#chapter 1: the two lab rats

[the-machines]

Part 1: I Wanna Be A Machine

*Ethan, and Mikaela are hanging out with a different resident in the building, on a wall filled with lockers. An abnormal Mimikyu. They look more humanoid than a normal Mimikyu.*

Ethan: So, how long have you been in the building, Morgan?

*Seems like we caught a name!*

Morgan: About a few months.

Mikaela: What? We've never seen you around here...?

Morgan: Well, I lived in isolation because I was afraid of what would happen if anybody saw me...

Ethan: Well, no need to be afraid.

Mikaela: The Ferum Research and Rescue Laboratory is always ready to lend a helping hand!

Morgan: R-really?

Ethan: Of course!

Morgan: That's some sweet moto- wait, hold on.

Ethan: What?

Mikaela: What happened?

Morgan: What's wrong with him?

*Morgan's sharp, dark violet claw points at a man in the hall wearing a lab coat.*

Ethan: Oh. That's Dr. Malachi.

Mikaela: Yeah, I know. It's just that...

I'll be right back. Gotta go to the restroom.

Ethan: Okay.

Mikaela: Take your time.

*Morgan exits the hallway, and enters the women's restroom.*

Ethan: Should we see what he's up to?

Mikaela: 100%.

*Ethan and Mikaela walk up to Dr. Malachi.*

Ethan: ...Doc?

Dr. Malachi: Oh! Hey, you two! What are you two doing, here?

Mikaela: Nothing much, but just one question.

Dr. Malachi: Go ahead.

Dr. Malachi: Oh, nothing. It's just, I need you two for something.

*Dr. Malachi slowly pulls out two syringes filled with a red substance.*

Mikaela: Like what?

Dr. Malachi: An experiment.

Mikaela: Come again??

*As quick as a flash, Dr. Malachi slams Mikaela into the lockers!*

*He then injects one of the syringes into Mikaela's bloodstream!*

*Immediately, Mikaela feels very heavy side effects: shortness of breath, VERY heavy fatigue, immense fear, and glitchy eyes...*

*Ethan launches at Dr. Malachi, but the scientist reacts quickly, and kicks Ethan in the face!*

*Dr. Malachi injects the other syringe into Ethan's bloodstream, and Ethan, too, catches the same heavy side effects.*

*Ethan and Mikaela lay on the ground, shaking, and scared for their lives, as they soon pass out from exhaustion...*

*The two lab rats lay there, "lifeless" as Dr. Malachi looms over them both...*

*That second, Morgan calls out to Dr. Malachi.*

Morgan: Why?

As soon as I step out of the restroom, I see my only friends passed out on the floor?!

Dr. Malachi: Oh, great...

*Morgan darts off into the hallway.*

Dr. Malachi: Well, one thing to take care of with my new minions.

*Dr. Malachi clicks a button on a rectangular remote, shining in steel plates, and Ethan and Mikaela stand up forcefully...*

*Ethan and Mikaela abide by Dr. Malachi's orders, and darts after Morgan in the hallway.*

To Be Continued...

[v1kastr4p]

smoke in her lungs, ash on her hands // 1

sevika x fem!reader enemies to lovers

Chapter 1: Smoke, Steel, and the Scent of Lavender

Zaun never truly slept.

The Undercity was alive with the grind of machinery, the hiss of exhaust from shimmer pipes, and the ever-present buzz of life just clinging on. Y/N knew the rhythm of it better than her own pulse. Her boots tapped a staccato rhythm down rusted metal grates as she crossed the narrow bridge into the market district, satchel hanging from her shoulder and curls half-tamed beneath her shawl.

She wasn’t dressed like much—a faded brown wrap, loose pants tucked into weathered boots, her belt jingling slightly from scissors and vials she hadn’t had the chance to put away. Her fingers still smelled of antiseptic and sage from a poultice she’d made that morning. She was tired. She always was. The kind of tired that settled in your marrow and made you crave silence, warmth, something sweet.

But just as she turned down a quieter alley, she saw it.

Blood. Not pooled—dripped. Fresh. Bright arterial red.

It led behind a stack of rotting crates behind an abandoned shimmer lab, the stench of chemical burn thick in the air. She stepped forward slowly, instinct overriding reason. Her breath caught in her throat as she spotted the collapsed form behind the crates—sprawled out in a patch of oil, breathing in wet gasps, hands shaking.

He was barely a man, maybe a year or two older than her—Zaun-born, inked across his throat in an old gang brand, his jacket torn and soaked with blood. One arm hung useless, bones shattered and sticking out at the elbow. His face was a mess of bruises, lips split, one eye swollen shut. He looked like death already had its fingers wrapped around his throat.

"Shit," Y/N whispered, already dropping to her knees beside him.

“Don’t…” he gasped, flinching. “She’s… she’ll come back.”

“Not if I get you out of here in time,” she snapped, already unfastening her satchel, eyes scanning the damage.

The boy was half-conscious, too far gone to resist when she jabbed him with a painkiller and started bandaging his wounds, wrapping tight with surgical gauze and splinting his arm with metal scrap from the alley. He didn’t speak again.

She carried him the whole way back—5’3” of sheer willpower and adrenaline, dragging his nearly dead weight through side alleys and rat tunnels until she made it to her little home, tucked beneath a collapsed chem processing plant. Her clinic was crude but clean. Handmade tables, glass bottles lined neatly on wood shelves. She patched him up in silence, sweat sticking curls to her cheeks as her hands moved with practiced speed.

She never asked names. Never gave hers.

That was how she survived.

But Sevika wasn’t a woman who liked surprises.

The lab was still smoking when she arrived—long strides, coat sweeping behind her, metal arm humming with leftover fury. She stepped over corpses, crushed canisters, the smell of burnt flesh and melted steel curling in her nostrils.

“Where the fuck is he?” she snarled, kicking over a half-destroyed desk.

“He was here,” one of her scouts muttered. “Didn’t die here though. Got dragged out. There's... tracks.”

Sevika’s nostrils flared.

He shouldn’t have lived.

He had information.

Schematics. Formulas. Shit his gang wasn’t supposed to know. Silco had sent her to erase the problem—clean and silent. But now the problem had legs again, and worse: a story to tell.

Her fury bubbled under her skin like a second pulse.

It didn’t take long to find the trail.

Zaun whispered. Someone had seen a curly-haired girl in a brown wrap hauling a body through the industrial quarter. Sevika followed the scent of antiseptic and blood, boots echoing through the old tunnels, until she found the place—small, barely a shack, tucked into the skeleton of a broken factory. Too neat. Too quiet.

She didn’t knock.

The door crashed open under her boot, slamming against the wall.

Inside, Y/N jumped.

She was tying off a linen wrap around her wrist when the door burst open, light from outside slashing across her face. She turned sharply, curls spilling over her shoulder, eyes wide and dark and startled.

“What the hell—?” she began, but stopped.

Because the woman that stepped into her home wasn’t just anyone.

Sevika was massive. Steel-arm massive. Her presence sucked the air from the room. Smoke clung to her coat. Her eyes were metal—sharp, narrowed, set in a face carved from anger and war. Every inch of her said: I kill for a living.

“You,” Sevika growled.

“Me?” The younger woman blinked, setting the bandage aside.

Sevika was already across the room in two strides. Her metal arm shoved her hard—not even full force, just a warning. But it was enough. Y/N stumbled, catching herself on the edge of a shelf as glass vials rattled violently.

“You patch him up?” Sevika spat. “That rat with the broken arm?”

“He was bleeding out,” Y/N said, heart hammering but voice steady. “He needed help.”

“He needed to die.”

Y/N's jaw clenched. “That’s not my decision to make. I don’t choose sides—I treat whoever walks in needing help.”

Sevika’s mouth curled into something cold. Her voice dropped low and venomous. “You think this is a fucking charity? That bastard had intel. Dangerous intel. The kind that starts wars. You think you’re helping? You're giving them ammunition."

“I’m giving them a chance to live,” Y/N snapped.

Wrong move.

Sevika was in her face in a heartbeat, breath hot with rage, steel fingers curling like she was fighting the urge to grab her by the throat. Y/N refused to back down, though every inch of her trembled.

“You just made my job harder. And I don’t like that, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” Y/N said, voice cracking like fire over frost. “And maybe if your job involves murdering bleeding people in alleys, someone should make it harder.”

A beat of silence.

Then Sevika laughed. A low, dangerous thing. No mirth in it—just disbelief.

“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that,” she said, circling her slowly like a predator. “But you just interfered in my business. You don’t get to cry innocence when that comes back to bite you.”

“I’m not innocent,” Y/N said quietly. “But I swore to help people. I don't ask what gang they belong to.”

Sevika stopped. Turned.

And for the first time, she looked at the girl.

Really looked.

Not at the shawl. Not at the clinic. At her.

Young, maybe mid twenties. Too soft for this world. But eyes like tempered steel, and a stubborn fire in her that hadn’t been stamped out yet. Sevika had expected some old crone, a babbling alchemist, a medtech dropout with more ambition than brains.

Not this.

Not dimples and defiance in the same breath.

She hated how surprised she was.

“You keep this shit up,” Sevika said, voice a low rumble, “you’re gonna end up dead. You hear me? Someone’s gonna gut you just to make a point.”

“Then they’ll have to try harder,” Y/N said.

Another beat.

And Sevika stepped back.

Not much. But just enough.

She tilted her head, cracked her neck like a wolf losing interest—for now.

“I see you patch him up again,” she said coldly, “I’ll come back. And next time, I won’t just shove you.”

“I won’t stop doing my job,” Y/N said, lifting her chin. “Even if you threaten me.”

Sevika’s smirk was dark. “Yeah. I figured.”

She turned and walked out, the door creaking in her wake, heavy boots thudding into the distance.

Y/N exhaled. Hard.

Her knees buckled as soon as the sound of footsteps vanished.

And yet, even as her hands shook, even as she went to pick up the vials that had fallen from the shelf… she couldn’t get those silver eyes out of her head.

Or the way Sevika had looked at her.

Like a warning. Like a promise. Like a storm just beginning to form on the horizon.

next part

[sojumamii]

༊·˚puppy love༊·˚

pt.1 pt.2

summary: After getting over the initial shock of Megumi's new look, the brainstorming begins!

tags: megumi x f!reader, crack, evil puppy, yaga has a hit on gojo's life,swearing. unedited.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Part 2 is finaaaaally here! I’m so sorry this took so long, the beginning of 2025 has been quietly chaotic over here at sojumamii inc. I also kept changing my mind on how this chapter was going to go.

But fuck it we ball! I hope you guys really enjoy this chapter! I swear it that part 3 won’t take nearly as long to upload! Please let me know your thoughts and if you have any theories on Megumi’s little predicament! 

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

"Wow. Oh my god." Shoko's tired eyes widen, her jaw dropped at the sight of three students (well four) and a small ball of fur in your arms.

"I had thought Gojo was kidding when he called, but Megumi's literally...a puppy...." she says blankly her mind unable to process the sight of the usually calm and collected Megumi now turned into a fluffy little dog. She chalked up Gojo's earlier phone call regarding Megumi's curse as just another one of his bad jokes or an elaborate way to waste her time. 

Yuji sheepishly rubs the back of head, chuckling nervously at the nurse's shocked gaze, being expressive isn't exactly something Shoko is known for.

You sigh offering the nurse a soft smile,"Trust me I wish he was, any way you can check him out?" you ask, gesturing to Megumi fast asleep in your arms.  

Shoko nods,"Hmm..I'm no veterinarian, but lets see. Set him down on the examining table." she states while pulling on her white lab coat.

Gently you lay Megumi's miniature body onto the infirmary bed, scratching at his head with your finger to wake him up,"Hey Gumi, you gotta wake up now we have to let Shoko check you out," you whisper soothingly.

Megumi's dark eyes flutter open at your coaxing, he looks at you with curiosity then sits up on all four legs, yawning cutely with an audible chirp. You coo unable to help finding him so cute as a puppy, especially sleepy and tiny.

"Fushiguro's actually cute as a little mutt when he's not being a yappy rat..." Nobara quips, pursing her lips at the pomeranian in question. Yuji nods but elbows the auburn haired girl nervously," Yeah he's adorable but careful he does bite remember.." making Nobara scoff and roll her eyes, muttering an ‘oh i wish he would' threateningly under her breath.

Shoko laughs at your antics, gently scooping Megumi with one hand up to her   chest and checking his heartbeat with the stethoscope she asks the million dollar question even you want to know,"So...how'd he end up like this?" 

You turn around to the disaster twins expectantly and raise an eyebrow urging them to answer the question.

"I also want to know, I told them to explain once they got here." 

Both students tense up and after a beat of silence, Nobara elbows Yuji, shoving him in front of her. He turns around with an aghast expression of betrayal on his boyish features.

"Thanks alot Kugisaki!" The pink haired boy whines his toned pointed and annoyed.

Both you and Shoko look at them impatiently, making Yuji sigh and clear his throat. Megumi is set down, sitting up on the bed and yips at his two friends as if saying,'stop fooling around!'

"So..." He begins,"We were dispatched on a mission to check out an abandoned pet store that had an intense amount of curses attracted to it, meaning obviously there was either an even stronger curse or cursed object they were drawn to." Yuji takes a deep breath,"And when it turned out to be a grade 1 curse we had to put up an extra fight-" Yuji huffs in exasperation,"It hit Kugisaki pretty hard so when I went to check on her it let out a pretty scary attack and Fushiguro over here jumped in front of it for us while his divine dog dealt the finishing blow and well....was cursed into a puppy..." Yuji trails off, eyeing Megumi's puffy body with a nervous smile.

You and Shoko sigh taking in the information. You lean down to get face to face with your boyfriend, raising an eyebrow your hands on your hips ,"Oh...so you're like this because you decided to play hero." scoffing you continue,"Serves you right, you could've just let totality tank the attack and then all three of you woulda been okay." you pick him up and look him in the eye,"tch...bad boy..." 

Megumi thrashes and grumbles, feeling embarrassed to be scolded by you not only in front of everyone...but literally being scolded like a dog.

"Do we know anything else about this curse?" Shoko inquires, observing Megumi in your arms.

Nobara shakes her head,"Not really no," she lets out a sigh,"All we know is that it was a grade 1 and lived in an abandoned pet store, its powers weren't documented. Gojo said he was going to see if Nanami or Yaga could get ahold of any more information. He didn’t even give us much information beforehand either.” she grumbles

Your expression changes into a more serious one,"So it's unknown if the curse has turned others into animals? It's odd that it didn't wear off once the curse got exorcised..." you trail off, unconsciously scratching Megumi's head, making his puffy tail wag furiously as he chases your touch.

Yuji snickers, quietly pointing at Megumi's tiny body going boneless in relaxation.

You look down and laugh at how natural he is as a puppy, cooing as you stroke his fur,"Well it doesn't seem like he minds being like this very much..." you quip. There's a soft bout of laughter in the room when Megumi whips his head back up, snapping back into reality when he feels eyes on him.

The puffy pomeranian jumps out of your arms onto the hospital bed, sneezing indignantly stomping his tiny paws in embarrassment and protest.

As you're about to tease him again, both Yaga and Nanami step into the threshold of the door knocking to announce themselves.

"My god Satoru wasn't joking-the boy's really a damn dog!" Yaga gasps in disbelief removing his sunglasses and rubbing his eyes harshly.

Nanami's breath hitches,"Fushiguro..? I presumed that idiot was just being as foolish as usual…but wow.” the ex-salaryman takes a few steps over to infirmary bed, leaning down to eye level with Megumi, inspecting him,”At the very least, is he alright?”

Megumi lets out a scrappy bark as an answer to his question, unintentionally rumbling in satisfaction when Nanami scratches his head. 

“Well he’s healthy and uninjured, and as you saw can understand us” Shoko affirms,”But my reversed curse technique won’t restore him back to normal.”

You look to the principal and Nanami,”Oh right, these two said Gojo was going to see if you guys knew anything about the curse or knew anything about it?” 

Yaga sighs in indignation,”When I dispatched that mission for the students I told Satoru everything we had regarding the curse and what had been happening. Either that fool forgot or didn’t care to warn any of you,” his tone is that of frustration, his eyes falling to Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara.

Nanami adds,” Ijichi and myself revisited the sight of the mission and talked to locals in the area to get more information.” he crosses his arms growing serious,”Apparently there have been multiple accounts of people suddenly being turned into puppies and haven’t changed back since.”

All of you gasp Megumi himself tensing up. To calm him down you scoop him into your arms and stroke his fur, your eyes regarding him with worry and empathy,”Oh Gumi…don’t worry…”

“Does that mean Fushiguro’s gonna be like this forever?! There’s gotta be something we can do?!” Yuji exclaims. Everyone looks to the poor puppy in your arms in deep concern.

“Will you all please calm down. You didn’t let me finish.” Nanami sighs,”The curse itself was born from spite and vengeance of...” he closes his eyes, tipping his head back from the ridiculousness of what he’s going to say.

“Nanami come on-“ you urge.

“A puppy.”

There’s a pause, the silence in the room is loud.

“A PUPPY?!” everyone yells in disbelief. 

Yaga confirms Nanami’s statement,”That’s correct and it’s PRECISELY what I told Satoru.”

“But how can that be? I thought only a human’s negative emotions could create a curse- how could a dog possibly feel so much it creates a curse?” you shriek, swiftly holding out Megumi to stare at his boxy little face.

Yaga takes a seat in one of the chairs massaging his temple,”Negative emotions are negative emotions regardless of who or what makes them. This puppy had a particular vitriol towards an employee who scolded it once, and also had a dislike towards other dogs that said employee praised and rewarded. Frankly I myself can’t wrap my head around it- nothing like this has ever been seen so far in sorcerer history…” he sighs in resigantion

Everyone is beyond bewildered, how can this be?

“I-I don’t even know what to think…that’s so bizarre…” Shoko stutters out, Nobara nodding in stunned agreement.

“So a curse was born from an anti-social grumpy and jealous puppy…it made a curse that turns people into puppies out of SPITE?” you belabor, under normal circumstances you’d laugh, the puppy sounds like Megumi’s  but it’s so ridiculous… and without any knowledge or hindsight not a single one of you can even know if it’s reversible. 

“It would seem so…” Nanami confirms, removing his sunglasses, looking at Megumi in your arms with tense concern. Said boy deflates,”A malevolent puppy is a rather farfetched idea..”

Yuji has stayed uncharacteristically quiet. Stuck in serene concentration in the corner of the room, he snaps his fingers perking up suddenly,”WAIT! I got it!”

You all look at him, some in confusion, others expectantly.

“The puppy didn’t get along with other dogs and people right? What if the answer to breaking the curse is getting along and making friends with them!”  the pink haired boy concludes with a sparkle of hope in his hazel eyes.

Nanami and Yaga think for a moment, you and Megumi stare at each other in a silent conversation.

“That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard-“ Nobara interjects

“He may have a point.” You interrupt,”It makes a lot of sense actually, if the puppy was just mad it had no friends, it’s a very logical conclusion to come to.” you send a grateful sweet smile to your friend,”Thanks, Yuji. This a good place to start.” 

The adults in the room nod in agreement. It’s a sound theory, turn a malevolent puppy, into sweet and sociable? 

Yuji shyly rubs the back of his head, his face flushed an endearing red,”Ah. W-Well y-you know anything to help out Fushiguro, y’know?”

