “Possessive for a polycule.”

Nanami smirked, slow and knowing, like he’d already won. “I’m a husband. Possession is romantic when it’s honest.”

She sipped her drink, watching him over the rim. “Fine. We’ll pivot. Patents. Valuation. The cyber fund. But.”

“But?” Nanami echoed, tilting his head just so—a challenge, an invitation.

“I want something entertaining.”

“No.”

A heavy silence.

Anna looked up, her gaze sharpening. “I know you're not teachers. I know about the school.”

Nanami’s pulse flickered once—just enough to betray surprise, not enough to concede.

“And you haven’t published it… why?”

Anna smiled like a glacier—slow and inevitable. “Because your wife is the best narrative I’ve seen in decades. And I don’t ruin great stories, Kento. I style them.”

Gojo clapped, his grin wide and wicked as he materialized behind Nanami, draping himself over the back of his chair like a mischievous shadow. “See? She’s a strong woman with god-tier instincts!” His voice was bright, teasing, but his fingers curled possessively into Nanami’s shoulder—a silent claim.

Anna raised her glass, her smile razor-thin. “And now she’s a Vogue cover. And you—Satoru—are my Bi Kanye.”

Nanami closed his eyes, his jaw tightening—the only sign of his exasperation. “I need a drink.”

Gojo was already pouring, his movements fluid, effortless, like he’d been waiting for this moment. He leaned in, pressing the glass into Nanami’s hand with a flourish, his lips brushing the shell of his ear as he whispered, “Relax, Kento. You’re way hotter when you’re not scowling.”

Nanami didn’t dignify that with a response, but the corner of his mouth twitched—just once.

---

The next day, the kitchen smelled like sugar and heat.

You were elbow-deep in almond paste, condensed milk, and chopped cashews—hair tied back with one of Gojo’s discarded blindfolds, Nanami’s white tee stretched over your third-trimester belly like it was one wrong inhale away from giving up. Your back ached. Your ankles were cursing your lineage. But your mind—surprisingly—was calm.

Nanami stood behind you. Not nearby. Not adjacent.

On you.

Like a perfectly tailored cashmere trench coat designed by a pervert with a domesticity kink.

His hands bracketed your hips with a steadiness that had nothing to do with innocence—thumbs tracing small, absent-minded circles along the slopes of your belly. His chin rested in the curve of your neck like it had always been meant to live there. Like he’d bought property and filed taxes.

“I told you not to stand so close,” you muttered, struggling to stir the mixture again.

“You told me not to distract you,” he said, voice close and deep. “I’ve been still for ten minutes.”

“You’re breathing on my neck.”

“I love your neck.”

You huffed. “Kento. The marzipan is melting.”

He kissed your shoulder like it was a confession, soft and reverent. Like he’d overheard you once say you liked being touched while cooking and filed it under “How to Win Her in Three Acts.”

“I’ll replace the marzipan. And the chef. And the kitchen, if necessary.”

Behind you, the staff tensed, pretending to be invisible, as if they didn’t exist at all. You didn’t turn to look; you could feel their atoms nervously rearranging.

“Kento,” you warned, voice low and amused, sharp enough that only he could hear, “if you start grinding on my ass or grope my boobs again while I’m pouring hot caramelized sugar, I will tip it directly into your bougie coffee grinder.”

“You won’t,” he murmured and pressed a kiss just beneath your ear. “You’re too invested in the chemical balance of the sweet.”

God, he still remembered. Still knew you. Where to touch. When to press. How to lift.

“…Ugh. You're lucky you’re right.”

His chuckle was indecent, especially coming from someone with his hair disheveled and glasses tossed somewhere near the milk powder tin. His Slipknot tee clung to him like sin. His hands slid under your belly and lifted—just enough to ease the weight off your back. Your knees nearly buckled from the sheer relief of it. You tried to focus, but his body heat….. and goddamn spine pain relief.

You might have moaned. Accidentally. If not for the presence of the staff, who looked two seconds from asking the gods for a transfer.

"You're unfair like this. Kono karada, kanpeki da," he murmured in half-Japanese, voice low and worshipful. (This body… it’s perfect.)

You leaned back into him, lazy. “Flattery won’t get you more sweets.”

“I wasn’t aiming for that.” He nipped your shoulder. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a taste.”

His hand slid under your shirt—where you’d stopped wearing a bra at home out of protest and biology.

He’d asked for these sweets—nostalgia, maybe. Or a way to touch you without Gojo taking the opportunity from him. Maybe it was that. Or maybe Nanami just missed you. The ‘you’ that wasn’t hidden behind a swollen belly and swollen feet. The ‘you’ that could still hold him back. The ‘you’ he’d been trying to make up lost time with—because time didn’t wait, and neither did you. Also, because even if just for today, Gojo’s natural musk made you gag while Nanami’s soothed, and he wanted to take advantage of that.

You were about to elbow him. (Gently, maybe)—when the kitchen door slammed open like a shōjo anime villain’s entrance cue.

“GUESS WHO GOT SENT A KITCHEN APPLIANCE,” Gojo bellowed, bursting in like he’d been ejected from a game show hosted by Satan. “AND THREE DIFFERENT PREGNANCY BRAND DEALS, INCLUDING A SKINCARE KIT THAT SMELLS LIKE MELON-CUCUMBER BUT FEELS LIKE FOREPLAY.”

He spun in place, the camera trained exclusively on himself.

“VLOG UPDATE: My pregnant gamer wife is groping my emotionally constipated husband again while I slave away for content!”

In his other hand? A gleaming white and gold monstrosity.

You froze.

Nanami froze.

The staff froze.

It looked like a toilet seat. A slow-close culinary nightmare. Possibly cursed.

“It’s a slow cooker-slash-baby bottle sterilizer. Multi-use. Passive income, baby!”

“Shut up. I told you not to bring a camera into the kitchen.” Nanami hissed, still wrapped around you like a disgruntled orange housecat.

“We don’t need toilet money!” You yelled, horrified.

“You can’t tell me what to do in MY house,” Gojo grinned, flipping the camera toward the slow cooker. “This looks like something Utahime would cook in.”

Nobody, literally nobody, knew who Utahime was except Nanami. And even he didn’t know why Gojo had been beefing with her since high school.

“GOJO,” you snapped, “I’m literally making food. What part of this feels sanitary to you?!”

“You’re glowing.” He zoomed in on your face. “Pregnancy suits you. Soft demon queen energy. Nanamin, look at her; don’t you wanna cry?”

“I cry because of you often, but not today.”

Gojo wheezed. Almost dropped the camera.

You raised the tray of sweets. “If you don’t leave, I will make you eat the sugarless batch I ruined.”

Gojo gasped. “That’s an act of war.”

“Then declare war, coward.”

Nanami’s grip didn’t budge. “She’s not bluffing, Satoru.”

“TRAITOR!” Gojo shrieked. “You heard it here, folks! My husband has betrayed me! My wife is threatened by my glow-up!”

“You stole my essence toner, Satoru!”

“Technically, you said you didn’t like the scent!”

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN IT’S YOURS.”

The camera stuck to Gojo’s chest probably caught everything: the PR box. The slow cooker that looked like a glorified bidet. You, glowing with rage and glucose. Nanami, still somehow hot despite being halfway to homicide.

“GET. IT. OUT,” you hissed, whisk in hand like a weapon.

“Kore wa slow cooker to yobenai. Kusottare,” Nanami muttered darkly, gripping your waist harder like only he was allowed to wreck your blood pressure. (You can’t call this a slow cooker. Goddamn piece of shit.)

He only cursed in Japanese when genuinely pissed.

Which was hot.

Unfortunately.

Gojo gasped. “Did he just call me stupid?!”

You leaned your weight into Nanami’s hold, wiped flour off your nose, and patted your belly with a flour-covered hand. “No, baby. He called you a piece of shit.”