Megumi not liking the interaction ,lets out a low growl that you can feel in arms. He bares his teeth towards Yuji, making his best friend chuckle nervously. Waving his hands in panic Yuji rapidly defends himself with amusement,”Woah Fushiguro, down boy geez!”

You scoff fondly, covering Megumi’s little face with your palm,”Be nice. That’s what started this whole mess.” making said puppy thrash and grumble until he eventually placates himself.

“It’s a long shot and not guaranteed to change Fushiguro back, but it doesn’t hurt to try while we find something more concrete.”  Yaga gets up to stretch,”I trust you can play well with others Fushiguro, you three keep us posted. Shoko keep monitoring his health. Nanami and I will try to double check any records for similar cases.” Both sorcerers make their way out,”Oh and by the way, if you see Satoru, let him know my fist is waiting to meet him upside the head.”

All four of you chuckle amusedly, silently hoping you can get a front row seat to Gojo’s ass beating.

You hold Megumi up to look him mischievously in his large dark eyes,”Well well Guuuumi,” you say sing-songy,”Looks like the day I’ve been waiting for is finally here!”  Megumi grumbles with a whine, knowing exactly what you’re getting at.

‘Guuumi can I please put blush on you?! You’d look soo cuute!’

‘Gumi can I put on these hair clips on you!? They’re Baditzmaru! He looks just like you!’

‘Pleaaaase your lashes are so pretty, it would be a waste to not put on eye glitter!.

‘God damn it...’  Megumi thinks as he flashes back to all the times you’ve turned him into your personal doll, though 90% of the time he indulges you because he can’t resist the bright sparkle in your wide eyes, and the sweet pouty look on your face or the convincing lilt in your voice that tugs at his heartstrings. But now

Now you have completely free reign.

“You’re gonna be the cutest dog in the park! Everyone will be flocking to be your friend!” you beam, cooing as you press little kisses to his face. 

“You guys ready?” you turn to your friends with an excited determination.

Yuji and Nobara match your expression, pumping their fists in the air,”Operation turn Fushiguro is a go!” 

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ:

Requests are open!

Bye for now! <3 

tags: @kxllanxtdoor

[hamburgerndsprite]

Sprite's Favourite Fics {Bangtan Fics} Part 7

(Also, all the moodboards are edited by me therefore I request everyone not to repost them as theirs)

[Masterlist]

[OT7]

{SERIES}

➺ Office CEO AU by jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue

Pairing: CEO! BTS x worker! Reader Genre: fluff + angst + smut Summary: you work for seven CEOs who have called you into their office due to a complaint Chapters in chronological order: 10.5 -> 12.5 -> 4-6, 8.5 -> 13.5 -> 1-3 -> 7 -> 7.5 -> 8 -> 9 -> 10 -> 11 -> 12 -> 13 -> 14.5 -> 14 -> 15 -> 16…

➺ Whirlwind by secret-kpoplibrary

Pairing: Hybrid! BTS x Reader Chapters: 16/16 Genre: Fluff Summary: You wouldn’t say your life is perfect, far from it in fact, but you make the best of it anyway. But a rapidly occurring series of events in your life results in a lot of changes. Some good, some bad. It’s hard to tell when it’ll end, but you find yourself meeting new people along the way that make you feel like you can tackle just about anything that comes your guys’ way.

➺ Shadows and Wolfsbane by daydream-hobii

Pairing: BTS x Female!Reader; Alpha!Reader, Beta!Seokjin, Alpha!Yoongi, Alpha!Hoseok, Alpha!Namjoon, Omega!Jimin, Beta!Taehyung, Beta!Jungkook Genre: Poly!AU; Werewolf!AU; Shapeshifter!AU; Fluff; Angst Chapters: 20/20 Summary: Y/N is the youngest Alpha in her compound, owning a whole village. She was born by two Omegas, and originally wanted to be killed, but things were changing in her universe. At the end of the year, each Alpha can pick up to 30 new warriors, wolves that have been training, and the youngest always starts. Y/N never really chooses, asks for the ones who were unwanted such as the old or disabled. This time, she picks the strongest seven players among the warriors, and the other Alphas aren’t too happy, but she chose them for other reasons…. Hopefully, they’ll help her with the predicament she’s found herself in….

➺ Shelter Of Hope by daydream-hobii

Pairing: Hybrid BTS x Female!Reader; Human!Reader, Human!Namjoon, White Persian Cat!Seokjin, Siamese Cat!Yoongi, Border Collie!Hoseok, Calico Cat!Jimin, Australian Shepherd!Taehyung, Siberian Husky!Jungkook Genre: Poly!AU; Hybrid!AU; Fluff; Angst Chapters: 25/25 Summary: Y/N and her husband Namjoon are the proud owners of a hybrid shelter, protecting and saving as many hybrids as they can. They have a couple of their own, a cat and dog hybrid, whom they love with all their hearts. In the shelter, they gain some hybrids with trauma filled pasts, and one particular one who no one seems to want. What will happen when their little family of four turns to eight?

➺ To Build A Home by euphoricfilter

Pairing: Fox Hybrid! Jin, Human! Namjoon, Human! Yoongi, Wolf Hybrid! Hoseok, Cat Hybrid! Jimin, Wolf Hybrid! Taehyung, Fox Hybrid! Jungkook x 9-tailed fox! reader Genre: Hybrid AU || Fluff || Angst || Smut/ implied smut || Strangers to lovers AU || Best friends to lovers AU Chapters: 10/10 + Drabbles Story summary: With the government's hybrid sector hot on your tails (no pun intended), you have less than a year to solve the problem before they're legally allowed to take you in as a lab rat. What you didn't anticipate was the addition of 6 new members of your and Jin's happy duo. Luckily you both had enough love for 6 others.

[KIM NAMJOON]

{ONESHOT}

➺ God Of Destruction by jimlingss

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Words: 7434 Genre: Fluff, Angst, Light Smut, Fantasy Au Summary: Everything he touches breaks; except for you.

➺ Red by sailoryooons

☾ Pairing: Werewolf!Namjoon x f. reader ☾ Summary: For as long as you can remember, your village has been relatively normal. But when people begin to turn up dead right after a group of newcomers arrive, pieces of your past start to fall into place, and something feels familiar - particularly the quiet man who can't take his eyes off of you. ☾ Word Count: 21,148 ☾ Genre: Supernatural, thriller, smut

➺ A Very Personal Assistant by mintjoonlep

Pairing: CEO! Namjoon/ Personal assistant! Reader Length: 7K Summary: Initially, you’d been somewhat uncertain about taking a job as the personal assistant to one Kim Namjoon, particularly when part of the job description entailed potentially having a discreet sexual relationship with your boss. Without a significant other to speak of and no better paying job prospects available, you’d accepted the position. Now, nearly a year later, you’d grown adept at your job, both as an assistant and as the secret lover your boss simply can’t seem to get enough of, a feeling that was definitely mutual.

{SERIES}

➺ Accidentally in Love by happy-meo

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Genre: Fluff, clumsy namjoon Parts: 2/2 Summary: We’ve all had our clumsy moments but what if those embarrassing moments, where we hoped no one was looking, actually led us to the right person?

[KIM SEOKJIN]

{ONESHOT}

➺ Getting Bigger by sweetwritertanya

Pairing: husband! Jin x pregnant wife! reader Genre: SMUT. With a bit of angst and fluff in the mix Word Count: 2841 Summary: You are eating less than you probably should during your pregnancy because you’re afraid of gaining even more weight. Your husband, Jin, discovers this and is incredibly angry at you.

➺ Happy Kitty by jincherie

↼pairing: Seokjin x reader ↼genre: fluff, romance, drabble, hybrid!au ↼words: 2.4k+ ↼summary: After trying to confess your feelings for two weeks after Seokjin’s birthday, you finally trap him under some mistletoe.

➺ The Leather Loafers by jimlingss

Pairing: Prince! Seokjin x reader Words: 11.2k Genre: Fluff & Humour, Cinderella!Au Summary: Yes. You went to the ball. Yes. You ran into the prince. Yes. The shoe fits. BUT-! You aren't that Cinderella bitch. THEY'VE GOT THE WRONG PERSON!

{SERIES}

➺ Expect the Unexpected by bts-reveries

pairings: ceo, dad!jin x interior designer, mom!reader genre: family, fluff, crack, angst parts: 29/29 summary: Jin and his wife have been together since their third year of high school, married after eight years of dating, and now with three kids, Minseok, Soojin, and Haneul. You can say that his life was perfect. Everything was according to plan and everything fell into place. It was all he ever wanted. Now when he’s left to take care of his three kids alone while his wife is out to visit family, what happens when something falls out of place?

[MIN YOONGI]

{ONESHOT}

➺ The Missing Track by aelinad

Pairing:!Idol Yoongi x ! producer f. reader Genre: explicit romance (smut) !! MINORS DNI !! 🔞 Word count: ~ 30k Summary: Suga of BTS is on the edge, racing against the clock to finish his solo album. With just three songs left to complete and a looming deadline, he's struggling to find inspiration. In a last-minute move, his company pairs him with the highly secretive Producer K, a renowned but elusive figure in the music industry. Everyone assumes Producer K is a male, but when Suga meets the mysterious producer, he's shocked to discover that K is actually a talented and confident woman. As they collaborate, the line between professional and personal begins to blur. Their chemistry is undeniable, but with a ticking clock and the pressure to deliver, can they finish the album on time? Or will their growing connection derail everything they've worked for? Secrets, passion, and music. Can Suga keep his focus, or will Producer K. change everything?

➺ Ex-things by namfinessed

pairing: Yoong x reader genre: angst (after breakup!) wordcount: (4.8k) summary: over the years, everything you've owned has belonged to yoongi and everything yoongi's owned has belonged to you but when you break up, everything is your's and everything is his but none of it belongs to the two of you anymore and both of you can't stand it.

{SERIES}

➺ Perpetual datejust by jiminrings

pairing: yoongi x reader wordcount: 19k glimpse: when the general public hears the name min yoongi, they know him as the world-famous model who’s beyond talented in his craft. when the modeling industry hears the name min yoongi, they remember you: his resolute, firm, and sometimes rude manager who always puts yoongi’s best interests at heart — no matter what. alternatively, you’re yoongi’s manager and for the first time ever, you take a break away from him.

➺ So What? by bts-ot-7

Pairing: Hybrid Cat Yoongi x F Reader  Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid, non-idol au Warnings: Contains explicit language, abuse WC: 31,473 Chapters: 15/15 Summary: Running from a past that foreshadows him, Yoongi is adamant about ever turning back to his human counterpart form, in hopes that nobody would recognise him and take him away. You worked at a cafe with your best friend. As a more-than-normal day seemed to go by, you discovered something amidst your housing block. Perhaps - just perhaps, the nighttime is where the angels arrive. 

[JUNG HOSEOK]

{ONESHOT}

➺ Blue by delightfulserendipity

↔Pairing: fiancé!hoseok x female!reader. ↔Genre: angst; romance; fluff; colorblind soulmate au; ↔Warnings: themes of pain; fear; sadness; loveless relationships. ↔Synopsis: "When you fall in love, you gain the ability to see colors. What about when you fall out of love, Hobi?"

➺ Things Change by yoonpobs

pairing: Jung Hoseok x oc genre: FLUFF, established relationship words: 3, 377 summary: when you're an unlikely pair but it works

{SERIES}

➺ The Apprentice by borathae

Pairing: Magic Student!Hoseok x Magic Student!Reader Genre: Fantasy!AU, Magic School!AU, s2f2potential lovers!AU, Romance Parts: 2/2 Summary: “Being a sorcerer has always been Hoseok’s dream. So when a well-known and powerful sorceress sends out letters informing the young minds of the city of an upcoming position as her apprentice, Hoseok takes fate into his own hands and applies. The only problem is that learning the arts of magic is reserved for women. He is convinced however that hard work and effort can charm the sorceress’ heart and get him the position.”

➺ Golden Heart by daydream-hobii

Pairing: Hybrid!Hoseok x Female!Reader Genre: Hybrid!AU, fluff Chapters: 15/15 Summary: Y/N’s best friends all have hybrids, and she loves them with all her heart, but she doesn’t want to be the same as everyone. She loves hybrids, and knows her friends are kind to them, but hybrids are part human, thus they should have their own choices. Many people, unfortunately, abuse their hybrids and use them, so she tries to fight for their freedom of choice. Her closest friend, Namjoon, convinces her to rescue a hybrid so that it can be safe from harm, and her perspectives changes entirely. 

[PARK JIMIN]

{ONESHOT}

➺ The Evolution Of You And I by readyplayerhobi

; Pairing: Hybrid!Jimin x Reader ; Genre: Fluff, light angst, mentions of smut ; Word Count: 10.2k ; Warnings: Mentions of loss of virginity, discussion of sex ; Synopsis: For 15 years, Park Jimin has been in your life in some form. From childhood pen pal to the closest of friends now, you can’t imagine your life without him even if you’ve never actually met him in person. It doesn’t help that you’ve fallen for him, even across the distance that separates you. But what happens when you finally meet up and you discover he’s been keeping something secret?

➺ Only You by personasintro

→𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: jimin x reader →𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: single dad Jimin, best friends to lovers au, smut, fluff, tiny bit of angst →𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: slight nipple play, oral (female receiving), protected sex, strong language, penetrative sex →𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 11.4k →𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; you’ve been always there for your best friend, even when he became a single dad 

➺ Star Light, Star Bright by readyplayerhobi

; Pairing: Single Dad!Jimin x Tattoo Artist!Reader ; Genre: Fluff, smut, a tiny bit of angst ; Word Count: 17.5k ; Warnings: Oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, light biting ; Synopsis: Life has not gone exactly how Park Jimin imagined, and yet he can’t possibly imagine his life any different to what it is now. After six hard and stressful years, he’s now the happy owner of a degree along with being the proud dad of his little girl. But what happens when he meets you and his life is tipped upside down once more?

{SERIES}

➺ Sunny Day by baepsaets

pairing: hybrid! Jimin x reader rating: sfw parts: 6/6 summary: you’re a veterinary student specializing in hybrid care when you get a call in the middle of the night that a feral hybrid has broken into the clinic where you work.

➺ The Wrong Girl by smoljimjim

>Pairing: mafia/gangmemberPJM x OC named Siri >Genre: Mafia au, exes to lovers, angst, fluff, crack/funny, happy ending >Parts: 37/37 + drabbles >Description: Bangtan mafia group were meant to kidnap someone. Unfortunately for them, they made a mistake. They got the wrong girl. But that girl counts herself lucky for being kidnapped by them because she was finally reunited with her ex-boyfriend. Park Jimin. And she can’t wait to get back at him for what he did to her. There’s a fine line between love and hate. Which line will Jimin and Siri cross after meeting again?

[KIM TAEHYUNG]

{ONESHOT}

➺ Not What It Looks Like by hobibliophile

pairing: taehyung x reader genre: fluff, college au Word Count: 4.4k Summary: You run into the campus clown Taehyung when he’s in a weird situation but it’s reallynot what it looks like. Turns out, Taehyung is not what he looks like either.

➺ The T-shirt Thief by jungblue

pairing: taehyung x reader genre: fluff, smut word count: 9,812 description: In the midst of your loneliness due to Taehyung’s absence, you decide that you need a distraction, which somehow manifests itself as going over to his apartment and stealing a t-shirt or two... or three... 

➺ Waterloo [M] by kinktae

pairing: art prodigy!taehyung x art student!reader word count: 13k genre: FLUFF, angst, light tasteful smut summary: Taehyung is a famous but pessimistic art prodigy who doesn't believe in love. You are an art student studying in Paris, who sees the world through rose-colored lens and is a certified cheesy romance film enthusiast. And this is your love story. Or, “Well, it is the city of love. Maybe you just need to fall in love."

➺ Fish are friends by httpjeon

pairing. seahorse hybrid! taehyung x reader genre. angst, smut, fluff, hybrid!au wordcount. 10,605 summary. after moving to the seaside, there is a dreadful storm. when all is clear, a man washes up on shore...only he isn’t quite human.

[JEON JUNGKOOK]

{ONESHOT}

➺ My Best Friend by smoljimjim

>Pairing: BestfriendJK x OC named Siri >Genre: light angst, fluff, happy ending >Word count: ~8000 >Description: Siri has loved Jungkook her whole life. Ever since she first saw him when she was young, she's been in love with him. He loves her too. They're best friends, after all. Siri just wishes Jungkook could see her. Wishes he could love her the way she loves him. There was just one problem though... or maybe two...NOT your typical 'best friend' story - there is a twist!

{SERIES}

➺ Baby, my baby by pjimims

◇ pairing: single dad! jungkook x reader ◇ genre: angst, fluff. parents au ◇ parts: 10/10 ◇ synopsis: “Raise my child, just for twelve months”

➺ Fan Identity by tteokggukk

✳ pairing: social media influencer! jungkook x social media influencer! female reader ✳ genre: enemies to lovers, crack, fluff, slight angst, social media au ✳ parts: 37/37 ✳ synopsis: in which you and jungkook are both famous internet celebrities that have never interacted, but share a common secret. you both have fan accounts for each other where you actively show support and express your opinions. one day, you were both nominated for the same award, social media influencer of the year. lowkey rooting for the other, you both express your opinions on your secret fan accounts as certain interactions begin to arise from a famous fan account dedicated to your “opponent” nominee.

[delulu-is-da-solulu]

𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓽.:｡+•

Pt. 2

2k12 Donnie! X fem!reader

Pt. 1

AN- In this chapter I was kinda just trying to establish your relationship with the turtles and April. So if you don’t like it I really am sorry. But hopefully part 3 will be better. Enjoy! <3

Word count - 1046

Well the whole mutant thing went down last month, and you’re still trying to process what happened. I mean to go on a walk and almost freeze to death, just to be saved by a girl you couldn’t even call a good acquaintance and her mutant friends! Turns out the whole rat thing happened because they made a crazy scientist guy mad, or they did something to piss him off… and their dad is a rat, he’s cool.

Because you don’t go to school you’re in the lair with the guys a lot, and you’ve gotten to know them better.

Leo is such a dork, not in a smart way like Donnie but in a funny way. He tries sooo hard to be a good leader so he copies the ones in cartoons, like spock from startrek, and robin from teen titans. And the reason this is so dorky is cuz it’s so obvious what he’s doing, and when his training exercises don’t go according to the plan, (aka if it doesn’t make him look super cool) he gets soo pissy (but his brothers can never know that). Nothing that a pizza can’t fix, ya’ know if Mikey doesn’t Finnish the whole thing within a millisecond, of it being in the lair.

Raph isn’t as angry as everybody says, his anger issues aren’t even that bad. Sure he’s aggressive, but that’s mainly during fights or whenever Mikey is a ten foot radius of him. For the most part he’s pretty chill, & keeps to himself, plus spike.

Everyone made sure to fill you in on the Donnie and April situation, and the weird way he was acting when the two of you first met, instantly make sense. After you informed him that you and April weren’t close, and telling her how great of a guy he was, wasn’t gonna help much, he was devastated. But other than his obsession with April, he’s a cool guy. most times when you’re in the lair, you and Donnie are hanging out in the lab. He helps you with your math and science homework, and you help around the lab in whatever ways possible. Working with Donnie is fun, and he trust you enough to let you in on his schemes to try and win over April. They’re incredibly weird and you doubt any of them will work, but! they’re interesting.

There’s never a dull moment with Donatello. he’s funny- if you get the joke, and the more time you spend with him, the harder it is to not get it. And then there are days when nothing happens, the two of you just hang out in the lab while Don works on blueprints while you’re reading.

And Mikey is kinda gross, but honestly the sweetest thing you’ve ever met. He gets bullied by his brothers a lot, but he’s so nice, the boys are soo mean. Sometimes you and Mikey watch romcoms, or action movies together.

You and April were never friends but she’s actually fun to be around, you, April, and Irma, go out out all the time. Shopping, movies, or just hanging out, it’s so fun being with those two.

And master Splinter doesn’t talk much, but for as much as you know, he’s just a dad making his Sons friends feel welcome in their home. And he taught you how to play shogi, you’ve gotten really good.

Ginger: “Irma had to go home, something with her cat. Wanna go to the lair instead?”

Damn this was disappointing, April and Irma were gassing this movie up sooo much. You made sure not to watch trailers or anything just so you’d be completely blind. But it’s just a movie.

Snow globe: “It’s fine. I’m omw to the hole rn, meet you there <3”

You went back upstairs to put on your old combat boots, then you started making your way to the lair. You love the boys and splinter, they’re great. But doing down into piss, and shit, with your knee high converse, that were around $100 was not! gonna happen.

You met up with April, and the two of you talked about whatever while walking to the lair. School, family, clothes, things weren’t weird until she brought up boys.

“So did you have a boyfriend, or a crush before shit hit the fan?”

“U-h well…” romance wasn’t exactly a topic you were comfortable in. I mean you’ve had crushes but none of them turned out good, and some didn’t even turn. “No, I have a problem with making friends with people I have crushes on. And when I do confess if I do, we’re usually too close of friends for them to reciprocate.” You let out a chuckle trying to make it look as if you don’t care much. “What about you?”

“Uhh… well you know the whole thing with Donnie. And ive gone on a couple dates in my time, but they never ended up anything. So I guess we’re in the same boat.”

“Yeah. I feel bad for you honestly. Donnie’s soo nice, and I love hanging out with him, and you’ll never see that side of him. But at least you have Raph, Leo, and Mikey.”

You look over at April and she’s giving you a somber look. oh fuck, was she offended by what you said about Donnie!? “I’m not saying that you and Donnie will never actually be friends, I’m just saying he’s always tense around you not trying to embarrass himself so he-“

“No, no I get it (Y/N), I’ve accepted it, for now. But he’s obviously gonna grow out of it, and it’ll be like it never happened. I give it the rest of the year.”

“Hah! Don’t you think you’re giving him a little too much grace? Donnie’s like a puppy waiting at the door for his owner to come back when he’s with you.”

The two of you start laughing as you approach the opening of the lair. “As if Donnie’s way too busy to be-“

“April!” Before she’s even two step into the lair Donnie grabs her and holds her in his arms.

“Hi Donnie.” She pats his shoulders obviously uncomfortable. You walk ahead, and you sit on the couch next to Mikey while he plays with ice cream kitty.

“Angela, sir ice cream kitty, how do you do?” You say in a forced posh accent and Mickey follows suit.

“Splendid, the hydrangeas are in full bloom, and they’re a sight to see if I do say so myself.” Ice cream kitty meows after him. A new show started running that takes place in the regency era, about bridges or something. You and Mickey started watching and, it’s quickly becoming one of your favorites.

As you and Mickey are talking, you see April walk over to the old arcade games where Raph and Leo are playing, and you get snatched by Donnie.

“(Y/N)! I need you now!” He whisks you off to his lab, and shuts the door behind him.

“Donnie! Why do you find it necessary to just pick people up!” you snatch his hands off your body, and he apologizes and leads you over to his clipboard.

“Okay hear me out.”

“Donnie I don’t need another 80 step plan on how to get April to text you.”

“It isn’t that. What if I ask her out?”

“No donnie that’s never gon- ASK HER OUT! Donnie that’s like the most normal idea you’ve had. Like EVER, and I’ve only known you for a month.”

“I was thinking a picnic on top a rooftop. Those are always super cute in movies, they have to work irl. Imagine us on a red gingham blanket, with lavender scented candles, a mp3 playing cheesy old love songs, and a whole pizza just for the two of us. How romantic would that be!”

Donnie’s enthusiasm for this was honestly adorable, and if he doesn’t say something weird, you think he might actually have a shot at making this work.

“I mean… it does sound nice. Give it a shot tomorrow night I’ll tell her i need her help with a secret mission… or something?”

“Then instead of you showing up I will, then I’ll lead her to our picnic and she’s sure to fall in love with me.” Donnie was basically bouncing off the walls, his cheeks turned red only at the thought of spending the night with April. You wanted to give him a reality check and say it’s probably not gonna work, but this is actually a good idea. Let’s just give it a shot.

It’s 8pm and the boys went out on patrol. The lair is calm and splinter made tea for you and April, while you’re talking April asks.

“Hey (Y/N) have you thought of training to be a kunoichi with me?”

You chuckled to yourself, “that’s funny” then you continued sipping tea. But when you put your cup down you saw the way April was looking at you and realized she was being serious. “Wait really?”

“Yeah! Don’t you wanna learn ninjutsu?”

“It’s better to learn alongside someone who can push you to do better. and sparing buddies are always fun.” Splinter giggles in whatever way an old rat man can while stroking his beard.

“Uh-“ I mean learning ninjutsu would be fun, but you don’t wanna be another target for the krang or Foot clan. However both foot clan mutants, and krang bots have seen you with the turtles. “I… Sure?”

April jumps on you and wraps her arms around your shoulders, and you held her back. “This is soo exciting! Now you’re really apart of the family.”

There’s a possibility that this is gonna back fire but as long as you have April and the turtles what’s the worst that could happen?

Right after you tell April that you don’t need help anymore, you grab your shell phone and call Donnie. “I just sent her off. Are you in position?”

“Yeah, I have everything ready. And it looks like something straight out of a fairytale! Do you wanna see?”

“Hell yeah, send me a picture.”

“Okay. I’ll do that right after I text April.”

“What are you telling her?” You roll your eyes and the disappointment in your voice is evident.

“I’m telling her I’m seeing suspicious activity from here. and I don’t trust my brothers, so I want her to come instead.”

“…” you stare at you phone with a sheer look of disgust on your face. In what world would that work, “Donnie are you fucking serious?”

“Y- yeah what about it?” He sounds confused from over the phone, and you can’t blame him. I mean the guy has only ever been with his brothers and dad his whole life, he can’t help being stupid.

“Donnie there’s no way that’s gonna-“

“She just replied. SHES ON HER WAY!” You can hear his phone thud on the ground, yet the squeal he let out still pierces your ears.

“I- I gotta go, before April gets here. Wish me luck.” He hangs up the phone.

You’re wishing him luck, but you know this will probably end in vain. It doesn’t matter how cute the fairy lights are, if she doesn’t like you she doesn’t like you.

But hopefully he doesn’t take this one too hard.

[ssr-archives]

We Know Her Value

Celebrating Ten Years of Agent Carter

In January 2015, Peggy Carter did something no other female Marvel characters have done at the time: headlining her own show. She strutted onto our screens, knocked out some bad guys with a stapler, and told us to call her “agent”.

In the years since, Peggy, her friends, and the fandom have gone through a lot. We’ve seen the show get cancelled, and Peggy returning, Jarvis returning, Daniel Sousa returning. We tried to #SaveAgentCarter, we held fic exchanges, we cosplayed and Disneybounded, and we created zines. Despite the show’s premature end, these characters stayed in our hearts, and we made sure no one could forget them.

Agent Carter will turn 10 in January 2025. To mark this milestone, I am super excited to collaborate with @peggynet to launch We Know Her Value: Celebrating Ten Years of Agent Carter. Starting from 6th January 2025, the anniversary of the show’s premiere, we will be hosting ten themed days to celebrate ten years of our favourite show. You can join by picking a theme, making a post on that theme, and post it on the theme day. Tag me (@ssrarchives) or @peggynet, and add the tag #AgentCarterTurns10. Your works can be as simple or as elaborate as you like!

I can’t wait to celebrate this momentous anniversary with all of you! Under ‘Read More’, you will find the themes for the ten different days. Hope to see you all then! And if you have any questions, just drop me a line in the ask box or the DMs. 

Day 1: Favourite Character

The show has presented us with a whole host of amazing characters, from Peggy to lab rats and background agents. So…who is your favourite?

Day 2: Favourite Episode

Agent Carter packed a lot into 18 episodes: fights, spy shenanigans, musical numbers, engagements, kisses. Which episode is your favourite? 

Day 3: Favourite Ship

We cannot talk about Agent Carter without talking about the ships, especially not when the cast happily fanned our fandom flames. Whether you are headcanoning any two or three to be passionately involved, or you have the one true friendship that does it for you, what is your favourite relationship on the show? 

Day 4: Favourite Scene/Arc

From Peggy threatening a fellow diner with a fork, to Daniel flopping his five-episode relationship, Agent Carter packed many interesting scenes and arcs into the overall spy shenanigans. Do any of these scenes or arcs stand out to you? 

Day 5: Favourite Cast/Crew Moment

Time to look behind the scenes! Once the episodes were over, the cast and crew kept the party going, from the Stark Jar to on-set pranks to the legendary Dubsmash War. Do you have a favourite cast/crew moment? 

Day 6: Into the Multiverse

Even though the show was cancelled in 2016, that was not the last we saw of Peggy and her team. Peggy herself returned over and over again, eventually becoming one of the few mortals privy to the knowledge of Loki and the Sacred Timeline tree. Jarvis returned in Avengers: Endgame, becoming the first Marvel character to debut on TV and move on to a movie appearance. Even Daniel made a return in Agents of SHIELD Season 7. Which of these cameos were your favourite? Who do you want to see in future MCU projects?

Day 7: Containment Breach

There is a life for everyone outside of murder gases and space goop. Since the end of Agent Carter, the cast and crew continue to entertain us with excellent projects. From Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning to Resident Alien to The Merry Gentlemen, we have definitely not seen the last of our favourite agents. Have you watched any of these? Do you have a favourite? Do they inspire any AUs? 

Day 8: Favourite Fanfic

What is Agent Carter without its fandom? From SSR Confidential to Agent Carter Zine, from fandom-defining multi-chapter behemoths to short and sweet ficlets, the fic writers have not been resting at all. This is your chance to shout out your favourite fics!

Day 9: Favourite Fanart

Artists we haven’t forgotten you! The Agent Carter fandom is home to many talented artists who have graced our dashboards with everything from sketches to whole comics. Let’s share our appreciation by naming our favourite fanart/artist! (Please do not repost artwork unless you have consent from the artists. Otherwise, please reblog or link to the original artwork. Let’s make sure that the artists get the notes and credits they deserve.)

Day 10: Free Day

There is way more going on in the Agent Carter show and fandom for us to cover in one week, so like the title says, take this day to highlight whatever you want! The show’s costume and makeup? Meta writers? Peggy cosplays and Disneybounds? As long as it is Agent Carter-related, you can post about it!

[hivemuthur]

What was that? - Ch. 7.

viktorxfemale!OFC mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12. | Ch.13. | Ch.14. | Ch.15.

word count: 4,6K

tag: #what was that

summary: They go on a date! Sort of. Some exposition of Zaun, and of course, tension, tension, tension.

author’s note: Beta reader: @rennethen + I am slowly inching toward some conclusions here :) This was the most sweaty chapter to write for me, for reasons of Zaun dialogue sequences.

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Renly sighed, stepping out of the shower. The bathroom was thick with steam, and wet footprints followed her across the tiled floor. She wiped the mirror with her palm, leaning closer to study the reflection staring back at her. Her face betrayed her lack of sleep—she’d barely gotten two hours. The crease between her eyebrows was more pronounced, and her eyes were puffy from hours spent staring into the harsh light of the microscope. It didn’t matter. Her body was tired, but her mind was alight. She’d had a breakthrough.

Humming to herself, she took her time drying off and getting dressed, too consumed by her thoughts to notice the faint click of the lab’s main door unlocking or the rhythmic tapping of Viktor’s cane on the floor.

“Renly?”

His voice startled her as he caught her in the corridor. She froze mid-step, completely off guard. The circumstances had given her secret away.

Shit.

“Viktor… hi?” she greeted him, waving awkwardly before continuing toward the kitchen as though there was nothing unusual to see. “Coffee?” she called over her shoulder nonchalantly, half to him, half to the space between them. She tried to shrug off the weight of yesterday—another misunderstanding, or disagreement rather, that they’d had. She already knew the question that was coming.

“Did you sleep here…?” Viktor asked. He tried to keep his tone neutral, but it came out more reproachful than he’d intended.

“Eh, spare me, please. It was worth it.”

“Care to enlighten me on how sleeping with the lab rats is worth more than a proper rest in the comfort of one’s own home?” He raised an eyebrow, following her to the kitchen, still wearing his coat. Traces of his exhaustion from last night still there.

“Well…” she teased, pulling out the coffee pot, milk, and sugar. “I think I’ve got something, Viktor. It’s not much yet, but it looks… promising.”

Viktor inhaled sharply, his mind racing. Could it be?

“I’m all ears,” he said, shrugging off his coat and tossing it over the back of a nearby chair.

“The cure technically worked, just a little bit… too well,” she began, her hands busy as she spoke. She explained how, during the initial tests, ‘Angus’ was far too aggressive to use the treatment safely on anything more severe than, well, a cold. “You understand, it was too nuclear to give to anyone with stronger symptoms. But I spoke to Jayce, and he gave me an idea.”

She started pacing the kitchen as she talked, describing how she’d studied the differences between healthy and corrupted cells. With some adjustments, she managed to ‘tag’ corrupted tissue, ensuring the medicine would only target what was diseased.

“Bear with me for a few moments before you say anything,” she added quickly, seeing Viktor’s expression shift as he prepared to ask a question. He nodded and braced himself, motioning for her to continue. There was a certain comfort in it—in the way all three of them were still able to sit down and talk ideas, even if some disagreement from before lingered unattended.

“In short, I’ve made it work only on corrupted tissue, thanks to Jayce,” she said, excitement creeping into her voice. “I saw it work last night—more than once,” she added, tracing her finger absently around the rim of a coffee mug. “I can show you—it’s amazing.”

He was silent, his gaze fixed on the floor as she continued.

“I’ll need more samples, though, from different people. So that means a trip to the Undercity for me. You could come with?” Her voice faltered as she ran out of things to say, the silence between them stretching.

Viktor exhaled slowly, adjusting his stance. She had no idea what this meant to him. Or perhaps she did and refused to entertain the thought. Either way, the weight of it pressed on his chest.

Tentatively, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His hand rose, and he placed it gently on the curve where her shoulder met her neck. Before she could react, he pulled her into an embrace, his eyes closing.

Renly stiffened in surprise, her mind racing, but she didn’t pull away.

“Viktor…?” she murmured, a quiet question hanging in the small space between them.

He didn’t answer. Slowly, she relaxed, her arms wrapping around him tightly. Her hand travelled to the nape of his neck, her fingers brushing through his hair. He inhaled deeply, overwhelmed by her—the scent of her soap, the warmth of her body, the quiet affection in her touch.

Unwanted heat began pooling low in his stomach, and he broke the hug slightly, his face still close to hers.

“I am… so proud of you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His lips brushed against her temple as he spoke, lingering for a moment before he pulled back a little, leaving a tiny space between them.

Renly remained under Viktor’s touch, still thrown slightly off guard by the embrace but unwilling to let the moment pass. She could feel the weight of his thoughts, the tension in his posture gradually dissolving as though surrendering to her presence.

"You’ve been carrying this alone, haven’t you?" she murmured against his shoulder, her voice soft but probing.

Viktor didn’t reply at first. Instead, his hand shifted slightly, his thumb brushing her shoulder as though grounding himself in the contact. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, measured, but threaded with something raw.

“I suppose… I have grown used to certain burdens,” he admitted. “But this… what you’ve done… it is remarkable.” His words held none of the guardedness she was used to; they felt unfiltered, vulnerable. “You amaze me, Renly.”

Her breath caught at the honesty in his tone, and she instinctively tightened her hold on him, her fingers curling lightly into his shirt. “You don’t have to bear everything on your own,” she said softly. “I hope you know that.”

Viktor pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. His amber eyes were softer now, touched with something she couldn’t quite name but felt down to her bones. “You make it… difficult not to hope,” he said quietly, his lips quirking in a fleeting, almost self-deprecating smile.

Renly felt her heart stutter, the weight of his words hanging between them. Without thinking, her hand drifted up, her fingertips brushing lightly against his temple before tracing down the line of his cheekbone. The same gesture she performed yesterday, today was more intentional. She let out a shaky laugh, trying to mask the way her pulse had quickened.

“Do you have any idea how unfair it is to be so brilliant and so…” she trailed off, catching herself.

Viktor’s brow lifted faintly, a hint of amusement breaking through his expression. “So… what?” he pressed, his voice softer now, tinged with curiosity.

Renly flushed slightly, her lips curving into a reluctant grin. “So—annoyingly good at throwing me off my game,” she deflected, though the warmth in her gaze betrayed her true meaning.

He chuckled lightly, the sound soft and low, before his expression turned contemplative again. “Perhaps,” he mused, “we are equally guilty of that crime.”

Her laughter bubbled up unexpectedly, a light and genuine sound that seemed to ease the last of the tension between them. She shook her head, stepping back slightly to give them both room to breathe, though the warmth of his presence lingered.

“Well,” she said, attempting to compose herself, “you’d better start getting used to sharing your burdens. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Viktor studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering as though trying to memorize every detail of the moment. Finally, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“I’ll… try,” he said, the words as much for himself as for her.

The moment hung in the air, delicate and unspoken, before Renly turned back toward the coffee pot, her movements more deliberate now, her mind still reeling from the unexpected intimacy of the exchange.

It fled completely with the loud thud of the main door—Jayce wasn’t nearly as subtle coming in as Viktor had been.

“Hello, lab family!” Jayce exclaimed, half-yawning and stretching in the doorway like he’d just woken up. His eyes fell on Renly, narrowing slightly in mock scrutiny. “Wait… Did you sleep here again?!”

“Oh, save it, Mama Jayce. Mama Viktor already gave me a hard time,” Renly groaned, flopping into her usual seat at the table.

“I can’t help myself. You children grow up so fast,” Jayce said dramatically, placing a hand over his chest and pretending to dab at imaginary tears.

Renly burst out laughing, while Viktor let out a low sigh, shaking his head.

“Renly, don’t you want to tell Jayce about your progress?” Viktor interjected; his voice laced with pride that he tried to keep understated. He wanted to shout her discovery from the rooftops of Piltover.

They all took their familiar places around the small table, each seat long since claimed and unofficially assigned. Renly launched into the story of her breakthrough once again, this time with even more enthusiasm, her hands gesturing wildly to illustrate her points. Viktor nodded along, interjecting here and there with sharp questions or clarifications, while Jayce leaned back, grinning at her energy.

Her momentum only faltered when, distracted by her explanation, she grabbed the wrong mug. She took one sip, and immediately froze. Then, almost choking, she sputtered, “What is this atrocity?!”

Jayce’s laughter erupted like thunder, his whole body shaking, as Viktor lifted his head, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

“Oh… that must be mine,” Viktor said with an apologetic shrug, trying to disguise his embarrassment with a sheepish grin.