Meanwhile, online:

@TojisUnwashedTesticles: The way you can HEAR the sexual tension in every Nanami insult is my Roman Empire.

@IhateMonkeys: Why Gojo got a toilet-seat-looking slow cooker. Who approved this collab?

@ExorcistMommyUtahime: Obsessed with the fact that we still don’t know what their jobs are. He’s either a war criminal or a Sagittarius.

@SugurusGhostBabyDaddy: Nanami saying “kusottare” on live was more erotic than my first kiss.

@meGAYmi: Not Nanami’s voice sending me into ovulation. Who’s the real influencer here?

@GetouComeBackHome: Gojo’s still my man, but I would commit war crimes for their wife. Real recognizes real.

@TojisCarSeat: Bro, wtf was that toilet seat thing? Also, the soft moan at 3:12 was illegal.

@NanamisBallSweat: DID Y’ALL HEAR THE OTHER TWO YELLING IN DIFFERENT LANGUAGES LMAO I NEED THEM TO ADOPT ME!

@SukunasButtholeMoss: I just KNOW the wife’s cooking hits harder than generational trauma. Also, pls drop the skincare link.

Group Chat: Wife Support Network 💅

(Inc: You, Shoko, Maya, CHRO)

Perpetually Horny: He did the thing.

Cuntiest Bitch Alive: Define “the thing.”

Perpetually Horny: He stood behind me while I was cooking, hand on my hip, breathing on my neck, and said, “careful with the knife,” like he was narrating a crime documentary.

Postmortem Baddie: Oh no.

HR Baddie: Girl, you’re in danger. and also pregnant. and also a slut. I respect you, bbgirl.

---

In the nights, your husbands had daily crises.

Group Chat: Dad Crimes 💀 (Anon)

Daddy: Okay. Real talk. I just read seven articles on perineal tearing.

Father Time: …Why?

Daddy: Because Google is a curse, and I hate myself.

Father Time: Hmm.

Daddy: They use words like “second-degree” and “episiotomy” like it’s NBD.

Father Time: I know.

Daddy: Do you?? Because I just learned the pelvic floor can detach—

Father Time: Satoru, breathe.

Daddy: I AM. BUT SHE WON’T BE.

Father Time: …I read about hemorrhage risks.

Daddy: Oh god.

Father Time: 500ml is considered “normal” blood loss.

Daddy: That’s a wine bottle.

Father Time: Yes.

Daddy: …Do you need a hug?

Father Time: Desperately.

Daddy: What if she hates us after? Like, hormonally?

Father Time: She already hates us.

Daddy: Fair. But what if it’s biological hate?

Father Time: Then we’ll deserve it.

Daddy: …What if the babies are ugly?

Father Time: Statistically unlikely, you are in the mix.

Daddy: But what if—

Father Time: Then we’ll lie.

Daddy: …I looked up “husband stitches.”

Father Time: Jesus.

Daddy: I need bleach for all my six eyes.

Father Time: Bleach isn’t strong enough.

Daddy: …We’re gonna fuck this up, huh?

Father Time: Absolutely.

Daddy: But we’ll try not to?

Father Time: Every day.

Daddy: …Still kinda wanna put my head between her thighs and scream.

Father Time: …Same.

Daddy: KENTO—

Father Time: IT’S A STRESS RESPONSE.

(Silence for 3 minutes.)

Father Time: …We should sleep.

Daddy: Yeah.

Father Time: …She’s gonna be okay.

Daddy: Yeah.

Father Time: …We’re gonna be okay.

Daddy: …Yeah.

(Seen 2:17 AM.)

---

Originally intended as a pre-check for the official Vogue feature. No one expected it to be this… unhinged.

Excerpt from ELITE SPACES:

Inside the Homes of Asia’s Top One Percent

Interview with Keji, Private Butler to the Mysterious Tech Trillionaire CEO and Her Infamous Husbands.

Author: [Redacted]

Published: [Also Redacted, Sorry]

Name: Keji

Position: Executive Domestic Operations Coordinator (EDOC)

Note: Yes, it does sound like idiocy. No, that is not a coincidence.

Background: Swiss-born. Paris-educated. Former sommelier. Allegedly descended from a Russian assassin who once seduced a queen. Once seen in the background of a leaked MI6 photo with a sword cane and a monocle. May or may not have ghostwritten an erotic thriller under a pen name. Refuses to comment on whether he's killed someone with a dessert fork. Keeps bees. Wears gloves indoors. No known last name.

Q: So, Mr. Keji, how would you describe the household dynamic?

He inhaled slowly, like he was about to lie in court, sipped something that smelled like fermented moss.

Keji: Imagine if Versailles was rebuilt inside a startup’s panic room, then placed in the care of two emotionally unstable Greek deities and one visibly exhausted, visibly pregnant tech CEO who once told Jeff Bezos to “shut up before I code your face off the planet.” That is this household.

We operate on a rotating military-meets-baking-show schedule. Each of her cravings triggers a protocol.

‘Operation Mango Sorbet’ means no one sleeps until the croquembouche at 2 AM is conquered. ‘Emergency Tiramisu’ means Nanami-san cried watching a raccoon video, and now we’re flying in mascarpone from Italy. ‘Code Coconut Milk’ means I have approximately seven minutes to physically remove Gojo-san from the slow cooker aisle in Don Quijote before he livestreams something federal.

Q: And the husbands? Gojo Satoru and Nanami Kento?

Keji’s left eye twitched like it had seen battle. Possibly an actual battle. He adjusted his gloves with quiet menace. His cufflinks gleam—gold, understated. There’s something engraved inside one of them. We don’t ask what.

Keji: Gojo-san is what happens when charisma gets radiation poisoning—what you might call in English a nuclear serotonin event, completely devoid of any concept of self-preservation. He owns 57 robes, none of which close. Once, he brought home a horse “for the vibes.” He hosts unsanctioned cooking shows in our kitchen, Unholy Bake-Off, where he once filmed me screaming about soufflé temperatures and titled it “#ButlerBreakdown.” It trended in thirteen countries and now has merch. And yet, he massages her ankles himself, without being asked, says that she doesn’t like people touching her.

Nanami-san, on the other hand, is… different. Surgical. Lethal. Picture a repressed samurai with a spreadsheet kink. He has strong opinions on napkin folds and stock investments, and he refers to almond milk as “the coward’s dairy.” He cross-references the madame’s dietary needs with biomedical journals. I once caught him reorganizing the spice rack while listening to lo-fi Debussy, sharpening knives for relaxation—or perhaps for revenge. He once dismissed a pastry chef for using vanilla essence instead of extract. I have witnessed him button her coat like a man affixing armor, and it haunts me. I envy it.

Q: What about your employer? The CEO. The wife. What is she like?

A rare pause. Then the kind of smile you give just before throwing a Molotov cocktail into Parliament, the kind that said, “I have watched this woman argue down billionaires while wearing a robe that says, ‘Your dad calls me daddy too.’”

Keji: She is elegance duct-taped to vengeance, tiptoeing through marble hallways with glitter on her cheekbone and war in her bones. Once, she coded an entire anti-fraud protocol while in the midst of a panic attack, making tech bros cry in three languages.

She is brilliant. Brutal. Terrifyingly kind. She codes as if she’s committing arson, soft-launching billion-dollar projects in pajamas. Once, she silenced an entire all-male panel with a single raised eyebrow and the phrase, “Sweetheart, your critical thinking skills are showing.”

She is effortlessly ruthless, yet her kindness feels surgical. She once tipped a barista enough to pay off his student loans.

Above all, she is tired. Carrying twins while managing a trillion-dollar empire and two emotionally unstable men is less “dream wife aesthetic” and more seasonal demonic possession.