Renly blinked at him, incredulous, before breaking into a disbelieving smile. “How… how much sugar is in this?!”

Viktor’s lips twitched, the corner of his mouth quirking up in subtle amusement. “Well, that… is my best-kept secret,” he replied with mock seriousness.

Renly’s grin widened as she held the mug up like evidence in a trial. “This? This is a crime, Viktor.” She shook her head, setting the offending beverage down firmly. “It’s like drinking syrup with a side of coffee.”

“Some of us require a little more sweetness to survive the day,” Viktor retorted, his tone light but the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re lucky I’ve already had real coffee today, or we might have to renegotiate our entire working relationship,” Renly teased, her laughter infectious enough to even make Jayce laugh harder.

“I admit, I am feeling quite lucky today, indeed,” he said, picking up his cup and placing his lips exactly where Renly’s had touched it.

***

Viktor kept his promise and readily agreed to accompany Renly on the trip to the Undercity for sample collection.

“It’s a date!” Her words from earlier lingered in his mind, unbidden yet insistent.

The journey was familiar to Renly, yet today it felt different. Walking beside Viktor as they navigated the steep, winding streets toward Zaun's entrance, she found herself acutely aware of his quiet presence. The air carried the distinct tang of saltwater, its sharpness growing stronger the deeper they descended. The heavy mist that curled around them was a constant in these parts, but now it seemed to amplify the strange weight in the space between them.

Ekko had arranged to meet them at the docks.

The transition into the Undercity came gradually—its unique symphony of sounds filling the air. The hum of machinery blended with the metallic clatter of tools, street vendors shouted over each other to peddle scraps or gadgets, and somewhere distant, a child’s laughter cut through the haze. To most, it might seem chaotic, but to Renly, it was familiar—equal parts ingenuity and ruin.

“Renly! Viktor!” Ekko’s voice broke through the din, carrying an easy confidence. He emerged from the shadows, perched casually on the edge of a battered crate, fiddling with a small device that pulsed with soft blue light.

“Ekko,” Renly greeted warmly, stepping forward to give him a quick hug. “You’re looking well.”

“And you’re still dragging newcomers down here, huh?” Ekko teased, his sharp eyes darting toward Viktor.

Renly hesitated as Viktor shifted beside her, his posture slightly more rigid than usual. She caught the flicker of discomfort in his expression, though he said nothing.

“No,” she answered quickly, perhaps too quickly. “He’s—”

“From Piltover?” Ekko cut in, his tone suddenly sharper, his easy demeanour giving way to suspicion. “That it, Renly? You brought a Piltie down here?”

Renly winced, throwing Viktor an apologetic glance before turning back to Ekko. “No, Ekko,” she said firmly, her voice steady this time. “He’s from Zaun.”

Ekko blinked, visibly caught off guard. A beat of silence passed as he processed the new information, his sharp features softening slightly. Then, a sly grin spread across his face. “Oh, okay. That’s different. Should’ve guessed—Renly wouldn’t bring another Piltie around after that last hotshot.”

Renly frowned, but Viktor’s lips twitched in what might’ve been a faint smile. He chose not to comment, though Ekko’s earlier wariness seemed to dissipate, replaced by a measure of respect.

“Anyway,” Ekko said, clapping his hands together, his energy back in full force. “I’ve got the route planned out. We’ll hit a few docks and some streets in the Lanes to grab what you need. Hope you’re ready to get your hands dirty.”

Renly nodded, a flicker of excitement lighting her features. The goal of their trip was clear, but she couldn’t ignore the reminders all around her—of how survival in Zaun bred wariness and distrust.

Ekko led them through the twisting paths of the Undercity, weaving past narrow alleys and rusted barrels stacked high with scraps. The air grew heavier with the mingling scents of oil, metal, and decay.

“Things are still the same down here,” Ekko said, glancing over his shoulder as they walked. “A few new faces here and there, but you can’t change the Undercity that easy. People still fighting, still surviving. Ain’t much different from the last time you were here, Renly.”

Renly smiled faintly. “I’m down here enough to know that’s true.”

They reached a narrow dock near the water’s edge, where the brine and rust of the sea mixed into an almost overpowering scent. A man stepped out from the shadows; his posture stiff but deliberate. He carried a small container in his hands, his eyes flicking briefly to Viktor before settling on Renly.

“They’re with me,” Ekko said easily, stepping forward. “I told you—Renly’s working on that cure for the Gray.”

The man’s expression softened slightly. “That true? You’re onto something, young lady?” he asked, his voice gravelly but tinged with hope. As he stepped closer, the light revealed a face weathered with scars and marked by tattoos. Despite his rough exterior, his silver-toothed grin carried surprising gentleness.

“I am,” Renly replied, smiling as she reached out for the container. “Zaun will be the first to see it.”

His grin widened as he handed over the box. “It’s tough down here, but we managed to keep these clean. There’s an ice pack in there, too. Samples should still be good for what you need.”

Renly hesitated before asking, “Were they collected in… a safe area?” She tried to keep her tone neutral, hoping the question wouldn’t offend him.

“As clean as we could make it,” the man said with a small shrug, dusting off his pants. “Should do the job.”

Renly exhaled in relief, nodding her thanks. “This means a lot. Really.”

“Thanks, Ambrose. Come by later—we’ve got some supplies for your people,” Ekko turned to Ambrose with a quick nod. With goodbyes exchanged, they moved on.

“There’s been some shifts in the docks lately,” Ekko began, breaking the silence. “More traffickers pushing goods through. Nothing shocking, but... there’s talk of new alliances in the works.”

Renly glanced over; curiosity piqued. “Anything we should be worried about?”

Ekko shrugged; his expression carefully neutral. “Hard to say. Just means it’s tougher for people trying to stay off the radar. Same old song, really.”

Viktor adjusted the container he was carrying and let out a quiet hum of disapproval. “I would argue that ‘same old’ is becoming increasingly untenable. Every shift disrupts the fragile balance. Even here.”

Ekko smirked, though not unkindly. “Don’t start spiralling into one of your philosophical tangents, Viktor. The Undercity’s got its own rhythm. We keep moving forward. That’s how we survive.”

Viktor tilted his head slightly, his tone almost amused. “Philosophy is not spiralling—it is what allows us to endure, to make sense of chaos. Even here.” His words carried more weight than defiance, his voice soft but firm, as if speaking both to Ekko and himself.

Renly watched the interplay, intrigued by how seamlessly Viktor and Ekko navigated each other’s edges. It wasn’t camaraderie yet, but there was a quiet understanding forming between them.

As they wound their way through the docks, they approached a familiar landmark: the entrance to a cave, partially hidden behind creeping overgrowth. Its darkened maw was unmistakable, tugging at memories Viktor had long since tucked away.

“This is it,” Renly said, her voice low and thoughtful. She turned to Viktor, studying his face. “Do you think he’s still in there?”

Viktor hesitated; his expression unreadable. “Singed?” he asked, though he already knew. He let out a faint exhale before replying. “I would hope not. No one should remain in a cave unsupervised for... decades.” His attempt at humour was brittle, the weariness behind it betraying his unease.

The moment hung heavy in the air, the weight of shared history pressing against them. Ekko broke the tension with a sharp clap of his hands. “Alright, enough with the wistful staring contest. We’ve got a schedule to keep, Renly.”

Renly gave him a mock glare but followed as he led them forward. The streets of The Lanes were dark, the glow of neon signs casting eerie shadows. They met Ekko’s second contact near a cluttered workshop, and Renly’s heart skipped when she recognized the woman: Babette.

“Renly, darling!” Babette exclaimed, pulling her into a warm embrace. “And who’s this?” Her sharp eyes flicked to Viktor, and a knowing grin spread across her face. “Oh, you’ve done well, haven’t you? Handsome and clever, I bet.”

Renly flushed crimson. “Babette, stop. He’s just a friend.” Her voice was tight with embarrassment, but Babette only laughed, taking a long drag of her cigarette.

“Mm-hmm. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. And him too, while you’re at it.” Babette’s gaze flicked to Viktor again. “Not that he looks like he’s fooled.”

Renly mumbled a rushed goodbye as Ekko emerged with the sample container, expertly avoiding eye contact with Viktor. If he had overheard anything, he gave no indication.

By the time they reached The Last Drop, the weight of the day had begun to settle in. The warm, golden glow of the tavern welcomed them, a striking contrast to the damp, cold streets outside.

Vander was at the bar, wiping down a mug with his broad, scarred hands. He glanced up, his deep voice resonating across the room. “Well, well. If it isn’t Renly. Back from the surface, I see. What’ll it be?”

Renly grinned as she slid into her usual spot at the bar. “Just a drink for now, Vander. Long day.”

Viktor hesitated for a moment before joining her, settling onto the stool beside hers. His sharp eyes scanned the room, taking in the lively hum of conversations, the clink of glasses, and the faint strains of music in the background.

The two sat in easy silence, their proximity speaking louder than words. Renly reached for her drink when it arrived, glancing sideways at Viktor. There was a quiet comfort in the shared space, a sense of connection that needed no explanation.

“So,” Ekko began, sliding onto the barstool beside Renly with a sly grin, “are you and Viktor a couple yet, or are we still in the ‘let’s pretend we’re not’ phase?”

Renly froze mid-sip, narrowly avoiding choking on her drink. “Excuse me?” she spluttered, her cheeks flushing as she set the glass down.

“You heard me,” Ekko said, leaning back casually with a knowing look. “You’re telling me you can’t get the guy you want? C’mon, Ren. What’s the holdup?”

Renly blinked, caught completely off guard by his audacity. “We’re not—” she began, but her voice faltered. She glanced at Viktor out of instinct, as if searching for backup. He was still, his fingers lightly curled around his glass, his golden eyes watching her with a gaze she couldn’t quite decipher.

Ekko smirked, shaking his head. “Uh-huh. Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

Renly exhaled sharply, finding her footing again. A teasing smile tugged at her lips. “Maybe I just enjoy keeping you guessing, Ekko.”

“Yeah, alright.” Ekko laughed and hopped off the stool with his usual ease. “But don’t keep him guessing for too long, yeah?” He nodded toward Viktor before giving Renly a light tap on the shoulder. “I’ll see you two around. You know the way to the back, don’t you?”

Renly shot him a look that was half-annoyed, half-amused. “We’ll manage.”

Ekko grinned one last time before heading toward the door. This wasn’t his territory, after all, and he had little interest in lingering.

As the door swung shut behind him, the silence between Renly and Viktor felt heavier. She risked a glance in his direction, but Viktor seemed entirely unbothered, taking a measured sip of his drink. If he had any thoughts about Ekko’s remarks, he wasn’t letting on.

Viktor’s gaze flicked toward the far side of the room, where a small sofa tucked into a quiet corner had just been vacated. He set down his glass, clearing his throat lightly. “There is a more comfortable spot,” he said, gesturing subtly with his chin. “We have had... quite the long day.”

Renly followed his glance and nodded, grateful for the suggestion. “Good idea. My feet will thank you.” She slid off the barstool, trailing behind Viktor as he weaved between the tables, his stride slightly uneven but confident as ever.

The sofa was worn but inviting, the upholstery faded from years of use but still soft enough to sink into. Renly sat first, stretching her legs out a little, while Viktor settled beside her, leaving just enough space to avoid crowding her but close enough that their knees almost brushed.

The change in seating seemed to shift the mood. The noise of the bar softened around them, muffled by the corner’s relative seclusion. Renly leaned back, exhaling slowly, and couldn’t help but glance sideways at Viktor. His shoulders, usually tense with focus or restraint, seemed more relaxed, his body at ease in a way she didn’t often see.

“Better?” he asked, turning to meet her eyes.

She smiled faintly. “Much better.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, letting the ambient buzz of The Last Drop fill the space between them. Renly caught herself noticing small details: the way Viktor’s hair caught the low light, the way his fingers tapped lightly against his knee, the way his eyes lingered on her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Her lips twitched into a smile. If it weren’t for the grim sample collection earlier, this could almost feel like a... She cut off the thought before it could fully form, but the idea lingered stubbornly.

Their hands brushed briefly as she adjusted her position, and though it was accidental, she felt his fingers hesitate before pulling away. The warmth of the contact sent a spark up her arm, and her pulse quickened. She risked a glance at him, only to find his gaze already on her. His eyes—softened, thoughtful—held hers for a beat longer than usual, enough to make her stomach twist.

“Maybe it’s this place,” she said, breaking the silence with a quiet laugh, “or the fact that we’re so far from our usual routine, but this feels... different.”

Viktor tilted his head, curious. “Different?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, glancing down at her hands. “It’s like... like I’m seeing you in a new light.” She immediately regretted how vulnerable it sounded and tried to backtrack. “Not that I— I mean—”

“I understand,” Viktor interrupted gently, saving her from spiralling further. His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “The unfamiliar surroundings can have that effect.”

Renly was about to respond when her head dipped slightly, the weight of the day finally catching up to her. Her voice softened as she admitted, “I just feel it so much now. The pressure. All those people in Zaun... counting on us to make this cure happen. What if I can’t—”

“You will,” Viktor said firmly, cutting through her doubt. His tone was calm but resolute, like an anchor in the storm.

She lifted her eyes to his, and he leaned in slightly, his voice quieter but no less certain. “You are capable of more than you think, Renly. You have already proven that.”

The sincerity in his words struck something deep within her. Before she could stop herself, she whispered, “How can you be so sure?”

Viktor’s expression softened further, and without a word, he reached out, his hand cupping her cheek with a gentleness that made her heart stutter. His thumb brushed her skin lightly, his touch grounding and deliberate.

“I have seen it,” he said simply, his voice low and steady. “In the way you approach every challenge. In the way you care so deeply for others. You are stronger than you realize.”

The air between them grew heavy, the world around them fading into a distant hum. Renly’s breath hitched as she leaned slightly into his hand, her eyes searching his. Viktor’s face was closer now, his gaze flicking briefly to her lips before darting back up.

For a moment, Viktor’s thoughts were quiet, his focus entirely on her—the curve of her cheek under his palm, the way her breath hitched at his touch, the faint tremor in her lips as they parted. She was so close, so achingly close.

And yet, his mind wasn’t quiet at all.

A thousand thoughts spiralled at once, clashing with the tender pull of the moment. The what-ifs were relentless, sharp, and unforgiving. What if he misread this? What if he ruined everything—her trust, their fragile, growing connection—by overstepping?

But it was more than that. It was the weight of everything he carried, everything he hadn’t said. The scars of the past, etched deeper than flesh, whispered insidiously. He had spent his life building walls to shield himself from rejection, from the possibility of anyone looking too closely and deciding he wasn’t enough—not whole enough, not stable enough, not human enough.

And here was Renly, beautiful and brilliant and brave, letting her guard down, trusting him with her vulnerability. How could he justify risking that? How could he allow himself to be selfish enough to take this moment for what he wanted—what he desperately wanted—but might not deserve?

His thumb brushed her cheek again, a reflexive, lingering touch, before he let his hand drop. His chest ached with the effort it took to pull away.

“It is... getting late,” he murmured, his voice betraying the tension he tried to conceal. “We should get home.”

Her eyes opened, searching his face, and he saw the faint flicker of confusion there, the almost imperceptible hurt she tried to mask. Guilt twisted in his chest, and he hated himself for faltering. But better this, he thought, than risking something he wasn’t sure he could give her—not yet.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

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

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

<<<<NO HEADER I GOT LAZY>>>>

Previous Chapter 17 (alt ending 2.8) - Invisible (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 18 (alt ending 2.9) - Inheritance of Hunger

0 Sunday

After a lot of back and forth—mainly Gojo threatening to kill himself while Nanami silently (very weirdly) coaxed you into letting him touch you, all the while he blocked Gojo from you—you three were summoned again before you could make a run for your sanity.

Maya decided she was impatient and the homework needed to be discussed right away.

She sat with her legs crossed, clipboard balanced lazily on her knee.

Gojo was sprawled sideways on the couch, his long limbs stretched out. His sunglasses were pushed up into his messy white hair, revealing baby blue eyes that contrasted with his otherwise lazy posture.

You sat beside him, lost in thought, your fingers absentmindedly threading through his soft white hair. Gojo, for his part, was silently pleading to every god he could think of that you wouldn’t realize what you were doing—or you’d stop.

In the corner of the couch, Nanami sat with his back straight, one elbow resting neatly over his knee. His expression was as composed, but his steady golden gaze and the faint, disapproving line of his mouth betrayed his irritation. It was the kind of look that Gojo lived to provoke.

Maya clapped her hands together like an evil CEO about to announce mass layoffs.

"Alright, listen up, my favorite sad llama, mama llama, and mentally insane llama," her smile widening into something mocking. "We're speedrunning this bitch because your wife might be too volatile around nine months of pregnancy, so you’re about to embark on the hardest six weeks of your lives. This is a controlled experiment where I make the rules, and you two—" she pointed at Gojo and Nanami, "—are my little test subjects."

Gojo tilted his head. “So we’re lab rats?”

Maya’s gaze gleamed. “Exactly.”

Gojo’s mouth curled. “How cute. What happens if we fail?”

Maya’s smile widened. “Divorce.”

Both men’s gazes sharpened on her.

“And,” Maya added, "if you really fail?"

Gojo’s mouth thinned.

“I get to name your kids.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Gojo shot forward so fast the room hummed with the shift of cursed energy.

“My children will never know you,” Gojo spoke low, six eyes glaring into Maya’s unflinching gaze.

Maya smirked, unfazed. “Then don’t fail.”

She reached into her pink hello kitty bag and pulled out a scroll, which slipped from her hand and unrolled onto the floor.

Nanami stood to pick it up. “Is this our plan?” he asked, tone measured.

Maya chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, no. This one’s for non-murderous couples who can actually be trusted.” She tossed it aside and retrieved another scroll, this one written in Comic Sans.

Nanami’s jaw tightened visibly. Gojo’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell is that?”

Maya unrolled the scroll; the paper fluttered ominously under the stale office air.

Maya’s Morally Dubious, Probably Illegal (But Alarmingly Effective) Rules for the Next Six Weeks:

Rule 1: No Speaking to Each Other (Unless Absolutely Necessary)

If Gojo and Nanami so much as look at each other with even a hint of telepathic communication, they must immediately do whatever you tell them.

(Maya turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “No, you are not allowed to ask them to do aflip-off of Everest.” You deflated.)

“And none of this ‘we’ nonsense,” Maya added sharply. "No, ‘we messed up’ or ‘we did this together.’ If you’re going to ruin your marriage, at least take individual accountability.”

No mentioning the other one; pretend he’s Voldermot.

Bonus points if you both cosplay each other.

(Nanami’s soul left his body.)

They also must send pregnancy-related disturbing facts to each other randomly, throughout the week.

Rule 2: “No Touch” Challenge

Both men must go a full 36 hours without touching you.

If they fail? You get to ignore them for 24 hours.

If either of them fails or both fail, then the three of you restart from Week One.

If they succeed, they earn the privilege of taking you on a date. (You’re allowed to leave if it’s not exactly what you wanted—it doesn’t matter if they are telepathic or not.)

Gojo immediately opened his mouth to protest, but Nanami shot him a look so sharp that Gojo actually shut up. No one knew how they’d communicate if they weren’t allowed to talk.

Rule 3: The Random 3 AM Test

Every week, Maya will call one of them at 3 AM with a pop quiz about you.

If they fail to answer correctly, they must run a mile immediately, half naked.

If they pass, they earn a “Get-Out-of-Dumbassery Card.”

(You opened your mouth, but Maya cut you off. “If you protest, I have duct tape.” Gojo was smirking like he’d fail that one on purpose so you’d be all territorial over him.)

Rule 4: “You Will Never Forget Her Again” Rule

Gojo and Nanami must each write a 100-word letter to you every week.

If they skip a week? You are allowed to ghost them for 48 hours.

Bonus: You are not obligated to read them. You can leave them on read.

(Gojo groaned at you to make it stop, “Babe, I don’t even do my office paperwork.” Nanami closed his eyes, resigned.)

Rule 5: Weekly "What Did We Learn?" Presentations

Every Sunday night, they must deliver a PowerPoint presentation on what they’ve learned about you that week.

Requirements:

One genuine compliment.

One sincere apology.

One fun fact about you they didn’t know before.

Three compliments per day—no repeats.

If they succeed, the winner gets to hold your hand—but only if you initiate.

Gojo’s head snapped toward you, his six eyes scanning you like he was memorizing every detail to outdo Nanami, who was already mentally outlining bullet points.

Rule 6: No Skipping “Sunday Alone Day”

If either of them bothers you on Sunday, they must immediately attend solo therapy.

If they make it through the day without bothering you, they earn one hour of bonus time with you the following week.

Whoever isn’t on “custody duty” must spend time on at least one hobby and provide concrete proof of their progress.

Maya paused, her gaze sharpening. “Who’s your worst enemy right now?”

Gojo blurted out, “Fushiguro,” still bitter that you’d called Megumi “Megs” after all these years. Nanami, without hesitation, said, “Haibara,” like he’d been waiting for someone to ask.

“Good,” Maya said, smiling sweetly. “You’ll stay with them when you’re not on custody duty.”

Both men paled.

Rule 7: No Money No Hunny

This time, Maya leaned forward, her gaze dissecting. “Here’s the rule: you can’t spend your own money this week. You need to ask your husbands—well, whoever is on duty—for whatever you want. And don’t worry,” she added, her tone dripping with faux sweetness, “they’re not allowed to reject your requests.”

“Hell no,” you yelled, immediately trying to sit up. But a sharp twinge in your back forced you to slump back into the couch, wincing.

Gojo, who had been clinging to you like some kind of overgrown, emotionally needy barnacle, immediately perked up. His six eyes scanned you with laser focus, searching for any sign of injury. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Do you need ice? A massage? A—“

“She’s fine,” Maya interrupted, her tone clipped.

She studied Gojo for a moment. Then she turned back to you, her expression softening just a fraction. “If you do this,” she said, “you’re allowed to sabotage them as much as you like. Make it difficult. Make it annoying. But you have to ask.”

Your face paled. “But—“

She cut you off, her voice firm but not unkind. “You have hyper-independence issues. We need to fix it. This isn’t just about them—it’s about you learning to let someone else take care of you for once.”

You groaned, slumping further into the couch. “Fine,” you grumbled, crossing your arms.

Gojo looked between you and Maya like he was trying to solve a particularly complicated math problem. “Wait, so… I get to spoil her? Like, no limits? No budget?”

“No budget,” Maya confirmed, her smile sharp. “But don’t get too excited. This isn’t about you. It’s about her.”

Nanami, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, finally spoke up. His voice was calm but firm. “What if she asks for something unreasonable?”

Maya raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘unreasonable.’”

Nanami hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Something that could put her at risk. Or something… excessive.”

Maya’s smirk widened. “If it’s within reason and doesn’t endanger her, you’re not allowed to say no. That’s the point. She needs to feel supported, not judged.”

Nanami nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Understood.”

Gojo, meanwhile, was practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh, this is going to be fun. I’m taking her shopping. And to that fancy restaurant she likes. And—“

“Gojo,” Maya interrupted, her tone warning. “This isn’t about you showing off. It’s about her feeling cared for. Got it?”

Gojo’s grin faltered for a moment, but then he nodded, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Got it.”

Final Rule: The “If You Fail Too Much, I Get to Choose Your Third Husband” Rule

If either of them fails more than three times per week, Maya gets to handpick a third husband to “balance out their incompetence.”

Gojo’s face twisted in horror. “Absolutely not.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Nanami said mildly.

Gojo shot him a glare. “WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON?”

Maya rolled up the scroll and tossed it onto the table. “So,” she said, her smile razor-sharp. “Who’s going first?”

“I will,” Gojo declared, practically hanging off your arm.

“No,” Nanami said, already pulling a coin from his pocket. “We’ll toss for it.”

Gojo opened his mouth to argue, but Nanami flipped the coin before he could.

It hit the floor with a sharp clink.

Nanami bent down, picked it up, and pocketed it without looking at the result.

“I’ll go first,” he said calmly.

“Why?” Gojo asked, suspicious.

“Because I can’t risk you being alone with her right now,” Nanami replied flatly.

Gojo’s grin widened. “Aw, you’re jealous.”

Nanami’s gaze was cutting. “No. I’m realistic.”

Gojo’s smile turned predatory. “We’ll see.”

You rolled your eyes.

Apparently, you weren’t JUST married to clowns—you were married to 14-year-old clowns.

Maya stood, itching her stomach. “Excellent,” she said, her smile widening. “This is going to be so much fun.”

You sighed. This was going to be a long week.

---

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and soon the three of you stepped into the penthouse. Gojo’s hand rested lightly against your lower back, his touch both protective and grounding. Nanami’s grip on your arm was firm and steady, as if he sensed how close you were to unraveling.

You were exhausted. The therapy session had stripped you raw, leaving every nerve exposed. The idea of splitting your life between them—reduced to a schedule, a custody agreement for your own body and emotions—still burned like a fresh wound.

Your feet were swollen, your back ached, and the weight of the pregnancy pressed heavily on your hips. The twins were restless inside you, their cursed energy pulsing against your skin like a storm waiting to break.

All you wanted was to sleep.

Instead, you walked straight into chaos.

“Ah, Satoru.”

You froze.

The living room was filled with people. A man and a woman stood near the couch—tall, elegant, and radiating authority. Behind them stood an older woman with iron-gray hair tied into a severe knot, her military-cut jacket and steely gaze making her presence feel like a threat. And beside her—your mother.

This reunion was something all three of you hoped would never happen.

Your chest tightened painfully, and you instinctively stepped closer to Gojo, seeking shelter behind his broad frame. His hand moved protectively to your waist, pulling you closer, while Nanami’s grip on your arm tightened, his body shifting subtly to shield you.

The man stepped forward first, his hands tucked casually into his kimono. “Satoru,” he said smoothly, his voice dripping with false warmth. “It’s been a long time.”

“Father,” Gojo acknowledged, his tone guarded.

His mother tilted her head, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. “We heard you got married.”

“You could have called,” Gojo replied dryly, his voice edged with bitterness.

His father’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t tell us.”

“Maybe because I didn’t think you’d care,” Gojo said with feigned nonchalance, shrugging. “You left me with the family retainers the moment I was born. Why start pretending now?”

His mother sighed, as if the conversation were beneath her. “And now we hear you're... sharing.” Her gaze flicked toward Nanami, her distaste palpable.

Nanami’s jaw tightened, his hand sliding protectively to your shoulder.

“You’ll have to forgive us for not understanding the arrangement,” Gojo’s father said, his tone icy. “It seems... improper.”

Your mother snorted from across the room. “It’s humiliating.”

Your stomach churned, and you pressed a hand instinctively to your belly, as if shielding the twins from her venom. “Mom,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer immediately, her eyes sweeping over the penthouse with disdain. Her designer sunglasses perched atop her head, and her manicured nails tapped impatiently against her arm.

“Well,” she said, her gaze raking over you from head to toe. “I see you’ve… expanded.”

You flinched, your heart hammering in your chest.

She stepped closer, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. “You ran away years ago,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “I suppose you’ve been… busy.”

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you said, your voice thin and fragile.

“You didn’t need to know,” she replied, her tone dismissive. Her eyes landed on the table, where unopened baby catalogs and receipts were scattered. “Twins? How ambitious. Yet you still parade your stomach around town.”

You pressed your hand harder against your stomach. “Why are you here?”

She hummed, circling you like a predator. Her eyes took in every detail—the dark circles beneath your eyes, the slight swell of your skin, the way you shifted your weight to ease the ache in your back.

“This is what you’ve been up to,” she said, her voice low and cutting. “Running away, getting knocked up, and playing house with two men...”

You didn’t answer; your throat too tight to speak.

Her gaze darkened. “Do you know how humiliating that was for me?”

Your heart lurched. “I—”

“Oh, don’t bother,” she snapped, cutting you off. “You’ve always been selfish. Always dragging this family’s name through the dirt.”

You felt the blood drain from your face, her words slicing through the fragile calm you had managed to hold onto.

She stepped closer, her fingers curling under your chin, forcing you to meet her eyes. “And now you’ve let yourself get pregnant?” Her lips curled into a sneer. “By both of them?”

You pulled away, her hand falling from your face. “They love me.”

Her laugh was sharp enough to draw blood. “Love you?” She tilted her head, her smile cutting. “You’ve always been so naïve. They love the idea of you. Of ownership. Of the money you bring in. Don’t mistake that for love.”

You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, your hands trembling at your sides.

Her voice dripped with venom. “I thought I raised you better than that.”

“You didn’t raise me at all,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Gojo’s mother stepped forward, her mouth curling in disdain. “And now you expect me to believe these... things inside you are even his?” Her eyes cut toward Gojo. “Are you even sure they’re yours?”

Your mother’s lips twisted into a smirk. “That’s a valid question.”

Gojo’s face went blank, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“Their cursed energy,” Gojo’s father said, stepping closer, “if they’re really yours—”

“Stop,” Gojo said, his voice low and dangerous.

“—then it would only be responsible for the clan to take them in,” his mother continued, her tone icy. “If they’ve inherited your technique, they belong with us.”

Your skin crawled.

“You want my children?” Gojo’s smile was razor-edged, his voice deceptively calm.

“They have potential,” his father said coolly.

“Potential,” Gojo repeated hollowly, his heart pounding thickly in his throat. “You’re talking about them like they're... a product. An asset.”

“They are a legacy,” Gojo’s mother said, her voice cold and final.

“And if they don’t meet expectations?” Nanami’s voice cut, low and edged.

Gojo’s father’s mouth thinned. “They won’t fail.”

Nanami’s great-aunt stepped forward, her presence a wall of restrained fury. “You are all insane.” Her voice cracked like a whip. “This is why I told you,” she said, turning to Nanami, “to stay away from this family.”

Nanami’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.

“And now,” she continued, her glare sweeping over the room, “you’re tied to this mess, and you’ve allowed my grandson to lower himself into this... arrangement?”

“She’s my wife,” Gojo said coldly.

“And Kento’s,” Nanami's great-aunt snapped, then turned to Nanami. “Kento, you still have time; divorce him and save your relationship with her and the babies. The fact that he’s comfortable reducing her to some kind of political experiment—”

“I’m not reducing her to anything!” Gojo’s voice sharpened, his cursed energy buzzing dangerously beneath his skin.

“Enough.”

Nanami half-yelled, his presence silencing the room. “You’re embarrassing yourselves.” 

But your mother was undeterred.

She glared. “You always let men do the hard work for you, don’t you?”

“You need to leave,” you said, your voice breaking.

She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I’m tired,” you said, your voice unsteady. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

Her mouth tightened. “Then I suppose you don’t have the energy to be a good wife either?”

You froze.

“Poor Kento,” she mused. “He’s such a good man. Patient. Responsible. Do you know how lucky you are to have landed someone like him?”

You swallowed thickly. Nanami’s grandmother’s sister immediately zeroed in on Gojo, again. “You,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “You’re the reason my grandson is tied up in this mess. Careless, reckless, and—”

Nanami interrupted, his voice calm but firm. “Stop talking.”

“And you. Divorce him, Kento. You deserve better than this circus.” She snapped.

“And Satoru—” Your mother’s smile sharpened. “Handsome. Powerful. He could have anyone.” Her gaze flicked toward your belly. “Strange, isn’t it? That he’d settle for you.”

You felt your throat close. You pressed a hand over your head.

“And yet,” she continued, “you are here, looking miserable and pathetic. Can’t even bring yourself to take care of them, can you?”

“I’m pregnant,” you choked out.

“And?” Her mouth twisted. “Women have been pregnant before. How do you think I gave birth? No epidural because we worked.”

You flinched. “I do work around the house.” You didn’t know why you were justifying yourself to her; she always thought keeping more housekeeping staff was better than having to save any money for her only kid’s future, because at least she wouldn’t have to carry her bags.

“You should be grateful,” she said, brushing imaginary lint from her sleeve. “You’ve been handed two of the most powerful men in the world, and you can’t even manage to cook them a meal?”

“Mom—”

“You don’t deserve them.”

Your vision blurred.

She stepped closer, her voice lowering to a cutting whisper. “You’ve always been a disappointment.”

Your chest constricted, the world spinning around you.

She smiled like a shark. “Not only that, you’ve gotten fat too.”

Gojo’s eyes sharpened dangerously, his cursed energy flickering faintly beneath his skin. His hands twitched at his sides, as if he were restraining himself from stepping in. Nanami’s jaw twitched, his golden eyes narrowing, but he remained still, his fists clenched tightly. Your hand instinctively pressed to the swell of your stomach.

“I’m six months pregnant,” your voice was sharp. Flat.

Her smile widened. “That’s no excuse for looking cheap.”

Gojo’s hands curled into fists, his knuckles white. Nanami’s gaze flicked toward you, his expression unreadable but his body tense. Their cursed energy stirred beneath the surface, a silent storm waiting to break.

Your mother’s eyes glinted as she surveyed the room. “So this is what you’ve been doing?” A slow, mocking glance toward Gojo and Nanami. “Sleeping your way to the top?”

Your throat tightened.

“You think they’ll stick around when they realize what you are?” Her smile was thin. “Should’ve gotten you taken care of. Well, it’s not too late.”

You knew this moment would come eventually.

But not like this. Not in front of them.

You didn't want the humiliation.

Your mother stood in the middle of your living room, a familiar silhouette of disappointment.

You hadn’t seen her in years, but the sight of her still made your chest cave in.

The babies kicked violently inside you, as if they too could feel the tension twisting through the air.

“How long are you going to threaten to get me raped, Mom?”

The words hung in the air like a gunshot.

Shattering.

Violent.

Both of your husbands gazes snapped towards you.

Gojo’s breath sharpened audibly, his cursed energy flaring for a split second before he reined it in. His jaw clenched, a cold, dangerous stillness. Nanami’s shoulders coiled, his hands flexing at his sides as if he were fighting the urge to step between you and her.

“You can’t stand me,” you said, voice cracking beneath the weight of it. “But you still won’t leave me the fuck alone.”

Your mother’s smile was brittle at the edges. Her hands were clasped neatly, unmoving, as if she’d practiced this posture a hundred times in the mirror.

“Why?” you whispered, the tremor in your throat rising like bile. “Why did you have me if you were only going to hate me? Why did you keep me alive just to sharpen your claws on me?”

Her mouth opened, but you cut her off.

“No, really. Why?” Your breath hitched painfully. “Your marriage not working out wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ask to be born just because you needed a fucking punching bag.”

Gojo’s head lowered, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. Nanami’s fists tightened, his knuckles white, but he remained rooted in place, his jaw working as if he were biting back words.

“You ask me for money,” you went on, breathless and shaking, “but still treat me like I’m nothing. If money’s all you fucking want, I’ll send a check. I can afford that. I can’t afford this. Just—let me go. Pretend I’m dead. A lot of people already do.”

You could feel Gojo and Nanami’s eyes burning into you, but you couldn’t stop. The words were clawing their way out of you, jagged and bloodstained.

“I have given you everything,” you hissed, the rage climbing your throat. “And you give me nothing back but grief and humiliation. I made a career out of nothing, and you still walk around telling your friends how I’m a bum. Because you just want people who don’t give a single fuck about you to give you sympathy because, ‘Oh my god, my daughter is a piece of shit’ is the only line you can use to make friends in your pathetic existence.”

Her smile didn’t slip.

“You want me to read your mind, to bend myself into whatever fucked-up shape you want, and when I fail, you call me a failure. When I succeed, you resent me for doing better than you expected. I WILL NEVER FUCKING GET A SINGLE PIECE OF RECOGNITION FROM YOU, WILL I?”

Your breath caught painfully.

Her mouth parted, but you cut her off before she could speak.

“Mom,” you spat. “You filed a police complaint against me when I was eleven because I yelled at you after you called me a whore—something you’ve been doing since I was four—because I finally had enough. Who the hell was I whoring myself out to at four years old, Mom?”

Gojo’s entire body went taut. His Six Eyes glowed faintly, the air around him crackling with restrained energy. His hands twitched at his sides, as if he were holding himself back from stepping in.

“If Mr. Fushiguro hadn’t saved me that day,” you whispered, “I’d have been in prison. Do you understand how fucked up it is that none of the cops took your side—even when I had no money, no influence? Do you get how messed up that is toward your only child? Does that get into your fucking head, Mom?”

Her smile froze at the edges, a spiderweb of tension cracking through her expression.

Nanami’s jaw flexed, his golden eyes narrowing. His hands were clenched into fists, his cursed energy simmering beneath the surface like a controlled storm.

“And you still keep doing it,” you went on, your voice thin and brittle. “Every time I see a cop, I wonder what lie you’ve told them now. I remember you saying I carried a knife. Then you added pepper spray because you ‘didn’t know why I’d need it.’ ”

Her smile sharpened. “I was trying to protect myself because this is exactly how you react, and I worry you’d wake up and kill me one day.”

You laughed, a hollow sound that scraped at your throat.

“You’re shameless,” your voice hardened. “When I told you everything, Mom, you just laughed. Then you told my ex to beat me because ‘I needed to be kept in check.’ Didn’t Dad used to beat you?”

Mention of your father finally got a reaction out of her.

Her eyes glinted with something cruel.

Gojo inhaled sharply, his cursed energy flaring for a moment before he reined it in. Nanami’s gaze flicked toward you, his expression unreadable but his body tense, ready to intervene if needed.

Her hand raised.

Gojo saw red.

You flinched as Gojo moved faster than Nanami could react.

His hand shot out, catching her wrist mid-air.

Crack!

Her bones didn’t break—but the pressure was enough to make her knees buckle. His Six Eyes burned ice-blue, cursed energy vibrating through the air like a live wire.

“Don’t,” Gojo said, his voice low, frigid, and dangerous. “Touch. Her.”

Your mother’s smile twitched. “You dare—”

“Satoru,” you said, your voice loud and commanding.

Gojo’s gaze whipped toward you, his pupils blown wide.

“Let go,” you said quietly.

Gojo’s grip loosened—but his hand hovered over her wrist like he didn’t trust himself to let go completely.

“She was going to hit you,” he said, his eyes darting across your face, searching for something.

“You will not hit my mother,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill out.

His mouth parted, his breath hitching.

His hand fell to his side, but his cursed energy still crackled around him, a silent warning.

Your mother, meanwhile, had done what she always did.

Started crying like Gojo actually hurt her, gaining sympathy from the other guardians.

Nanami’s golden eyes locked onto them, his voice steady and implacable. “Leave,” he said. “Now.”

Your mother’s eyes flicked toward Nanami. She smiled thinly. “Or what?”

“I don’t need to explain,” Nanami replied, his tone cool and final.