And yes, she once tried to deep-fry a coconut because “it felt like a vibe.” We do not speak of that day.

Q: It sounds chaotic. Is it… dangerous?

He leaned forward. The air changed—subtle, but enough that our photographer stopped chewing.

Keji: I cannot confirm the existence of a panic bunker disguised as a wine cellar. Nor the armored stroller Gojo-san commissioned.

What I can say is:

Every room has a safe word.

The koi pond has a kill count.

Nanami-san once barricaded the breakfast nook because the yogurt was “emotionally compromised.”

Also, Gojo-san has a drone. He calls it his son. It lives in the chandelier.

The interviewer did not ask him to elaborate.

Q: And yet… you seem attached.

Keji: Attachment is inevitable when you live in the eye of a domestic hurricane. Fondness would be too gentle a word; we are bound—not by contract, but by proximity, consequence, and survival.

When Gojo-san is quiet, we brace for planetary events and back up the servers. When Nanami-san kneels beside her with a warm towel, we pretend not to notice his hands shake, and when he sighs, we check the news.

And when she smiles at them—just smiles—we pretend not to hear the security wards sensors hum, or when she hums while eating peaches, the air fills with the scent of victory. And sometimes—home.

This house is not built on affection; it’s built on rituals, in-jokes, and midnight grilled cheese sandwiches alongside knife block negotiations.

It is absurd. Infuriating. Sacred.

Love here is not soft; it’s tactical, armored. It’s a siege, an ecosystem, a magnetic field that bends reality around itself.

And still—they chose it. All three of them. And somehow… us, too. And people like that—people at the top? Gods? They rarely choose.

The interviewer is even more confused now.

Q: What would the public be most surprised to learn about them?

He glanced toward the distant hallway. They swear they hear Gojo cackling and a teacup shattering. Then Nanami’s voice, low and deadly: “That was Noritake. You absolute cretin.”

Keji: That they are trying.

Beyond the wealth, beyond the performance art of existing in this tax bracket—they are trying. All three of them.

Behind the absurdity, beneath the myth, there is something profoundly human.

Even if Gojo-san is currently holding the baby monitor like a microphone and singing lullabies in autotune.

Q: Final question-is this a cult?

He tilted his head like a Renaissance painting. Smiled with the calculated joy of a man who owns a vault.

Keji: That question has been forwarded to legal.

(He could answer it. He just didn’t want to.)

[END OF TRANSCRIPT]

[Note: Since its publication, this feature has been reprinted in three languages and has inspired a popular cosplay café in Harajuku. Keji has trended twice on X.com—once for rescuing a fainting pastry chef mid-scone and again for scowling during an Oscars pre-show. The baby monitor now boasts 800K followers on TikTok, while the koi pond has been verified on Instagram and even has its own NFT. And yes, the raccoon now models for Dior, too.]

---

Group Chat: Wife Support Network 💅

(Inc: You, Shoko, Maya, CHRO)

Pinned Message by HR Baddie:

💀Reminder: Maya says NO SEX during therapy.

🚨Shoko is new; do NOT corrupt her.

👩🏽‍💼I’ve already filled out the annulment forms.

They’re waiting in my Google Drive. Just say the word.

Perpetually Horny: He showed up in a wig.

Postmortem Baddie: …Why?

Perpetually Horny: Said it was to “disguise” himself. From what? Unknown. Possibly shame.

HR Baddie: There is no disguise strong enough to hide that man’s decisions.

Perpetually Horny: Then he pulled out sunglasses. Put them on. Looked me dead in the eyes and said, “You don’t know me.”

Cuntiest Bitch Alive: He’s unraveling. You’re not bonding. You’re supervising a psychotic break.

---

//Playlist

The house was too quiet when one was alone in it. It was strange.

No Gojo tripping alarms. No Takahashi scaling furniture like a cocaine-fueled raccoon elf. Just the hum of your customized HVAC system and the subtle bass line from your phone.

The place was holding its breath—not the serene quiet of peace, but the tense stillness of anticipation, like the air before a typhoon or a brewing scandal. You lay on your side in the living room, legs swaddled in soft blankets, and your belly curved like a little hill beneath your compression t-shirt, one of Gojo's old ones that carried the faint scent of vanilla protein powder and ego. Beside you sat Nanami—your moral compass, turned corporate spouse, turned war tactician—his presence a steadying force in the charged atmosphere.

His shirt was untucked.

Untucked.

A sin against his own meticulously tailored existence, the fabric rumpled where it draped over his shoulders. His hair, usually swept back with military precision, fell loose over his forehead, still damp from the shower. Clinging to him was a distinctive fragrance—a bright burst of bergamot that gave way to a subtle heart of aromatic herbs and spice, finally settling into the warm, domestic allure of rich sandalwood, accented with delicate hints of vetiver and leather.

His palm pressed firmly against the small of your back, fingers working slow, deliberate circles into the ache there.

You arched into his touch, a soft sigh escaping you.

Nanami exhaled through his nose—that familiar, long-suffering sound—but his fingers didn’t stop.

"You’re thinking too loud," you murmured.

His thumb stilled. Then, with the same precision he used to dismantle curses, he leaned down and pressed his lips to the curve of your shoulder.

"And you," he said, voice low, "are taking up too much space on the couch."

You chuckled, breathless, and he continued rubbing soothing circles on your back.

You scrolled, thumb-flicking TikToks into oblivion. The content was random—working mom hacks, edits of Gojo with audios that should have been illegal, a raccoon trying lemon for the first time (you immediately sent that to Haibara), a 45-second thirst trap of Nanami in a fitted suit set to “Need Someone Older,” even though he was younger than Gojo.

You didn’t flinch as Nanami shifted his weight on the couch, lying down behind you. He lifted your head and rested it on his bicep, while his other hand settled on your stomach—warm, gentle, and ridiculously steady.

You tilted your head and smiled at him without looking up from the screen.

He leaned in, resting his chin on top of your head.

The next video: a girl screaming, “My husband said he’s gonna ‘watch the baby’ and then fell asleep in the car with it on his chest for two hours! THAT’S NOT WATCHING, THAT’S BEING FURNITURE!!”

Nanami hummed low. “That’ll be Satoru.”

You chuckled.

“Speaking of,” he said, his voice smooth as the lighting in the ridiculous house, “once the twins are here, he'll do all the diaper changes for night feeds.”

“Both?”

“I'm not wasting energy at 3 A.M. on swaddling accidents.”

You smiled again—short, sleepy.

He continued like he’d been rehearsing it in his mind for days, polishing the worry with every repeat: “They’ll probably show early signs. With his blood and mine… I’m concerned.”

You barely looked up, thumbing past a TikTok of someone giving birth to a literal ice cube while moaning in ASMR. Nanami didn’t flinch. He was numb to internet absurdity now. That was progress.

“If they inherit a domain expansion before five,” he said, low and deliberate, “they could fracture reality. And I don’t want you to feel like they are—” He stopped, jaw working. “—not human.”

You let your head tilt against his arm—broad, warm, real—and your phone, still in hand. The silence wasn’t avoidance. It was strategy.

“They won’t be,” you said at last, your voice quiet but firm, like a verdict. “They’ll be worse. Stronger. Stranger. They’ll scare people. Maybe even us.”

That made his brow twitch.

“But they’ll be ours.” You adjusted slightly, his arm tightening instinctively. “And you’re not just a sorcerer, Kento. You’re their dad. You’re the reason they’ll know how to look someone in the eye when they apologize. The reason they’ll know when to draw the line, and when to forgive.”

He didn’t breathe, not really.

“And when they ask why they don’t fit in, why the world looks at them like a weapon someone forgot to leash, you’ll tell them their fathers rewrote the rules of jujutsu society just to make it back in time for dinner. That you both bled for their bedtime. That you both stayed. That even if the world calls them curses, this family won’t. And even if they go astray, we’ll gently course-correct them early on.”

You turned your head slightly, enough to look at him, eyes soft but unsparing. “You keep trying to say the right thing like it’s a math problem. But you don’t need to calculate love, Kento. You are the proof.”

The air shifted. His exhale was less a release, more an alignment. The fear didn’t leave. It just... made room. Found a place to settle beside you on the couch.

“I never say it right,” he admitted, voice gravel-low, a whisper carved into marble.

“I know.” You smiled and breathed him in like he was the only air left in the penthouse suite. “You don’t have to. I’m fluent in Kento.”

Your gaze went back to your phone.

Nanami hated himself even more for betraying you and taking away your smile.

This time, the TikTok was of Chef Ranveer Brar in a five-star rooftop kitchen, plating momos on hand-thrown ceramic while monsoon winds brushed against the open glass doors. You could smell the steam through the screen—chili oil glistening like lacquer, the hiss of the pan lost beneath the elegant chaos of servers speaking French-accented Hindi.

You exhaled sharply. Nanami's arm was across your belly, skin to skin, and your fingers clutched his forearm like you were holding yourself back from teleporting to Mumbai and strong-arming the chef.

You didn’t even realize you'd whispered it: “I’d let that man ruin my life for those momos.”

Nanami hummed, noncommittal. His thumb absently stroked your hip. “He’d have to get past me first.”

“Then you make me momos.”

“I’m not a five-star chef.”

“No,” you said, turning towards him. “You’re better.” You’re mine.

Nanami narrowed his eyes. “You want that?”

You nodded. “I’ve seen this momo recipe on my feed for days. And you know it isn't available on any of the delivery apps here—trust me, I checked. Japan doesn't do momos.”

He scoffed softly. “Because we have gyoza. We don't need oily flour pockets with—”

You looked up at him and gave him the look.

The puppy dog look.

The one you hadn’t used since that week he slept with Gojo.

He sighed fondly and started to rise.

You tugged his sleeve.

“Don’t go,” you said. “Yell at someone else to make it. Play the rich husband card. I want you. Not just the food.”

If Nanami Kento were a commodity, he would have devalued right there—softening, melting.

“…Fine. I’ll call the prenatal chef,” he muttered. “But I’m going to have to give feedback if it’s not authentic.”

“That’s not feedback,” you smirked. “That’s a scathing TED Talk.”

He ran his fingers through your hair, resting his chin back on your head as you both watched the screen. Now it displayed a Gojo thirst edit featuring old college footage that your PR team, under the guidance of the CHRO, had strategically leaked, accompanied by the haunting melody of "Brat."

Nanami squinted at the screen. “That’s the night he blew up a power grid that supplied three blocks while trying to cook takoyaki.”

You grinned. “Yeah. And now he’s trying to change the whole Jujutsu Society.”

Nanami nodded, deadpan. “And still can’t make rice without YouTube.”

“That’s an act, and you know it. He knows if he cooks too well, he might become the designated chef.”

Nanami chuckled lowly.

You felt the tension bleeding off his skin.

“You’re doing that thing,” you mumbled, eyes still on the screen. “Where you don’t speak, but your thoughts are screaming about Satoru.”

He exhaled. “He’s going to burn himself out.”

You tilted your head, letting it fall lightly against his chest.

“He’s not just the head of the Gojo clan now,” Nanami continued, his tone too even to be casual. “But taking over the entire Jujutsu Society? That’s war. And I don’t mean metaphorically. We’ve already gotten two assassination warnings this week.”

“He’s just pretending it’s a new video game expansion pack,” you said, lips twitching.

Nanami snorted—bless the man, that was his version of laughing. “He told me yesterday he was going to name his first decree ‘Patch 1.0: No More Stupid Elders.’ And the second one was just—’Sex for everyone except Haibara.’”

You chuckled, easing back as his hand shifted up, now tracing gentle circles into the tense arch of your waist. “He’s going to say something insane like 'Executive Order: Bring back the Meiji era and put me in a top hat.'”

Nanami muttered, “He already asked me to look into sourcing a silk cravat.”

A pause. Then both of you exhaled. Together. In sync, like the old days before the world decided your marriage should come with dead bodies and surveillance drones.

“Do you ever think,” you began slowly, “we’re not built for raising whatever demonic gods we created in my uterus?”

Nanami stiffened slightly. “They’re not even born yet,” he said, “and they’ve already fractured the Ratio within my domain. I didn’t even know that was possible.”

You blinked. “Is that bad?”

“It’s… unprecedented. Like if someone sneezed in Gojo’s domain and it triggered another Big Bang.”

“Okay,” you said, “so our babies are nukes.”

“Nuclear metaphysical anomalies, yes.”

You turned to look up at him. “Hot.”

His gaze moved to yours, slow and calculating. Then he said, “You know, I’m considering drafting a postnatal battle schedule. Gojo handles diapers. I’ll do the feeding. You’ll direct operations. And I’m getting them into analytics by week three.”

"Are you really going to yell at the baby monitor like a mid-level manager dealing with performance issues?" You licked your lips, your gaze shifting from Nanami's eyes to his lips and back again.

“Of course,” leaning in, Nanami replied, dry as dust on an abandoned altar. “You married me for that.”

You opened your mouth to argue—something stupid and tender, something about how you married him for his soul, not his sarcasm—but the moment shifted before it was born.

The front door hissed open with a scream of cursed energy so thick it shattered the light overhead. A crack, like bone. A flash of power that wasn't yours and never would be.

“BABY, DADDY’S HOME~!”

Gojo’s voice hit the house like a storm siren with a god complex.

Both you and Nanami flinched, muscles tensing. It wasn't fear—never that—but rather the instinctive bracing that women felt when gods returned from war, knowing they weren't allowed to follow them into battle.

Nanami muttered, “God, not now,” but you heard what he meant.

Thank the gods. He's alive.

The door clicked shut. You could breathe again. Your heart tried; your lungs did not.

Gojo stormed in like a one-man apocalypse—blindfold shoved hastily into his coat pocket, dried blood streaking his sleeve (not his, not today). His eyes were exposed, too bright, too blue, too him—maddening and radiant, piercing with the kind of manic aliveness that meant he’d survived whatever he walked away from.

“Did I just hear my beloved spouses tenderly whispering about me behind my back?” he asked, voice pitched somewhere between mock-hurt and delighted. His grin could’ve cut glass, while his hair was even messier than usual, sticking up like static had kissed it, and his whole frame buzzed with restless energy, shoulders coiled tight beneath the silk lining of his coat. “Oh my god, you do care. Nanamin, was that actual concern I heard? Baby,”—he moved with faux horror—“were you about to write me a love letter?”

“Satoru,” you said. “Welcome home.” You sounded calm. You’d had practice.

Because wealth did not make you invincible. Because power in others’ hands was still a collar around your neck. Because your name on Forbes—on the lips of CEOs and senators—meant nothing when you woke to the space in your bed still warm, still bleeding with their absence. No matter how long you’d been with them, no matter how hard you’d tried to accept that your husbands fought and killed for a living to keep the society running normally, it never felt easy knowing that one day even the strongest sorcerer might not return home to you. There might be no ashes for your urns. No shroud. Maybe bone. Maybe a rumor. Maybe silence.

You’d memorized the loss's shape long before it arrived.

You knew what it meant to scream into pillows while PR teams scrubbed blood from the headlines. You had rehearsed the press statement for their deaths. You had drafted their eulogies and cried in the shower to see what your face would look like when it was time. You knew which ring to wear when they brought you the remains—if they brought you anything at all.

The thought of never retrieving his body—their bodies—clawed acid up your throat—the kind you’d drown the world in and still feel nothing.

Maybe it was your fault for loving men with actual substance to them.