“I raised her,” your mother said, standing straighter.

“Providing basic needs like food, roof and education is not raising a child,” Nanami said flatly, his gaze unwavering.

Your mother’s eyes narrowed. “You think you can do better?”

“I am doing better,” he replied, his voice calm.

“This is what you have married, Satoru?” Gojo’s mother yelled. “She’s making you violent.”

Gojo’s laugh was humorless. “You made me violent ever since you handed me over to the clan to become the next clan head. The last line of defense.  A fucking nuclear weapon.”

Your chest burned, the weight of years of, your and his, pain and anger pressing down on you.

“You don’t get to come into my home,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm thrumming beneath your ribs, “and disrespect me. Or them.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Your home?”

“I own the building,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument.

“You’ll ruin your children,” your mother said, her voice dripping with venom.

“I’d rather ruin them myself,” you replied, your voice cold and final, “I’d rather take that risk than let you anywhere near them—someone who thinks it’s okay to laugh at a child sharing something so traumatic that they’ll never be the same.”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“You’re going to regret this,” she said, her voice low and threatening.

“Or you will, because you can’t get them to hate me too." You said, voice steady.

Gojo’s father cleared his throat from behind her, his voice dripping with disdain. “Are they even yours, Satoru?” he asked, his tone cold and calculating. “Or are you just playing house with someone else’s children?”

The air shifted. Gojo’s gaze sharpened dangerously, his cursed energy flickering at the edges of perception—a storm about to break. His head lifted slightly, white lashes lowering over those sharp, crystalline eyes.

“Careful, father.”

His voice was low, almost soft. It made the hairs on the back of their neck rise.

Nanami’s hand brushed Gojo’s arm—steady, grounding—a subtle press of fingers against tense muscle. His cursed energy pulsed faintly beneath his skin, a controlled but unmistakable threat. A warning.

Even if the twins weren't of Gojo and were of Nanami, he'd still protect them without a word and so would Nanami. That was always the unspoken rule. Because that's what they did. Protect everyone and be so honest to god they'd die protecting you and this family.

Gojo’s father’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "You can’t protect them alone. They’ll need to be trained for the inevitable. Besides…" His gaze darkened. "Don’t you have to go back to work once your suspension is lifted? I’m trying to help you, Satoru. It should be soon."

Gojo’s mouth curled into a smile—cold, hollow—the kind that stripped the warmth from the room. The kind of smile you see right before something terrible happens.

"I killed them all, Father."

Gojo’s father’s smile faltered. His face paled. "Who?"

"All the higher-ups." Gojo’s voice was eerily calm, almost conversational. His head tilted slightly, eyes gleaming beneath the stark white of his lashes. "Me and Nanami tag-teamed it. Two days ago. They haven’t been returning your calls, have they?"

His smile widened.

Lower-grades, unlike those of special or first-grade status, couldn’t determine the lineage of the children you carried based solely on cursed energy signatures. This is why Gojo’s parents were unaware of who's kids his wife carried—they were ordinary members of the Gojo clan, with no notable standing, until Satoru was born. His extraordinary birth elevated their status, transforming them into respected figures within the clan. Their sudden obsession with taking his children might have been a calculated move to further ingratiate themselves with the clan’s hierarchy, using his offsprings as a means to secure their newfound position. And Gojo was painfully aware of it but he knew confrontation would not work on them.

"Sadly," Gojo continued, "they can’t even trace it back to us to put us up for execution. Nanami cleaned up everything, and you know his technique — he’s meticulous enough to get away with any murder."

Nanami barely suppressed a smirk. His cursed energy buzzed faintly beneath the surface like a low hum of electricity.

"Let the remaining ones manage it," Gojo said lightly. "And as soon as they get tired, they’ll come crawling back and let me take over. I’ll generously sit at the top." His eyes sharpened into narrow slits of ice. "You wanted me to be successful, Father, and I will be. I’ll be the head of the Jujutsu society—not just the clan."

Gojo’s mother’s face twisted. Her hand clenched into a delicate fist at her side. "Are you insane?" Her voice pitched higher, nearly frantic. "This is no way to talk to your father. Over… this—"

She gestured toward you with a flick of her hand, her lip curling in disgust.

"This… thing."

Your stomach curled.

Nanami’s hand tightened on Gojo’s arm. You didn’t know if it was to steady Gojo or himself.

"It’s fine if you want to… indulge yourself," Gojo’s mother continued, her voice trembling with barely concealed rage. "But you will not speak to your father this way. And you will give us the children once they’re born. They’ll be raised properly. Not by some—"

"You disgust me, Mother."

Gojo’s words were soft, almost weightless—but they fell like a blade.

His mother’s nostrils flared. Her eyes narrowed into thin, gleaming slits. "You think you can just dismiss us? We’re your parents. Those children are our legacy—"

"Your legacy?" Gojo’s head tilted, eyes gleaming like a polished edge. His voice dropped. "You don’t get to claim them. You don’t get to claim me. I’m not your weapon. And neither are they."

His father’s face darkened. "You ungrateful brat." His voice sharpened, brittle with rage. "We gave you everything—power, status, the Gojo name—"

"You gave me nothing." Gojo’s voice cracked like ice underfoot. His smile faded. "You turned me into a tool the moment I was born. You don’t care about me. You don’t care about them. All you care about is what they can do for you."

Gojo’s mother took a step forward, chin lifting in a last grasp at authority. "You owe us, Satoru! You owe this clan!"

Gojo’s jaw flexed. His breath sharpened. His eyes darkened beneath the pale white fringe of his lashes.

"I owe you nothing." His voice trembled with rage. "And if you ever come near my children, I’ll make sure you regret it."

His mother’s face twisted into something dark. Ugly. "You wouldn’t dare—"

Nanami stepped forward.

Gojo’s mother’s mouth snapped shut.

Nanami’s presence swelled—calm, unyielding. His cursed energy rose in a slow, chilling wave. The pressure in the room sharpened—heavier, colder. His eyes gleamed beneath his glasses.

"This is your last warning. Leave," Nanami said quietly.

Gojo’s mother’s eye’s twitched.

Gojo’s father hesitated. His eyes narrowed, mouth parting slightly as if to protest—

Nanami’s cursed energy snapped.

Your mother blinked, her composure faltering for the first time.

Gojo’s mother took a step back, her expression unreadable. His father hesitated, his eyes narrowing, but he said nothing.

Nanami stepped forward, his presence towering and unyielding. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

Your mother scoffed, but the tremor in her jaw gave her away. “You wouldn’t—”

Nanami’s cursed energy flared, the air around him growing heavy.

Gojo’s mother straightened, her chin lifted in a last attempt at dignity. “You’ll regret this,” she hissed, her voice trembling with venom.

“I already do,” Gojo said, his voice cold. “I regret ever thinking you could change.”

She stepped back, her chin lifted in a last attempt at defiance, but the fear in her eyes was unmistakable. Gojo’s parents followed without a word, their earlier arrogance replaced by silence. Nanami’s great-aunt hesitated, her gaze lingering on Nanami for a moment, before she turned and left.

The door closed with a quiet click.

The silence pressed into your lungs, heavy and suffocating.

Gojo’s head was lowered, his broad shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world had finally crushed him. His hands trembled at his sides, his cursed energy flickering faintly, unstable and raw. He looked... broken.

Nanami’s hand hovered near his arm, unsure if he was allowed to touch him, unsure if his touch would be welcomed or rejected. His golden eyes were dark with concern, his usual calm demeanor fraying at the edges.

Your chest tightened painfully, a sharp ache spreading through your ribs. Shame crawled beneath your skin, hot and suffocating.

You shouldn’t have stopped him.

You shouldn’t have humiliated him like that.

You hated it.

You hated yourself for it.

You hated the way Gojo had looked at you—like you were something fragile. Like you were something breakable. Like he had failed you, even though it was you who had failed him.

You walked past them, the crushing weight of shame settling into your chest like a stone. Your footsteps were soft, barely audible against the polished floor, but each step felt like a betrayal.

“Where are you going?” Nanami asked, his voice low and steady, though there was an edge of worry beneath it.

“Don’t worry,” you replied hollowly, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll be around the building.”

These days, you didn’t tell them where you were going, but right now it felt like looking for you might hurt Gojo more. You couldn’t bear the thought of him chasing after you, not after what had just happened.

His gaze followed you as you walked away, his eyes burning into your back. His mouth parted, like he wanted to speak—like he wanted to call you back, to fix this, to make it right—but the words didn’t come. They never did.

Your arms shook as you stepped outside, the cold biting into your skin. The ache behind your ribs tightened painfully, a dull throb that refused to fade. You hugged Nanami’s overcoat around your stomach, the fabric still carrying the faint scent of his cologne. It should have been comforting, but it only made the guilt worse.

You weren’t trying to run.

You just needed air.

The walls of the corridor had been closing in for hours—days, maybe—and you’d spent the last fifteen minutes staring at the massive glass windows, counting the lights flickering in the distance, feeling the restless energy under your skin.

So you walked away.

The building was quiet this late, the freshly polished marble floors reflecting the dim, low lighting. You padded barefoot through the hall, one hand resting on the swell of your stomach as you drifted past the concierge desk.

“Madam,” the receptionist murmured, nodding respectfully as you passed. His gaze flicked toward the gentle curve of your belly, then back to his computer.

You nodded and smiled politely at him, the gesture automatic and hollow. Your reflection followed you along the mirrored walls—barefoot, messy hair falling over your shoulders, dark circles etched beneath your eyes. You looked—

Haunted.

Your hand slid down over your stomach, a reflex. Protective. Instinctual. The twins curled beneath your touch, their cursed energy pulsing in sync with your heartbeat, low and heavy, like distant thunder.

You drifted past the spa, past the rooftop garden, and down the wide corridor that led to the gym. The glass doors slid open soundlessly as you approached.

That’s when you saw him.

“Yo.”

Haibara was walking out of the gym, a towel slung over his shoulder, his hair damp from a post-workout shower. He spotted you immediately, his eyes brightening with recognition—then narrowing when he saw the state of you.

“You look like shit,” he said, not unkindly.

“Thanks,” you muttered, your voice hollow.

He stepped toward you, his expression shifting from amusement to concern. His eyes swept over your face, lingering on the dark circles beneath your eyes, then down toward your chest.

“You’re leaking.”

You froze.

“What?”

“Your—” He gestured vaguely toward your chest. “—boobs. Leaking.”

Your face burned.

You looked down.

He wasn’t wrong—two faint, wet stains had bloomed across the fabric of your shirt.

“Oh my god.”

“Wait—” Haibara was already reaching for his towel.

“I got it,” you said, stepping back quickly. “It’s fine—”

“Haibara?”

You stiffened.

Megumi’s head appeared around the corner, his dark hair slightly disheveled. He walked toward you, his brow furrowing when he saw Haibara standing so close.

“What’s going on?”

“Her boobs are leaking,” Haibara informed helpfully.

“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed, swatting at him.

Megumi’s mouth twitched—then his gaze sharpened. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as his hand caught your chin while the other pulled down the hood of Gojo’s sweatshirt you were wearing, tilting your face toward the light.

“Your cheek,” he said quietly.

“What?”

His thumb brushed over your skin. A flinch.

You went still.

“That’s a handprint,” he said. His voice was low, dangerous. “Who touched you?”

Haibara’s gaze darkened, his usual cheerfulness replaced by something colder, sharper.

“I’m going to kill her,” Megumi said simply, his tone calm but laced with venom.

“You don’t know that it was her,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Who the fuck else would it be?” Haibara said coldly. His jaw flexed. “How the hell did she get in? Where is she?”

Your mouth opened, but the words stuck. Your chest tightened painfully. You could still feel the heat of her palm against your skin and the sharp sting of her nails.

“You should be grateful,” her voice echoed distantly. “You don’t deserve them.”

Megumi’s hand curled beneath your chin. His touch was gentle, but his expression was razor-sharp.

“You should’ve called,” he said softly, his voice tinged with frustration and something deeper—something you couldn’t quite place.

You pulled away, your heart hammering painfully beneath your ribs.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice thin and unconvincing.

“You’re not,” Haibara said bluntly. His eyes were dark, his jaw clenched as he stared at you. “You’re not fine. And you shouldn’t be walking around alone like this.”

You forced yourself to turn toward the door. “I need to go.”

They didn’t stop you. 

As you moved through the dimly lit space, you could feel their eyes on you, a mix of concern and something darker simmering just beneath the surface.

You didn’t look back, but you could almost hear the unspoken words hanging in the air, the mingling frustration and helplessness.

You walked back through the building in a daze, the hallways stretching unnaturally long in front of you. Your chest ached. Your skin burned where her hand had been.

The penthouse was dark when you returned. The only light came from the city sprawling below through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a glittering reminder of the world that didn’t care about your broken edges. The silence was heavy—oppressive—pressing into your lungs until it hurt to breathe.

Gojo was standing by the glass wall, his hands buried deep in his pockets. His white hair was slightly rumpled, his broad shoulders tense beneath the loose fabric of his shirt. His back was to you, but you knew he’d sensed you the moment you entered. He always did.

"You left."

His voice was quiet, almost fragile.

You swallowed hard, throat tightening painfully. "I just needed air."

He turned.

His eyes were bright, but there was something frayed beneath them—something raw and brittle, barely holding together. His gaze slid over you, taking in the dark circles beneath your eyes, the fading mark on your cheek, the tension in your shoulders.

"You should’ve told me," he said, voice low.

"I can handle it," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Can you?"

Your chest tightened painfully, the words cutting deeper than you expected. You looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

"I’m tired," you said quietly, your voice trembling.

Gojo’s hands stayed in his pockets, but his cursed energy flickered beneath the surface—sharp, restless. His shoulders stiffened. "You can’t keep doing this," he said, voice breaking slightly. "Shutting us out. Shutting me out."

"I know." Your throat burned. "I know."

Gojo’s gaze softened, his lips parting slightly as if he were about to speak—but no words came out. Instead, he stepped closer, his hand brushing your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his. His thumb smoothed over the red mark on your cheek, his touch so tender it made your chest ache.

"I hate seeing you like this," he whispered, his voice breaking. “I hate that I couldn’t protect you. That I couldn’t fix this for you."

Your breath hitched. His hand on your face was warm—steady—and you leaned into it without meaning to. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, his touch lingering. You could see the guilt in his eyes, the way it pooled behind the brightness, the way it stuck to his skin like tar.

"I know." Your voice cracked. A tear slipped down your cheek, and his thumb caught it, brushing it away with a tenderness that made your heart clench.

For six months, you had kept him at arm’s length. Six months of stolen glances, of aching silences, of longing that neither of you dared to voice.

But now, standing there with his hand on your face and his breath mingling with yours, you finally felt the walls you’d built begin to crumble.

"I didn’t know about your mother."

Your breath stalled.

Gojo’s voice was quiet, strained. His thumb lingered beneath your jaw. His mouth twisted, something dark and sharp flickering behind his eyes.

Your chest burned. Your mouth opened—closed.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Gojo’s eyes softened, his brows drawing together.

"I don’t know."

His eyes were so painfully blue in the dark. His breath hitched. His hand curled against your jaw. "I would’ve killed her."

Your breath wavered. "Satoru—"

"No." His voice sharpened. His eyes darkened beneath the soft light of the city skyline. "I mean it." His hand slid from your jaw to your throat—not to squeeze, not to hurt—just to feel the rapid beat of your pulse beneath his fingertips. "You think I don’t understand? You think I don’t know what it’s like to be used—to be simply never thought of?" His breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly, pupils trembling. "You think I don’t know how it feels to love someone who only loves what you can do for them?"

Your heart stilled.

"You think I don’t know how it feels to hate them for it?" His eyes glistened. His thumb brushed against the hollow of your throat. "I grew up in a house full of ghosts." His mouth twisted. "I learned how to haunt people before I learned how to live."

Your breath trembled.

"I didn’t know it was that bad," he said softly. His hand slid up the back of your neck, curling into your hair. "I should’ve known. I should’ve asked."

"You were busy," you whispered. "With Nanami."

Gojo’s breath stalled. His mouth parted. His hand tightened in your hair.

"I never meant—"

"I know. I'm married to him. Trust me I know."

“Deflecting through humor is my thing baby,” Gojo’s eyes burned. His mouth lowered to yours, his breath trembling against your lips. His hand on your jaw was careful, hesitant—like he was scared you’d pull away.

You didn’t.

He kissed you slowly, trembling and hesitant, his lips pressing softly against yours. It was a question, a plea, a promise all at once.

His lips brushed yours softly—barely there, a ghost of a kiss, as if he were afraid you’d shatter under the weight of it. Your breath hitched, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

He kissed you again, slow and hesitant, his lips trembling against yours. Your eyes stung, tears spilling over as your fingers tightened in his shirt, pulling him closer.

You didn’t push him away.

You couldn’t. Not anymore.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. It was desperate and tender, a collision of six months of longing and heartache. His breath hitched against your lips, a quiet sob escaping him as he held you like you were the most fragile thing in the world.

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

“Enough.”

Nanami’s voice cut through like a blade, cold and sharp.

His hand was fisted in the back of Gojo’s collar, yanking him away from you with a force that left no room for argument. His face was set in stone, but his eyes—his eyes burned with something raw and unspoken.

Gojo stumbled back, his chest heaving, his lips still parted as if he were trying to hold onto the taste of you. He turned to Nanami, his expression a mix of anger and guilt.

Nanami’s gaze flicked to you, his eyes softening for just a moment before hardening again. “This isn’t the time,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Not like this.”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling at your sides. Gojo looked at you, his eyes pleading, but you couldn’t find the words to respond. The moment was gone, shattered by the reality of the world around you.

"She’s exhausted," Nanami said, his voice low and even. "She doesn’t need this."

Gojo’s gaze darted toward you, his chest heaving, his lips still parted as if trying to hold onto the taste of you.

"She’s my wife too," Gojo said, his voice low.

"And you’ve done enough damage for one night." Nanami’s tone was razor-sharp. His gaze flicked toward you, softening briefly. "Go to bed. Both of you."

Gojo’s jaw flexed. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. His gaze lingered on you, his eyes filled with a mix of longing and regret.

"Fine," Gojo said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Nanami’s hand slid down Gojo’s back, guiding him toward the hallway. Gojo’s head lowered slightly beneath the weight of Nanami’s touch. He didn’t resist.

You stood there, shaking, your hands pressed to your chest. Your heart was still racing, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once.

Gojo glanced back as Nanami pulled him away—his gaze hollow and tired. But beneath it, beneath the fear and guilt and longing—there was something else.

Understanding.

You stood there, shaking, your hands pressed against your chest. Your heart was still racing, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once.

---

Sometime later after you fell asleep.

Group Chat: Dad Crimes 💀

Father Time: Did you know that oxytocin, the bonding hormone, spikes in fathers when they spend time around pregnant partners? 

Daddy: Uh-huh. 😏 

Father Time: Which means you’re probably more emotionally attached to her right now than you’ve ever been in your life. 

Daddy: So what? 🥰 

Father Time: Which also means if you lose her, your brain will likely enter a state of prolonged emotional withdrawal, comparable to drug addiction withdrawal. 

Daddy: 🧍🏻‍♂️ 

Father Time: In other words, you’ll be biologically incapable of functioning. 

Daddy: …I don’t like where this is going. 

Father Time: Better pray nothing happens to her then. 

Daddy: KENTO. I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE KENTO. 

---

You don’t say anything at first. Just stand there, watching them like they’ve grown extra limbs. There’s blood pooling under Nanami’s shoes, soaking into the fine lines of the marble.

Gojo notices you first. His head tilts, the thin line of red trailing down his jaw catching the faint glow of the overhead lights.

“Oh,” he breathes. A weak, barely-there smile. “We handled it.”

Nanami’s eyes flick toward you next, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He’s got that resigned expression—the one that says he knew this was going to happen eventually, even if he hates himself for it.

Your heart is hammering. It's hard to breathe.

“What the fuck,” you whisper.

Nanami steps toward you, careful, like you’re the one who might break. His hand starts to rise—to touch you, maybe—but you step back so sharply your heel smacks into the wall. His hand falls to his side.

“You killed them.” Your voice cracks. “You—”

Gojo takes a step closer. The faint sheen of sweat on his forehead glistens under the lights. His grin is gone now. Just blankness.

“They were going to kill you,” Gojo says softly.

“No,” you snap. “No, you don’t get to make that decision—”

“We do,” Nanami says, his voice low and firm. His gaze pins you in place. “We have to.”

Your jaw tightens. Your hands are shaking. “You think you’re protecting me?” you hiss. “By slaughtering people?”

“Yes,” Gojo says, simple and certain.

Your breath stutters.

There’s this horrible rush of heat under your skin, this crawling sense of inevitability.

You’re surrounded. Caged.

Nanami’s hand finally touches your wrist. Warm. Steady. And you hate how your pulse jumps at the contact.

“I’m not asking you to understand,” he says. “But I need you to trust us.”

“Trust you?” You laugh bitterly. “You think trust is built on blood?”

Gojo’s eyes sharpen. His smile returns, slow and dangerous. “You think it isn’t?”

Suddenly, you were running.

With blood on your hands.

Their hands.

The bodies were still warm beneath your feet. The marble glistened darkly under the glow of the overhead lights. It seeped into the cracks.

You wanted to scream.

Your mouth opened—

Hands. Cold around your throat. Familiar hands.

Gojo’s grin flashed too wide, his pupils blown out. Nanami’s hand lingered on his shoulder. His mouth parted.

“You think trust isn’t built on blood?”

Their voices echoed and split — harsh, distorted—

Then—

Sharp pain. Crawling heat beneath your skin. The pressure mounting—

They weren’t touching you.

But it felt like they were.

The blood started to rise. Over your ankles. Up your legs.

It was warm. It smelled—

Your chest felt tight. It was hard to breathe—

And then—

Hands.

Pulling you up. Holding you down.

“Wake up.”

The nightmare cracked apart.

Your eyes flew open.

Nanami’s hand was on your cheek, steady and firm. His brow furrowed, his mouth tightening as he registered your rapid breathing.

“Shhh,” he murmured. His thumb stroked the side of your jaw. “You’re safe.”

You were shaking. Your whole body was soaked in sweat, and you couldn’t stop the trembling.

Gojo’s hand pressed lightly to your wrist. “You’re okay,” he said softly. No teasing in his voice. Just quiet reassurance.

Your breath stuttered painfully. You pushed yourself upright—or tried to—but Nanami’s hand slipped to your shoulder, gently guiding you back down.

“You were having a nightmare,” Nanami said.

“No shit,” you whispered. Your throat was raw.

Gojo’s gaze sharpened. “What was it about?”

You hesitated.

Nanami’s brow ticked up slightly. “You can tell us.”

“You,” you said hoarsely. “Both of you.”

Gojo’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Nanami’s hand tightened slightly on your shoulder.

There was a beat of silence. Then Gojo spoke, low and even.

“Well, it’s not our fault you dream about us.”

You opened your mouth—but then—

A strange warmth spread across your chest.

It took a moment to register.

Gojo’s head tilted. His gaze dropped—

“Oh.”

Nanami’s gaze followed. His lips parted slightly.

You looked down.

Wet spots. Two of them. Spreading darkly through the thin fabric of your nightshirt.

“No,” you whispered. Your cheeks burned as you covered yourself more. “No, no, no—”

Gojo’s mouth split into a grin. “Oh?”

“Oh my god,” you hissed.

Nanami’s eyes darkened. His mouth twitched. “Well.”

“You’re leaking,” Gojo said cheerfully.

“Shut up.”

Gojo ignored you completely. His grin stretched wider. “I think it’s a sign.”

Nanami exhaled slowly. “A sign of what?”

Gojo’s gaze flicked toward you, his eyes sparkling with unholy amusement.

“Milk,” he said.

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. “Please kill me.”

“Oh no,” Gojo said smoothly, shifting closer. His hand pressed lightly against your stomach. “I think this is a bonding opportunity.”

“Leave me alone,” you groned.

“Technically,” Gojo mused, “I could help.”

Nanami’s expression sharpened. “We are not discussing this.”

“Why not?” Gojo’s grin widened. “It’s a biological function. We’re your husbands. Isn’t it our duty to—”

Nanami caught Gojo in a headlock. “Enough.”

You groaned louder. Your cheeks burned. “Please tell me this isn’t happening.”

Nanami’s gaze softened as his other hand brushed down the side of your face. His mouth curved faintly.

“You’re fine,” he said. His voice was warm and even. “It’s normal.”

“It’s humiliating.”

Gojo finally pried Nanami’s arm away from his mouth. “It’s hot,” he said.

Nanami shot him a sharp look.

Gojo raised his hands innocently. “What? I’m just appreciating my wife’s biological complexity.”

“I’m going to kill you,” you muttered.

Gojo’s grin sharpened. “You can try.”

Nanami’s hand slid down to your shoulder, grounding you. His expression softened. “You’re not alone,” he said quietly. “Even when you dream about us.”

Your breath caught. You hated how much that steadied you.

Nanami’s thumb stroked the inside of your shoulder. “You’re safe,” he said.

"Oh, you are totally safe,” Gojo agreed, grinning. “Except from us.”

Your eyes snapped open.

“Go to hell.”

Gojo beamed. “Only if you come with me.”

Nanami exhaled sharply. His hand lifted to rub at his temple.

You groaned and rolled onto your side.

“I hate both of you.”

“Sure you do,” Gojo said sweetly, leaning over you. His hand slipped beneath the blankets, warm against your thigh.

“I’m leaving,” you warned.

Nanami’s hand tightened slightly on your wrist. “No, you’re not.”

Gojo’s grin softened slightly. “Stay,” he murmured.

Your chest tightened painfully.

“You’re such assholes,” you whispered.

But you didn’t move when Gojo’s arm slid around your ribs. You didn’t pull away when Nanami’s teeth nipped lightly on your shoulder.

You closed your eyes again.

“Fine,” you muttered.

Nanami’s hand stroked down your spine.

Gojo hummed softly.

You hated how much you believed them.

Your eyes snapped open, heart pounding. 

It was dark—maybe midnight, maybe later—and you realized your nightmares had finally crossed over to wet dreams territory.

The penthouse was quiet, the city lights flickering weakly through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room was warm, but your body was overheating—which made sense, considering you were currently being smothered to death.

Your head throbbed. Your ribs ached. Something heavy—suffocating—was wrapped tightly around your throat.

You turned your head slightly.

And there they were.

Your husbands.

Gojo was sprawled across the bed like he owned it—limbs akimbo, mouth slightly parted, one absurdly toned bicep resting directly on your throat like he was trying to kill you in his sleep. His bicep was cutting off your airway, and his long legs were tangled with your blanket. His white hair was sticking up at odd angles, messy from sleep, and his breath was coming out in soft, even exhales that would’ve been cute if you weren’t two seconds from suffocating.

You elbowed him. Hard.

No reaction.

You kicked him.

Still nothing.

You turned to your right.

Nanami.

The man was sleeping like he was dead, except his arm was locked steel-tight around your waist. His cheek was resting against the curve of your shoulder, and his breath warmed the side of your neck with each slow inhale. You could feel the weight of his chest pressing into your side—solid muscle and heat—and his grip was practically cutting off circulation to your hip.

Two of the hottest menalive, according to social media—kind that made fangirls lose their minds and cause “incidents”—sprawled out like oversized dogs on your bed, limbs everywhere.

You sighed. You were stuck.

This was not how you imagined pregnancy.

Being married to two hot people sounded great in theory.

In theory.

But in reality?

They were giants. Absolute skyscrapers of men. Gojo stood at 6'3" like he had been custom-built to make ceilings nervous—all casual swagger, lean muscle, and long limbs that never seemed to stay in one place. Meanwhile, Nanami—somehow quieter yet equally imposing—clocked in only a couple inches shorter at 6 feet something, built like a damn Norse god sculpted out of marble and stress.

And now, thanks to fatherhood paranoia, they were bigger than ever.

Nanami had always been sturdy—broad chest, biceps carved like stone—but now? He’d somehow gotten denser. Like someone had stuck him in a forge and hammered him into something stronger.

Meanwhile, Gojo—lean and cut like a swimmer—had finally started bulking up. You didn’t know if it was from stress or hormones, but the man now filled out his compression shirts more than enough to make his fangirls faint at the gym.

Nanami was built like he fought wars for a living—because he did. His forearms alone could make a nun rethink her vows. And Gojo’s thighs—

Nope. You were not going there.

But the problem wasn’t the hotness.

The problem was the sheer size of them.

Because Gojo wasn’t just tall—he was casually tall, like he didn’t even notice the way his head scraped against doorframes. Nanami was the same, except he was somehow even heavier in his sleep. It was like being pinned beneath a statue. A hot statue—but still.

And here they were—two enormous walls of muscle—trapping you like a 6-months-pregnant, exhausted damsel in distress.

You shoved Gojo’s arm off your throat. He made a low noise in his sleep and immediately curled it back around you.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake."

You shoved him again. Harder. His arm slid off you for about five seconds before it drifted back like he was magnetized to your body.

"You’re trying to kill me, Satoru," you hissed.

No response.

You shifted again, and Gojo’s arm—that massive slab of bicep—squeezed around your throat like he was determined to make you a ghost.

"This man," you thought bitterly, "wants me dead."

You’d tried to move him five times already. Five minutes later, his arm would be back—heavy, solid, like he was determined to smother you in your sleep.

But what could you do? The man was out cold.

Gojo had been a light sleeper his whole life—until now.

Since accepting that he was going to be a father—and with his suspension keeping him at home, far from missions or the constant expectation to save the day—Gojo had finally learned to rest.

So now? He slept like the dead.

Meanwhile, Nanami—oh, people thought Gojo was clingy?

They hadn’t met tired Nanami.

The man had you wrapped so tightly against him you were convinced he thought you’d sleepwalk off the balcony. One arm hooked beneath your waist, the other braced across your side like you were a steel beam he had to stabilize.

Your ribs hurt.

Takahashi, your-spoiled-wearing-designer-only-terrorist baby of a raccoon, was crammed into the tiny gap left between Nanami’s arm and your belly, looking personally victimized by your choice in men.

"Alright," you thought, swallowing hard, "time for drastic measures."

Step One: Eliminate Gojo.

You twisted slightly, lifted your foot, and kicked Gojo square in the ribs making him roll off the bed on to-

Nothing.

The man didn’t even twitch. Just hovered in the air, his dumb Infinity instinctively activating in his sleep like a lazy security system.

You stared in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?"

You tried again, aiming this time for his shin.

Your foot sank into nothing—Gojo still unconscious, still floating like some smug god of slumber.

Fine. Whatever.

Step Two: Eliminate the Wall.

You turned toward Nanami, already knowing this was going to be harder.

Kicking him off was pointless—his ratio blades would protect him automatically and might even slice the bed in the process.

But you had something better.

Your secret weapon.

You flexed your hand thoughtfully. Then, carefully, you slid your fingers into his hair and began scratching gently at his scalp.

Nanami’s breath hitched.

You smiled.

It was your favorite unknown fact about him—one you’d never even shared with Gojo.

Nanami Kento, the golden boy of self-control, the no-nonsense sorcerer, the terrifying man who could take down an entire domain with a fucking blunt object—was basically a golden retriever when you scratched his head.

Nanami exhaled deeply, a low, rumbling noise like a dog being scratched in his favorite spot.

Success.

Nanami’s jaw slackened. His head tilted toward your shoulder as a low sound—almost a growl—rumbled in his throat.

You bit back a grin and kept going, scratching lightly in slow, careful motions. His grip loosened. His face, relaxing like he’d just been sedated.

You kept scratching, and his arm went limp, sliding off your waist.

You felt both arms go slack.

Grinning like a lunatic, you took the opportunity and shoved him off the bed.

Nanami hit the floor with a loud, heavy thud.

He groaned, rubbing his face as he sat up. His hair was sticking up in soft blond tufts, and his shirt was rumpled in a way that would’ve made him furious if he’d been awake enough to care. He squinted at you through sleep-heavy eyes.

You snuggled closer to Takahashi, smiling contently under the blanket, pretending to be asleep.

Mission accomplished.

…Or so you thought.

Moments later, you felt movement.

Nanami’s groggy footsteps shuffled toward the other side of the room.

His shadow moved over Gojo’s still-floating form.

Thwack!

Gojo hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.

“What the hell?!” Gojo yelped, thrashing wildly like a startled cat.

He blinked up at Nanami, dazed and wide-eyed. His hair sticking up in every direction.

He looked like he'd been mugged in his sleep.

Nanami just stood over him, face impassive. “You were crowding her.”

“I WASN’T EVEN TOUCHING HER!” Gojo’s voice cracked indignantly. “You almost cut off the blood supply to her uterus. Which, you know, is where the babies are."

"I was holding her," he said, tone flat.

"Yeah." Gojo’s smile sharpened. "Like a python."

Nanami moved, and Gojo instinctively floated toward the ceiling.

"No need for violence, babe." Gojo’s grin was wide and bright, but his Six Eyes were sharp beneath the glow of the city lights.

Nanami cracked his neck. "Get off the ceiling, Satoru."

"Make me."

Nanami grunted. “If you start a fight and wake up Takahashi, I will make your life miserable.”

Gojo and Nanami stared at each other.

Gojo groaned, limbs splaying out across the ceiling like a man facing death. "I hate you."

"Good." Nanami turned back to bed.

You continued to pretend to be asleep, being very, very still.

Nanami crawled back into bed carefully, adjusting the blankets over your bump. His hand slid protectively over your stomach, his fingers warm against your skin.

“I know you’re awake,” he murmured lowly.

You didn’t answer.

Nanami sighed heavily, lips brushing your temple. “I’ll let you get away with it this time.”

Your eyes stayed shut. You couldn’t risk smiling—not when victory tasted so sweet.

Takahashi shifted slightly, curling closer to your side. You heard Gojo grumble from the ceiling, muttering something about how "this family sucks" and "why am I always the victim?"

You were halfway asleep when you heard Nanami’s quiet voice again—so low you barely caught it.

"…I hope they have your smile."

You kept your eyes closed, pressing your palm gently over your own heart.

---

Group Chat: Dad Crimes 💀

Daddy: Kento. Did you know female breasts can SENSE nutritional deficiencies in babies and adjust the milk content accordingly? 😏 

Father Time: …Yes. 

Daddy: 😏😏😏 And did you ALSO know—If someone ELSE latches on, the breast could misread it as a baby and adjust the milk content incorrectly? 😈 

Father Time: Do not finish that sentence. 

Daddy: Sooo theoretically… if someone were to… you know… 

Father Time: Stop typing. 

Daddy: …It wouldn’t be nutritionally balanced anymore 👀 babies would be deficient.

Father Time: Are you suggesting— 

Daddy: I’M JUST SAYING! It’s SCIENCE! 

Father Time: You are a degenerate. 

Daddy: And you’re thinking about it 🥵 

Father Time: [Seen 1:24 AM]

Father Time: Did you know that the male body can sometimes produce prolactin when around pregnant partners?

Daddy: …What. 

Father Time: Prolactin is the hormone responsible for milk production. 

Daddy: WHAT. 

Father Time: Technically, if your body produced enough prolactin, you could theoretically lactate. 

Daddy: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN, "LACTATE"?????? 

Father Time: You might even start producing it if you’re overstimulated enough. 

Daddy: STOP TYPING. 

Father Time: Wouldn’t it be ironic? After all those breastfeeding jokes— 

Daddy: YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH RIGHT NOW. 

Father Time: Did you know that during pregnancy, male testosterone levels tend to drop by about 33%? 

Daddy: 🤨 

Father Time: Lower testosterone levels have been linked to reduced aggression and increased emotional sensitivity. 

Daddy: What are you implying, Kento? 

Father Time: That you’re biologically engineered to be more submissive right now. 

Daddy: 🧍🏻‍♂️ 

---

1 - Monday

You had a system. A brilliant system.

Gojo, being Gojo, never bought his own headphones. Why would he, when he could just yoink yours like a gremlin?

But you were smarter than that.

So you gave him your slightly janky pair—the ones that were technically fine but drove you insane because the audio was just off enough to make your inner audiophile sob quietly.

And it worked like a charm. Every time, without fail, before Gojo could break them, lose them, or somehow turn them into a modern art installation, and then—like clockwork—you’d give him your latest, a brand-new, ridiculously expensive pair.

It was a flawless plan. A masterpiece. A legacy.

So why did today have to start like this?

It was the sound of the frying pan that woke you—sharp, rhythmic sizzles cutting through the early morning haze.

Your phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. And then—music.

"It was only you, doin' what you do…"

You blinked, the fog of sleep peeling away as the distinct sound of your headphones playing your playlist filtered in from the kitchen.

The hell?

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled toward the noise. The scent of butter and garlic wrapped around you as you rounded the corner into the kitchen—and froze.

Gojo Satoru was standing at the stove.

Shirtless.

Platinum white hair tousled, half-dried from a recent shower, strands sticking to his forehead. Sweatpants slung low on his hips, the sharp cuts of his v-line disappearing beneath the waistband.

He was holding a spatula in one hand and—Jesus Christ—the raccoon in the other.

The Armani hoodie-clad raccoon’s little paws were stretched out in the air, helplessly dangling while Gojo bobbed him up and down.

"Yeah, we called a truce, then you got me..."

His voice was low, easy, the kind of singing you’d expect from someone who absolutely knew he sounded good.

You wished whichever one was his baby got his voice, and so did Nanami’s.

You leaned against the doorway, half-hidden, crossing your arms over your chest. He hadn’t seen you yet.

Gojo’s hips moved as he twisted toward the stove, lifting the spatula like a microphone.

"Eenie meenie moe, hold me down, I'm losing my cool…"

He rolled his shoulders. Smooth. Unbelievably smooth.

A lazy, liquid kind of movement—the kind that was calculated to look effortless.

And then he winked at the raccoon.

The raccoon made a sound somewhere between a wheeze and a gasp.

Gojo laughed—a low, throaty sound—and spun, arms outstretched.

"Catch a tiger by its toe."

He flicked his hair as he said it.

You bit your lip.

Feral Rizz flailed helplessly in his grip. Gojo didn’t seem to care.

He flipped the spatula in his hand with one hand, the raccoon in the other, and swayed toward the stove.

"Did you steal my headphones?" you asked.

Gojo turned—slow and easy—and smiled.

"Good morning, my beautiful wife."

You raised a brow. "I am your only wife. Now answer the question."

Gojo's grin grew smug. "I might have borrowed them."

Your gaze dragged over him. Slowly. Deliberately.