You schooled your face. He didn’t need this.

So you smiled.

Because he was home.

Because Nanami was warm beside you.

Because the light had come back on.

Nanami felt your heart stutter; his fingers twitched against your wrist. He always sensed it. But instead of pointing it out, he deadpanned, “I was scheduling your funeral.”

Satoru laughed. Loud. Reckless. Alive.

You smiled. You did not scream.

“I knew it!” Gojo crowed. “I could feel your erotic longing!”

You laughed—too low, too sudden. It bubbled up wrong. Your ribs ached. You leaned into Nanami because the alternative was falling apart.

Gojo launched himself onto the couch like a meteor made of serotonin and aftershocks, snuggling both of you with zero hesitation. “I’m the president of Jujutsu Society and your uterus’s bestie,” he mumbled.

You made a noise halfway between a scoff and a whimper. Nanami didn’t blink.

“I was going to murder you with a spoon,” you whispered, still scrolling through your phone over his head, your fingers trembling slightly.

“Then put me in your will,” Satoru chirped, nuzzling into your neck. “Also, just from my vibes today, I scared so many people off.”

And he said it like it was funny. Like it was a joke. Like the violence hadn’t left a crackdown in the middle of the man you loved. Like he hadn’t just crawled out of someone else’s horror story to come back here and pretend the world still let you have peace, let you have them.

Nanami reached over and jammed a cushion under your feet. “Your vibes have a body count,” he muttered.

“Thank you; that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Gojo beamed. “You two are adorable when you worry about me. So sweet. So soft. So married.”

“You were eavesdropping,” Nanami accused.

“I was spiritually observing,” Gojo replied, his arms spreading across the cushions like a glorified golden retriever with war trauma.

“You look awful,” you said, brushing hair from his forehead.

“Thanks, babe. You should have seen the other guys.” Gojo sighed, eyes closing under your touch. “Oh wait—they are all dead.”

Then he looked at Nanami. “You were worried about me? That was so adorable.”

“I was calculating your recovery period post-burnout.”

“Translation: he loves me,” Gojo sang, then nuzzled his head into your chest. “Can I stay here forever?”

Nanami deadpanned, “Only if you eat those nutrition-approved momos I forced our chef to make.”

“What’s a momo?” he asked.

Then, before you could explain, he was asleep—sprawled across you both, childlike, limbs leaden with a fatigue only gods and soldiers knew. You ran your fingers through his hair.

Because this was the bargain you made.

Because rage, this ancient, wore a thousand faces.

Because grief could wait.

Maybe it was the hormones talking, but for now, you kept them warm. Human. Here.

Even if it killed you.

Minutes later, Nanami barked at the chef from the couch, his voice eerily calm and his sleeves rolled up to reveal tense forearms. “No refined flour. Less sodium. Steamed, not pan-fried.”

You snapped photos of a sleeping Gojo with animal filters—frog, rhino, hedgehog—god reduced to emojis. You stifled your giggles as you showed them to Nanami.

Nanami raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You know, if you keep this up, he might actually start believing he’s a frog. But I have to admit, it’s kind of adorable.”

You snorted, “he already knows he’s a frog.”

Your private chef—normally in charge of seasonal menus, imported produce, and at least one suspicious truffle per dish—nodded quickly. The man was sweating like he was facing down a war criminal. “Y-Yes, Nanami-san. Understood. Millet flour for wrappers, ginger infusion, turmeric-base chutney—”

“And more protein in the filling. Mushrooms, paneer, lean chicken, or I’ll have you making fish stock until your bones turn gelatinous. Do I make myself clear?”

“…Crystal.”

“That poor man just wants to make dumplings,” you said.

Nanami rubbed your stomach. “That man tried to feed you refined starches. That’s grounds for execution.”

You laughed—real and warm—and Nanami finally relaxed enough to cup the underside of your belly like he was steadying a priceless sculpture.

"You're radiant today," he sighed, thumb brushing your hipbone. "And I don't mean in the commercial maternity ad way but in "the sort that made emperors kneel" way.”

“Careful,” you hummed. “Talk like that and I might promote you to COO of this marriage.”

“I already am,” he said, arching a brow. “But if I ever had to pick between this household and the Jujutsu Society again—”

“...you are picking me?” You asked, softly mocking.

“I'm picking the twins,” he deadpanned. “They’d unionize if I neglected them.” Then, quietly added, “And yes. You. Always.”

The moment stilled.

You glanced toward the hallway, where Gojo’s shoes were scattered, where the energy had been blinding.

“He’ll exhaust himself.” You didn’t phrase it as a question, your thumb stroking Gojo’s cheek as he slept, his head a dead weight on your arm. Pregnancy made his usual human-weighted-blanket act borderline hazardous; otherwise, he would be trying to bury his face in your chest.

Nanami sighed, one hand settling on Gojo’s head, fingers carding through his stupidly soft hair—anchoring them to this moment, to this room, while Gojo had been trying to dismantle an entire corrupt institution with nothing but charm and casual genocide. “I know. That’s why I’m going with him.”

Your jaw clenched. Hormones turned your voice razor-sharp, but you didn't look up, just kept rubbing Gojo's cheek as he—still asleep—pulled you closer. "So you'll miss the twins' birth?"

His face did something complicated—sadness, regret, guilt, and that infuriating practicality all warring at once. “We won't be away, but if you and the babies are to be kept safe—he is to take over the role—we’d have to rewrite the entire Jujutsu structure. Clan corruption, mission protocol, sorcerer rights. You know what that takes.”

You inhaled deeply. “More blood.”

“And choices we don't want to make.”

Another beat of silence.

“He still sleeps like a kid when he is home,” you murmured. “But he talks in his sleep now.”

Nanami didn’t look surprised. “What does he say?”

“Names. Kids he couldn’t save. You. Me. The twins. Last week he said, ‘Don’t let them be cursed.’”

Nanami flinched, subtle but unmistakable.

You touched his hand, your thumb gliding along the faint scar by his knuckle. He relaxed under your touch the way only Nanami could—like it was the first time someone had ever let him breathe.

“He’s going to take the whole world on his back,” Nanami muttered. “And forget he has a family.”

You nodded, then smirked. “We could bribe him to rest. Offer performance bonuses. Coupons for ‘One Free Pregnant Lap Nap.’”

Nanami actually chuckled, nuzzling his face in your hair. “Do I get one too?”

“No,” you said. “You get quarterly emotional reviews. And a company car if you don't miss any OB appointments.”

His lips brushed your ear, voice rich and teasing, one hand rubbing soothing circles over your stomach and the other still running his nails through Gojo’s hair. “I’d like to renegotiate my benefits.”

“Submit a proposal in writing. Font Garamond. Double spaced. With references.”

Nanami laughed, then glared at any housekeeping staff who dared to look in your direction unnecessarily.

Later that evening, momos arrived. They were mediocre. Nanami chewed them in righteous judgment.

But you didn’t care. Maybe in this reality you understood Savitri.

---

Group Chat: Wife Support Network 💅

Postmortem Baddie: How’s Gojo?

Perpetually Horny: Shoko. I need you to understand what just happened.

Postmortem Baddie: Okay.

Perpetually Horny: He was doing push-ups. SHIRTLESS. And then he had the AUDACITY—to put one hand behind his back.

Postmortem Baddie: No.

Perpetually Horny: YES. And then he started counting. Out loud. "One." "Two." "Three—"

Cuntiest Bitch Alive: That man is the reason I can’t ethically prescribe meds anymore.

Postmortem Baddie: You're being spiritually derailed by pectorals.

HR Baddie: You let him finish the set?? I’d have thrown a Bible at him.

Perpetually Horny: I blacked out at “three.” I think I saw God. And she looked disappointed but also smug.

---

Group Chat: Wife Support Network 💅

(Inc: You, Shoko, Maya, CHRO)

Postmortem Baddie: Update?

Perpetually Horny: Gojo bench-pressed me.

Cuntiest Bitch Alive: No.

Perpetually Horny: YES.

Postmortem Baddie: Why?

Perpetually Horny: I said I felt heavy. He PICKED ME UP AND STARTED DOING REPS.

HR Baddie: Your marriage is a gym membership with trauma.

Cuntiest Bitch Alive: Did I not say no sexual contact until you all rebuild emotional regulation?

Perpetually Horny: I asked him to stop. He said, “Relax, sweetheart. This is light work.” Then winked. WINKED.

HR Baddie: I swear to god if you end up in labor because that himbo used you as a dumbbell—

Postmortem Baddie: Satoru pretends to take things lightly. He’s not actually stupid. Also, how’s Nanami doing?

Perpetually Horny: He got back from the gym.

HR Baddie: Say less.

Perpetually Horny: He walked in. Sweat dripping down his neck. Shirt clinging like a threat. And then—He made a sound.

Postmortem Baddie: What kind of sound?

Perpetually Horny: Like a low grunt. Deep. Unholy. A noise from the pre-verbal part of the human soul.

Postmortem Baddie: You’re pregnant because of this exact behavior.

HR Baddie: He’s the reason paternity leave should come with PTSD therapy.

Cuntiest Bitch Alive: So just to be clear—still no sex.

HR Baddie: You married two Greek tragedies and turned them into a gym class.

---

This Is How You Get Twins, Sir

You were trying to find the HDMI cable.

That was it. That was all.

You were not—contrary to Gojo’s paranoid delusion—a flight risk, nor about to “go into premature labor because of HDMI-related rage.” You were simply standing in the media room, side-eyeing a nest of tangled black wires, holding your lower back like a war widow. One hand on your bump. One foot wedged behind a speaker. You were, objectively, suffering.

“Don’t move,” came Gojo’s voice from the hallway, firm in that stupid way that made you want to both listen and rebel out of spite. You didn’t have time to argue. He appeared in the doorway two seconds later, barefoot, towel slung loose around his hips like he’d been summoned straight from a fan edit.

“You’re wet,” you muttered, because your brain short-circuited the second you saw his chest, water glistening like thirst trap lighting.

“I’m damp,” he corrected, smug. “And you’re waddling like a hostile penguin. Sit.”

“I need the HDMI—”

“Sit.”

He closed the space in three strides. His palm was wide, steadying your lower back without asking, and you flinched—not in pain, but at the heat. He smelled like bergamot and shampoo and a man with too many opinions on your rest schedule. And he was looking at you like you were glass. Not fragile, but precious. Expensive. Untouchable unless he earned it.

You gave in with a sigh and let him guide you—gently, carefully—into the big armchair.

“Lean forward,” he said, voice dipping like he knew exactly what he was doing. His hands skimmed the top of your shoulders, then dragged down, kneading through the tension you’d been ignoring for weeks.

His hands were hot. His thumbs knew where to press. You made a noise you instantly regretted. Gojo stilled.

“You okay?”

You cleared your throat. “You're disgusting.”

He leaned in, mouth close to your ear. You could feel the shape of his smile.

“Feel that?” he whispered, taking your hand and pressing it to his chest. His heart was thumping like he’d sprinted across a battlefield. “That’s my heart vibrating. For you.”

You blinked. “You absolute whore.”

“But you know what’s beating harder?” His voice dropped, silk over static. You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Your palm was still on his chest. His other hand had dipped lower, spreading wide at the base of your neck like he was mapping out a new territory.

“You’re not allowed to die, y’know,” he murmured. “Ever. You scared the hell out of me.”

You paused. Something in your throat squeezed tight.

“I didn’t die,” you said quietly.

He kissed your temple like it didn’t matter. Like you were alive now, and that was enough.

And then—

Of course—

The door creaked open.

Nanami, hair damp from the rain, holding a tiny blue onesie in one hand, stared at the scene: you half-limp in Gojo’s lap, his mouth too close to your throat, your hands entangled like you were mid-coitus or prayer.

Silence.

Nanami’s brows twitched. “...Is this about the HDMI cable?”

Gojo, unfazed: “No. This is about healing.”

You: “This is how I ended up with twins.”

Nanami sighed. Stepped inside. Dropped the onesie beside you like a gentle verdict. You watched his gaze fall to your belly—round and heavy with movement—and something in his face cracked open.

“It’s so small,” he murmured. You weren’t sure if he meant the onesie or your remaining sense of peace. But he crouched. Rubbed your belly with reverence. Whispered, “Can’t believe they’re almost here.”

His voice was hoarse.

Gojo kissed your shoulder. Nanami kissed your stomach. You closed your eyes.

You were still in pain. Still pissed. Still tired.

But for one second, you felt like a goddess being worshipped by two very emotionally unstable men.

Which, honestly? Fair.

---

Next Chapter 22 (alt ending 2.13) - Things Broken Are Still Yours - Part 2 - (Tumblr/Ao3)

A spin-off Crack series in the same AU - (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

Beta - @blackrimmedrose

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[scribbledswans]

hi im Sorbet/Soleil

you may call me swan. he / it / any neopronouns. I am 19 years old.

This is actually an alt account, i wanted to be cringe without it being personally tied to me. If you recognize the art style, don't say anything okay :3

I'm just going to be posting mostly oc x canon / canon x reader here, to feed the underfed and also feed myself since there is not nearly enough reader/canon interactions that suit my tastes anywhere. 007n7 enjoyers i will save you.

Requests are closed for now!

I WILL NOT CREATE CONTENT INVOLVING:

Romantic or explicit (Gore or otherwise) interactions with characters established to be minors

NSFW and Non-Con

Genuine Gore. Im squeamish sorry

Romanticized Yandere. I'll write yandere, but I'll make it very clear and up front that it's a toxic dynamic.

I WILL CREATE CONTENT INVOLVING:

Fluff, Angst and SUGGESTIVE (not NSFW) interactions with adults!

Romantic, platonic, poly and Queerplatonic relationships :D

OC's!! It may take me a while to get to it tho

Canon x Canon

Blood, Bruises, Cuts, ETC

Please dont be afraid to request something extremely specific, i'm more than happy to try :] Be sure to specify the type of content youre requesting me to make though!! [Oneshot, Headcanons, or Doodles]

all art will be tagged with Swan Scribbles, All writing will be tagged with Swan Drabbles. Characters and dynamics will be tagged appropriately CURRENT REQUESTS IN QUEUE: So much Chance x Reader. I will not respond to all of them and will make one big post for the Chanceheads /lh (it'll make my life easier!)

007n7 x Reader (3x) Various x Cryptid Reader (Chill) Spawn Deity Reader x Two Time Deity Reader x 007n7 John Doe x Cuddly Reader doodles Shedletsky x Reader (2x) John & Jane doe x Chance Noob x Reader Telamon x reader

[bellsana334]

Poly/Yan! Percy Jackson x Annabeth Chase x Trying to escape, Mortal! Fem! Reader

Warnings!: Pregnancy, obsessions, slight toxicity (if it’s even there) and delusion. Also—this is slightly inspired by someone, in just forgot who.

*You ran through the crowed streets of mortals and machines, running through a middle street. After running and running, you finally stopped panting and happy that you got away…Until you saw Annabeth approaching with her draken sword on the side of her waist, appearing as she took off her cap of invisibility while eating a pretzel as the mist covered them.* “Nice try though, only your twelveth escape attempt, almsot fooled me but that sudden rigth on Enzel Avenue caught my eye,” *She says casually as she comes in, Percy coming out of a nearby café with a latte in hand. “Oh hey.” He said, though his tone more knowingly, helping you up before going to a food truck as Annabeth says,* “It has your favorite chicken wings, though after this we should get back quickly.” *As you stood there behind them, the thing is….probably one of the weirdest things of being captive to two, rather, mentally disturbed and powerful demigods, who even the Greek gods, wouldn’t help you with since they saved the world so many times and was their champions and was your “Boyfriend and Girlfriend”, was acting like you weren’t.*

It was complicated really, one minute these two are school friends and the next, their not even your boyfriend and girlfriend anymore, actually—Literally, after you were kidnapped, when you were incredibly disoriented they just told you and unintentionally you just said the “I do” and there. Not to mention they made sure to have mortal legal documents and somehow got your mom’s signature (probably through the mist). And one can guess how you were pregnant— with twins in-fact.

Anyway, here are the categories.

Sex.

How I in a broader explanation see both as very muscular—okay, that’s a little stupid. What I mean is that, along with all their muscles, and let’s be real. In no way, you, the normal person is ever physically overpowering either of them, let’s not kidd ourselves💀. Bascially, their the type to make you “very” sore in the morning, which in most situations is probably being intoxicated by some intense aphrodisiac (which they probably got from someone in the Aphrodite cabin or something.) Also, they’re rather lively in bed, pouring out the days stresses and emotions, past feelings and more.

I’d imagine Percy be slightly more gentle than Annabeth. I know people might have conception he’s not, but to me that really does sound like it. From deep kisses to just slightly rough entering your stomach (though make no mistake, he’s always deep in.) For me, he’s more of a Lotus sex-position type guy than anything else being honest. Him holding you tightly against him, while you’re moaning in pain and pleasure.

Annabeth meanwhile, is much more rougher. From downright bleeding kisses, to hard-in love-bites. She’s less emotionally controlled than Percy, so expect a small temper. Annabeth is the type to like having control over things—or people. So, I’d say and from the fact she herself is quite stomp, she would most likely like the Swing Fling position. You dangling slightly, squirming under her.

Obsessive Tendecies

I wouldn’t say they’re *easily* obsessive but possessive? Yes.

Percy tends to be more playful about it. Making jokes and more, though he’s scarily perceptive emotionally. For example—once you didn’t want his blue pancakes so you made the excuse that you weren’t hungry. So obviously, he still forced you to eat it, okay—bad example. Once, you wanted to have the abortion so bad before you couldn’t. Annabeth was out, and Percy wasn’t in the kitchen. You were underaged but looked anyway for some alcohol. You could drink an entire bottle if you had to, just wanted the abortion. You only managed a few sips before Percy came in. *Percy’s eyes had widened in shock (Thing was, from his childhood trauma with drunk and abusive stepdad Gabe, he already had trauma with alcohol.) Percy looked horrified for a few moments before…just a moment, his eyes gave a glare that would even stop a minor god in their tracks. The fear itself made your body tremble as you dropped the bottle of alcohol. Percy, of course immediately went to help you and make sure you threw it al, up. And obviously, you were punished with isolation later-on by Annabeth.*

Annabeth meanwhile is more strict when it comes to this. Setting rules and making sure you follow them, hell, could make a seasoned Roman soldier or emperor from Ancient Rome tremble with her aura alone. Annabeth was no Percy emotionally, but unlike Percy she was very creative in other ways. Strategies, and more specifically in this case—punishments. You were pregnant so what? That last punishment clearly didn’t stop your 12th escape. For the next few weeks, while you slept in the shared between you 3. You’d find yourself begging for release each time they had in you. From cupping your down-parts of your pelvis to just plain s*x, you were exhausted every morning. To top it off, you could forget ant undergarments for your lower half. (Hope the wings kind to day, and that you’re not wearing anything short.

All this being said, they aren’t completely toxic, for the knot part decent. Percy loves and coo’s each time his hands are to your stomach, excited for the future twins, he’s always one-foot to the door kitchen incase you need something. Annabeth is alway reading something about pregnant women and making sure you rest, eat, get clothed, bath and ectsetra, all in the proper way.

All this being said…remember…you’ll never escape. These are one of the most power demigods and Demigoddesses for a reason. Not even the gods and goddesses will help you, especially a mortal and especially when it’s against their very well of importance, champions.

(Sorryy guys! This is late and by second post, I’m trying to get better she this is obviously not the best and rather lazul compared to my Yan!Demon king Meliodas x Fem! Reader. Also if you can check that out! Although I’ll be posting on my own timeframes, is still nice to see recognition for these. Hope you like them!)

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

Propaganda:

For Orufrey: "They're tragic wlw who have devoted their lives to each other since they were kids. They live together, they cook together, they're raising four girls together and they're doing the best they can. Olruggio would do anything for Qifrey if Qifrey would just Let Him 😭 but Qifrey is dead-set on protecting Olruggio and keeping him safe and in the dark no matter what it costs... i cant 😭..."

"Man I don't know they just have the vibes. They have toxic yuri energy but they are two grown men. They've known each other since their apprentice days and have stuck together ever since. Qifrey's main magic type was something he took up because Olruggio proposed that he learned to control the water he feared. They live together away from most of society with Qifrey's four apprentices, living the sapphic cottagecore (ateliercore???) dream. Qifrey, due to the fact that his eyesight is very much failing, something which is very problematic when it comes to witches, who need their eyesight more than most, is getting very desperate to get all he lost to the Brimhats, the witches who took one of his eyes and his memories, and Olruggio ends up noticing this pursuit and is implied to have done this more than once. Qifrey does not want Olruggio to know about both his failing eyesight and his goals, so he ends up completely wiping Olruggio's memory of those things, and laments that Olruggio is a kind person, and one who would most likely forgive him again, but also one who would try to save him, even when he didn't want to be saved. He also apologized right up until the moment Olruggio's memories of his secret were gone. In general I think chapter 40 is the somewhat toxic guy yuri chapter ever. I'm very tired so I do not know how to explain any of this, I just thought "wow Orufrey reminds me of this one poll I saw on Tumblr" and then spent three days straight hunting for your blog before completely forgetting my reasoning for Orufrey being yuri right before I submitted this."

For Joongdok: "Well first of all Yoo Joonghyuk has a whole arc that is transfem coded as hell (has a power/technique that can technically only be used by women but somehow he can also use it, for a time he even turns into a woman to wield it and it's. Actually just let me get the quote "The ines of the face had changed but it was clearly Yoo Joonghyuk. No, it was even more than before.") that just kinda happens,, and doesn't get brought up again but anyway. Second of all just look at them. You see the vision. Also a bonus observation is that these two often get shipped in a poly ship with Han Sooyoung and whenever I see people make a "regular couple, yaoi couple, yuri couple, I see no difference love is love" meme with them the combination of which pair among these three is which of the categories is always different"

Note: This submission also mentions Han Sooyoung, but I decided to count this polyship submission as guy yuri as well.

"They love each other, they pretend they don't care for each other but all their actions prove they care too much, if you remove someone from the trio then the resulting duo is extremely dysfunctional, as evidenced by more than a million words of canon. Is it technically guy yuri? Well, Han Sooyoung is a woman, but in a way she's one of the guys. Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk are men, but the text heavily hints that Yoo Joonghyuk is a trans woman who's just too busy and stressed out to transition yet, and Kim Dokja has just never thought about his own gender a single day in his life. They made the world for each other, they went back in time countless times and waged countless wars for each other, they wrote and read and lived a story, their story, for each other and that's what saved them all. The way Han Sooyoung writes Yoo Joonghyuk's story to save Kim Dokja and loses herself in the process, the way Yoo Joonghyuk voluntarily lives the story to the point of losing himself too and even forgetting why he originally decided to do it, the way Kim Dokja read Han Sooyoung's story which was Yoo Joonghyuk's life and that's how he found himself, they all took so much from each other and gave so much of themselves to each other, this is all very yuri."

"they're so yuri you have no idea. they have every staple of a yuri ship. unwavering devotion. waiting dozens or thousands of years for each other. dooming themselves and the world for each other. so much yearning. i also see them genderbent a lot (including inn canon in the case of yjh) and they're right both of these people are women. i genuinely can't even see them strictly as men at this point they're just yjh and kdj and they are yuri do you understand."

"they're so yuri. the abscense of yuri is the presence of yuri etc etc. these two guys are all ABOUT abscenses. also one of them is a part time woman. the other guy is a guy but like in the same way a square is a rectangle. anyway they're so guyyuri to me. bonus points also because they have a mutual girlfriend and when she's present they're girlyaoi but that's not relevant to this specifically"

[tanukitsuneko-suki]

build episode 46 thoughts:

- i want so badly to know the international political ramifications of whatever this nationwide split in japan doing to the rest of the world lol

- i’m still thinking of ryuusen but with a flavor of evolt in the middle…i can think of nothing freakier than having a 3p with the literal personification of your toxic yaoi

- other countries probably: the entire earth is at stake?? mf we didn’t sign for this

- at least sento can still smile leading to the end of his series bc emu’s just out of it lmfao

- banjo’s arm…my wife’s thin wrists…ohh she’s so

- endgame cafe nascita team my beloved

- episode title “an oath to be the one” are they gonna be one?? 😭 senryuu??? one…as in marriage ?😭😭

- banjo’s always so fucking funny man…it’s peak writing to make the Terrifying, Potentially Destructive Entity Capable Of Ending Worlds a huge dumbass…bc Sento’s just dropping shit like “this was created thanks to Evolt’s genes within your body” and banjo’s just at the side like 🧍‍♂️🤷

- endgame cafe nascita is so fucking funny because sento’s the only scientist here PLEASEE

- sento saying literally anything:

his teammates: 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

- PARALLEL WORLDS????????

- AH. OH. AHHHHHHHHH. OHHHHHHHHHHHH. AHHHH OHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHH OKAY!!!

- everytime banjo tries to process sento’s explanations you can visibly see his brain overheating lmao

- TEARS IN MY FUCKING EYESSSSSS HE LOOKS SO SMUG

- “apparel! …wait, no, parasol!” “parallel. parallel worlds” “parallel” BANJO NEVER CHANGEEEE

- i feel like banjo nothing is making sense to me so i’ll just nod along 😭

- OTHER VERSIONS??!?!! KYAAAAAAAAAAAAA

- “i knew i would be completely clueless!” MAYBE THIS IS WHY YOU’RE MY OSHI LET’S BE DUMB TOGETHER 😭

- banjo’s like. okay whatever. just tell me who to punch

- aeaaaaaa refining the bottles twice? hahah what if ryusen

- notes app lookin ass screen

- oh kazumin your stocks are rising. this humble begging is too cute

- IT WASN’T ORIGINALLY FOR BANJO 😭⁉️⁉️⁉️ i feel silly hyping up the ice dragon thing ngl

- KAZUSENNNNNNNN

- they ignored his shirts…guys let’s not bully gen-san too much 😞 he’s old

- HE CAN’T CATCH A FUCKING SOBA 😭😭 CAN THIS MAN EVEN DO ANYTHING

- akaso doing his best to chew through half-cooked meat might be my new favorite thing

- kazumin 😭 kono hentai

- LMFAOOOOO KAZUMIN 😭😭😭😭 DUDE STOP IT

- bro’s fucking ascended

- IT WAS GENTOKUUU FUCKKKKKKK😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 I DID NOT NEED TO KNOW GENTOKU SMELLS REALLY NICE. OMEGA-CODED AJDHSJHDSJJS

- I THOUGHT THEY’RE GONNA IGNORE IT. WDYM KAZUMIN HIMSELF SAYS GENTOKU SMELLA NICE. FUCKKKKKKKKKKK

- senryuu married

- “banjo. there’s something you need to know” damn let me know too? why are we having a cutscene all of a sudden

- thinking about mii-tan’s fans at the moment. because like if i was wondering where luca went after his hiatus only to find out that his team is gonna battle a space alien in international tv i don’t know what i’d do ?

- “how will the kamen riders (who plunged us into fear as military weapons) stand up against him??” GIRL WHY ARE WE DOING THEM SUCH A DISSERVICE LOLLLLLL

- genkazuryusen poly is so good because kazugen must feel so incensed with senryuu hiding shit from them and going off together to try and save the world by themselves.. and it’s not even because they don’t respect kazugen it’s just that senryuu cares for kazugen too much and they’re trying to shoulder the burden just between the two of them. gaahhhh okay i need to make a chart before i lose it bc like HOLD AWNNNN (i didn't put it here but banjo specifically understanding the reasons/heart of sento's decisions is such a good flavor between all four of them)

- WEIRD ALIEN GOO GO AWAYYY

- oh shit BUILD DRIVER!! GREASE BLIZZARD. KAZUMIN YOU ARE SO COOL. BUT ALSO. THE POETRY OF USING THE BOTTLES OF THE TRIO TO DEFEAT THEIR COPYCATS..AAAAAGH

- “are you ready?” “damn right i am” KAZUMIN YOU ARE SO COOL 😭 PUN NOT INTENDED!!!

- WOWWWWWW

[opreaadriann]

For that person who feels alone for being a Isaac lover;

Don't worry soldier, for I too, simp hard for the ginger gremlin... Hard (just in case it isn't clear enough)

You are not alone

He is a red flag, but let's be honest, MC is not a green flag either xDD, I want my MC to fight for dominance and believe me, if I can choose, my MC is going to stay in top, muahaha

Toxic? Yes please, is my new cologne

Between Isaac and Michael, I'm going to twist my MC as all the things I hate in this world lmao

(I say all that shit, I know at the end I will choose all the cute and fluffy stuff possible in the game cause I love softie stuff and I'm all about "start Chernobyl grade of toxic to omg stop with the sweet stuff troupe)

Ps: sorry but I just read poly about Michael and Isaac and a part of me was like: we are all going to die

And another part of me was like: ... Mmm yeah we are going to die 🥵😏😏

I don't think there are going to be this poly but NGL that would be AWESOME

I love your story so much, it is super fun to play and there aren't a lot of revenge stories in "real life" worlds so I can't stop reading it non stop lol (literally I have like 3 or 4 files with different MC, Ros, backgrounds etc xDD) I can't wait to see more! Thanks for all your hard work!

Ugh, an Isaac lover…

Seriously though, I can’t wait to get to the romance part for him, I think it’s going to be extremely entertaining to write haha

Thank you very much for the kind words, if I write this game well, I’m thinking of making revenge my niche haha

I’m impressed with those save files tho. I played the story recently and I’m shocked how little you can see in one playthrough right now, so I’m glad some of you are playing around with the choices.

[critical-velvet]

Young Justice really is just a worse version of teen titans ngl. Like, let me compare the two real quick

Young Justice

•None of the characters feel like actual friends, they all seem to fucking hate each other

•Pointless cheap teenage romance drama where literally everyone is toxic (except Conner and apparently Aqualad got into a healthy poly relationship)

•Some frankly ugly ass character designs especially how they draw female characters

•Frankly, this show is just boring

Meanwhile the Teen Titans

•Every titan feels distinct and different but with how they interact you can tell that they’re all very good friends

•Actual believable romance with actual chemistry and build up (Starfire and Robin) as well as tragic romance (Beast boy and Terra)

•Iconic character design and the art is GORGEOUS at times

•There’s an interesting storyline each season with each season focusing on one titan. Every titan goes through some sort of defining character arc (unfortunately we never got a starfire season after the show’s cancellation).

Frankly the only saving grace young justice has is Klarion the Witch boy, wish he got more screen time