Bare chest.

Sharp planes of muscle catching the early sunlight.

The sheen of sweat gathering along his collarbone.

The soft ridge of his hip bones peeking above the waistband of his sweatpants.

You inhaled through your nose.

Gojo’s grin widened. He set the raccoon down on the counter, leaning one hip lazily against the edge of the stove. "You checking me out?"

You rolled your eyes. "No."

He laughed. A slow, easy sound. The kind of laugh that made you feel watched.

"Want me to put on a show?"

"Absolutely not."

He leaned toward you. Arms braced behind him, muscles flexing as he tipped his head.

"You sure?"

"Gojo."

"Say it again."

"Gojo."

"God, you sound so cute when you’re angry."

You threw a dish towel at his head. His infinity caught it without him even looking, spinning the spatula in the other.

"Seriously, though," he said, turning back toward the stove. "How do you want your eggs?" Then turned to wink at you, “other than fertilized.”

"Unbothered."

He grinned. "You’re no fun."

"You know what’s really no fun?" you said, stepping toward him. "When my husband steals my headphones."

Gojo’s mouth curled.

"You know what they say," he said, setting the spatula down and turning toward you. "What’s mine is yours."

"And what’s mine?"

"Also mine."

"Asshole."

He stepped toward you. Slow. Measured. Eyes gleaming beneath silver lashes.

"You’re cute when you’re angry."

"You’re annoying when you breathe."

Gojo smiled. "You married me."

"Biggest mistake of my life."

"You wound me," he said, pressing a hand to his bare chest.

"Do you have a heart?"

"Only for you."

"Die."

"You’d miss me."

Gojo smiled. A soft, lazy smile as he staired at your lips.

You hated that it made your heart stutter.

"Sit down," he said, straightening up. "I’m making you breakfast."

"I’m not hungry."

Gojo’s smile sharpened.

"Who said it’s for eating?"

You stared at him.

He stared back.

The raccoon sneezed.

Nanami loudly cleared histhroat like he was trying to dislodge a lung, and you turned towards the bathroom.

---

Sometime before afternoon.

Group Chat: Wife Support Network 💅 Horny, Helpless, & Heavily Pregnant

Shoko: How’s it going?

You: He made me a five-course meal and served it on fucking porcelain dishes. Had non-alcoholic wine pairings. He wore cufflinks.

Shoko: Naturally.

You: When I said I wasn’t that hungry, he nodded and said, “I anticipated that.” Then pulled out a smaller five-course meal. For "LIGHTER DAYS."

Shoko: Nanami’s idea of casual is never casual.

You: Gojo FaceTimed halfway through.

Shoko: What’d he say?

You: “Oh my god, you’re cheating on me with a BETTER man.” Then he cried the entire time—like, full-on snot and tears. But the thing is, he was in the other room.

Shoko: Understandable. What else did Nanami do?

You: He scheduled the day like a business meeting.

Shoko: Did he send an Outlook invite?

You: OMG, YES! Why won’t he switch to Google Calendar like a normal person? I swear to god, he’s the only reason I still have Outlook installed. BRO.

Shoko: Ikr. But get back to the point.

You: Okay, so the agenda had bullet points.

Shoko: For what?

You:

"Discuss relationship health"

"Eat lunch"

"Walk in park"

"Touch base re: emotional connection"

Shoko: I’m sweating.

You: He brought a notebook and took notes. Like, bro, use a tablet like a normal person; why waste paper? I don’t understand what’s with Japanese people being obsessed with paper. No offence—I love stationery just as much, but I like hoarding it, not wasting it. TREES, SHOKO. TREES!

Shoko: I know, right? That’s why I don’t even give prescriptions. BTW, what did he write?

You:

"Subject seemed more relaxed after feeding."

"Subject held my hand for 0.34 miles."

"Subject declined dessert. Potential area of concern."

Shoko: I’m crying.

Maya: Girls, what's this I’m hearing about both still with you?

You: Yes, one of them never left.

Shoko: Maya, don’t interrupt. I need to know more.

You: Gojo sat on the couch with his legs spread. Called me over.

Shoko: And you sat?

You: No. Ofcourse not… But I thought about it.

Shoko: Lust towards a man is the fastest way to hell.

You: You would’ve folded too.

Shoko: …No, I would have broken his jaw. But I get you.

Maya: Why the fuck are they trying to touch you?

You: Shoko! Just now, suddenly, the baby kicked, and Nanami put his hand on my belly. And then he said, "It’s okay. Daddy’s here."

Shoko: ???HELLO????

You: I think I need to go sit in a church.

---

Sometime in the afternoon.

The room was too small. Or maybe it was just Gojo, who had somehow managed to take up the entire couch despite Nanami sitting stiffly at one end, his cuffs perfectly straight and his jaw tighter than a coiled spring. You perched on the armchair, knees drawn up, trying to make yourself as comfortable as possible so your back didn’t hurt as much. The air felt heavy, like it was pressing down on all of you, and the silence was broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.

Gojo flopped backward, his head hanging off the edge of the couch, his white hair brushing the floor. “I’m not doing it,” he announced to the ceiling, his voice carrying that familiar, petulant edge. “I’d rather die. Literally. Like, right now. Watch me.”

Nanami sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No one’s going to watch you die.”

“Oh?” Gojo sat up, pointing an accusatory finger at Nanami. “You’re the one who—what was it last night?—blocked me like some kind of territorial guard dog. What even was that?!”

Nanami didn’t flinch. He adjusted his glasses, his expression unreadable. “I was ensuring the rules were followed. Unlike you, who seems to think they’re optional.”

“Rules, schmules,” Gojo muttered, slumping back down. “This whole thing is a waste of time. We don’t need therapy. We need—” He paused, gesturing vaguely in your direction. “I don’t know. A vacation. A drink. A break from this nonsense.”

So yes, you thought bitterly, the one who was supposed to leave today didn’t move out and now thinks therapy is a scam just because he doesn’t want to live with Megumi.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Nanami cut in, his voice low and steady. “What we need,” he said, his gaze flickering to you for a moment before settling back on Gojo, “is to take this seriously. For once.”

Gojo rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. “Oh, spare me the lecture, Mr. Perfect. You’re not exactly winning any awards here either.”

Before Nanami could retort, the door swung open, and Dr. Maya strode in, her heels clicking against the floor. She didn’t bother with pleasantries, just dropped into her chair and crossed her legs, her notebook balanced precariously on her knee. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in Gojo’s sprawl, Nanami’s rigid posture, and your hunched shoulders.

“Well,” she said, her tone dry, “this is cozy.”

Gojo groaned, throwing an arm over his face. “Kill me now.”

“Tempting,” Maya replied, flipping open her notebook. “But let’s start with the homework instead. Who wants to go first?”

Silence.

Nanami stared straight ahead, his jaw working like he was grinding his teeth.

Gojo had gone suspiciously still, his arm still draped over his eyes.

You sank further into the armchair, wishing you could disappear.

Maya raised an eyebrow. “No one? Alright, then. Gojo, let’s hear your PowerPoint.”

Gojo sat up so fast it was a miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash. “What? No. I didn’t—I mean, I started it, but—”

“But?” Maya prompted, her voice dangerously sweet.

“But it’s not done,” Gojo finished lamely, running a hand through his hair. “I got… distracted.”

“Distracted,” Maya repeated, her tone flat. “By what?”

Gojo’s gaze darted to you for a split second before he looked away. “Stuff.”

Maya didn’t blink. “Stuff.”

“Yeah, stuff,” Gojo snapped, his defensiveness flaring. “You know, life. Hobbies. Existential dread. The usual.”

Nanami let out a quiet scoff, and Gojo rounded on him. “Oh, like you’re any better, Mr. ‘I-Wrote-A-Whole-Essay-But-It’s-Too-Personal-To-Share.’”

Nanami’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper, which he handed to Maya without a word.

Maya unfolded it, her eyes scanning the contents. After a moment, she looked up, her expression unreadable. “Nanami, this is... a grocery list.”

Nanami froze. “What?”

Maya held up the paper, revealing a meticulously itemized list that included things like:

“whole-grain bread”

“organic almond milk.”

“You handed me a grocery list.”

Gojo burst out laughing, doubling over on the couch. “Oh my god. This is priceless. I take back everything I said—this is the best day of my life.”

Nanami’s ears turned red, but his voice remained steady. “That was a mistake. I must have grabbed the wrong paper.”

Maya leaned back in her chair, her lips twitching in what might have been amusement. “Alright, then. Let’s try this again. Where’s your actual homework?”

Nanami hesitated, then reached into his pocket again. This time, he pulled out a small notebook and handed it over.

Maya flipped through it, her eyebrows rising slightly. “Well,” she said after a moment, “this is... thorough.”

Gojo leaned forward, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What’s it say?”

Maya ignored him, turning to you instead. “And what about you? Did you complete your reflection?”

You nodded, pulling out your phone and mailing her the audio file you’d recorded. Maya glanced at her laptop, her expression softening slightly. “I’ll listen to it and share my findings in the next week's individual session.”

You nodded.

She was going to find out later that you hadn’t recorded shit.

You were going to be difficult this time.

---

"Business as Usual" (Imagine this as Noir.)

On the other side of Tokyo.

The room was freezing. It wasn’t just the temperature—though the AC was definitely on too high—it was the kind of cold that settled into your chest and stayed there, pressing down like something alive.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

The only sound came from the distant hum of the city below, muffled by triple-reinforced glass. From this height, the skyline seemed smaller, less impressive. It was easy to forget that millions of people were down there, living their lives, blissfully unaware of the power concentrated in this single room.

Your mother sat at the far end of the conference table, her hands neatly folded in her lap despite the rope binding her wrists. Her expression was controlled—a mask of brittle calm that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

And on the other side of the table sat Haibara Yu.

He was slouched comfortably in a leather chair, legs crossed, his tie loosened just enough to suggest he'd been working late. His gaze was sharp, his mouth curled into the suggestion of a smile that never quite reached his eyes. His suit was flawless—bespoke, of course—but there was something unsettling about how easily he wore it, like it was a costume he could peel off at any moment.

Across from him, Megumi Fushiguro sat perfectly straight, his hands steepled beneath his chin. His dark hair was slightly tousled, but his crisp black shirt was buttoned up to his throat, and his eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—were locked on your mother with clinical detachment.

Neither of them had spoken in several minutes.

Your mother’s breath hitched, but she didn’t speak either. She wasn’t stupid. She knew the weight of the silence.

Eventually, Haibara sighed and leaned forward, resting his chin on the back of his hand. "Shall we try this again?" His voice was light, almost bored.

"I told you everything I know," your mother said, her tone even.

Haibara smiled, slow and thin. "No, you didn’t."

Megumi’s gaze sharpened. His eyes tracked the nervous flick of her pulse beneath her jaw.

"You’re wasting your time," your mother said coolly. "If you’re going to kill me, get it over with."

Haibara’s smile widened. "Ah. There it is." He slid his hands down the smooth surface of the table, fingers resting lightly against the polished wood. "That’s the tone I remember. Like you’ve already decided the outcome, and now you’re just waiting to see how it plays out."

Megumi’s gaze didn’t shift. "How did you get into the building?"

Your mother’s lips curled. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Haibara’s eyes darkened. He leaned forward slightly, his expression sharpening into something harder. "Yes."

Your mother’s gaze flicked toward the door. Calculating.

"You’re not getting out of this," Megumi said. His tone was steady, his voice almost soft. "We’re not in a hurry."

Your mother’s jaw tightened. "I helped you."

Haibara blinked slowly. "Helped?"

"You were children," she said, her tone flattening. "You don’t remember how much I did for you. How often I put myself out to give you opportunities. And this—" her gaze sharpened, "—this is how you repay me?"

Megumi exhaled through his nose, a sound of quiet amusement.

"Ah," Haibara murmured, sitting back. "She’s playing the martyr card."

"I’m not playing anything," your mother snapped. "I supported you. Both of you. You’d be nothing without me."

Megumi’s eyes narrowed. His head tilted just slightly to the side. "Supported?"

"I encouraged her to befriend you," your mother continued. "I let you stay in our house. I let you follow her around like pathetic little shadows. I—"

"Let."

The word was so quiet it took a moment for her to register it.

Megumi’s gaze was steady, cold. "Let us?"

Haibara’s smile was gone now. "You didn’t ‘let’ us do anything. We tolerated you."

Your mother’s eyes narrowed. "Watch your tone."

Haibara chuckled. "There she is."

"You think I didn’t know?" your mother hissed. "You think I didn’t see the way you both looked at her? The way you followed her around like stray dogs? It was pathetic."

Megumi’s hand shifted. His thumb brushed lightly over the edge of the table.

"Pathetic," he repeated softly.

Haibara hummed. "You know, it’s funny…" He rose to his feet, hands sliding into his pockets. "I think you’ve gotten this backwards. You see, we were never pathetic."

"She protected you," your mother spat.

"And we protect her now," Megumi said. His voice was quiet, but the weight behind it made your mother’s breath hitch.

Your mother’s mouth tightened. "Then why is she still so fragile?"

The room went deadly still.

Haibara’s smile sharpened into something thin and dangerous. "Careful."

"She’s weak." Your mother’s lip curled. "All that power, and she still falls apart so easily. You think you’re protecting her?" She laughed. "You’re just prolonging the inevitable."

Megumi’s hand flexed. His jaw twitched.

Haibara exhaled through his nose. "Alright."

Your mother’s head snapped toward him. "Alright?"

"You had your chance." Haibara rolled his shoulders and loosened his tie. "We tried. I even thought, maybe for a second, we could walk out of this civilized. But you—" His smile was all teeth. "You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?"

Megumi stood. The sound of the chair scraping the floor was deafening in the stillness.

"Tell us who sent you," Megumi said.

Your mother’s jaw tightened. She said nothing.

Haibara’s hand drifted toward the back of her chair. He leaned down, voice low. "Or don’t. I really don’t care."

"Some old man," your mother hissed. "Long hair. He said…" Her gaze darted toward Megumi. "He said she was wasted on you."

Haibara’s smile sharpened. "There it is."

Megumi’s hand settled on the back of her chair. "Any last words?"

Your mother’s breath hitched. "You wouldn’t—"

"You hit her," Megumi said softly. His hand flexed over the wood. "You spent her whole life breaking her down, and now you expect mercy?"

"I raised her," your mother hissed.

"No," Haibara said quietly. "You broke her. And now…"

Megumi’s fingers twitched.

"You don’t get to touch her anymore."

Your mother’s eyes widened. "Wait—"

It was quick. Efficient.

Megumi stepped back, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt as her body sagged lifelessly in the chair.

Haibara straightened his tie. "Shame."

Megumi exhaled. "Clean this up."

Haibara smiled. "Already on it."

As they turned toward the door, Haibara glanced at Megumi out of the corner of his eye. "So, dinner?"

Megumi’s lips curled faintly. "Pick somewhere nice."

And then they walked out, leaving the room—and its mess—behind.

Next chapter 19 - The Anatomical Weight of Neglect in Infinite Drops (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

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

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

Darkness Settles In

BuckTommy | Chapter 1

I've started a new multi chapter BuckTommy fic, first chapter is out now. Please mind the tags!

Character Study | Implied/Referenced Character Death | Depression | Grief/Mourning | Post-Episode: s08e15 Lab Rats (9-1-1 TV) | Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Major Character Injury | Hurt Evan "Buck" Buckley | Emotionally Hurt Evan "Buck" Buckley

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

The days were empty after Bobby’s death. 

There was work, of course: after a spell of numbness, Buck reported back for duty, not surprised to find Chimney and Ravi back on site, too. Hen needed a little more rest, but Buck suspected that Karen wouldn't be able to keep her at home much longer. It was as if they all had to return to the fire station because only there could they comfort each other, even if there was no real solace to be found. 

They were still one man short, Eddie hadn’t been replaced yet. Buck felt sympathy for the poor fellow the chief had sent: a temporary worker nearing retirement who would probably have preferred to spend his last days on the job behind a desk. But perhaps it wasn't such a bad choice after all. Anyone joining the team on a long-term basis would have had a tough time. By now, they were a close-knit community. They were friends, family even, bound together by years of experience–and now, also by grief.

Gerrard was back in the captain's role, albeit that was also, thankfully, temporarily. Buck had no doubt that Hen would be offered the position of head of the 118 after a reasonable period of time. Until then, however, they remained calm and obedient to orders; they didn't care how stupid Gerrard was behaving or how suspiciously he was eyeing them. Surprisingly enough, his actions remained mostly harmless, which didn't make him any more likable, but it did make him a little more human—the loss of a comrade hit every firefighter hard, and Bobby hadn't been just any firefighter. 

His passing left a deep mark, a crater between Buck and the outside world. Even having Eddie around couldn’t fill the void of Buck’s days. He arrived for the funeral and only stayed for two days, seeming like a foreign body in his former home, and when he left again, he looked relieved. It must have been nice to be able to escape from it all, in a way. Just drive away, into a different life. Buck didn't have that chance. He spent most of his free time lying motionless on his couch, and when the freshly painted ceiling no longer offered any answers, he drove to the beach. He’d sit there for hours, his bare feet buried in the sand, his mind replaying Bobby's last words to him over and over again like a broken record. 

“I love you, kid.”

Buck understood those words exactly as Bobby had meant them, and that was precisely why it was so hard. Maybe it was unfair to constantly compare Phillip to Bobby, but being a father meant more than just a biological connection. The ties that had bound him to Bobby had been so much stronger. With almost his final breath, Bobby had told him that he’d loved him. Like a son, like his own kids. And Buck would have given his right arm to go back to that moment, as painful as it had been. Having to leave Bobby, leaving him alone to die, had felt like being buried under a thousand tons of steel. As if it had been himself dying in that cold and insignificant lab, or at least a part of him. If he could turn back time – and he’d replayed that very moment in his mind, his own merciless time machine – he’d tell Bobby that he loved him, too. Not having done that felt so wrong, even though Bobby had always known how Buck felt. But now he was dead, it was too late, and Buck experienced guilt, for so many reasons. Partly because this felt like actually losing a father, and partly because he knew that one day, when it happened to his parents, he would feel a much less complicated grief. 

So he buried himself in work, even if he was actually entitled to days off, or even vacation. 

They all did. Ravi was quiet and withdrawn, as if he wanted to prove once again that this was only his coworkers, not his family—even though he had demonstrated the opposite back in the lab. Chimney showed up to work with deep worry lines on his forehead. He worked extra hard, as if he had something to prove to himself or to his late captain. They all did, somehow: Chimney was compassionate and patient even with the most trivial calls, Ravi checked every room, every vehicle, and every piece of equipment multiple times, and Buck... he threw himself onto every job that seemed vaguely risky. Chimney tried to replace Hen, and Ravi strived to never to overlook anything again. Buck, however, was looking for opportunities to hurt himself so he could feel something. 

Of course, it didn't work. After his shifts, when he unlocked the door to Eddie's house—it still hadn't really become his home—he often didn’t turn on the lights or opened the curtains, depending on the time of day. The house was always in a state of darkness, and Buck welcomed this darkness because it was also within him. His extended family, as he called them, did their best to ease the pain, to be together in their common grief. Karen invited Athena and Buck over to dinner, keeping them busy to prevent Hen from helping in the kitchen. Maddie stopped by Buck's with a cake, which felt strange after all the baking he’d done for weeks. They all gathered for a small private ceremony at the fire station a few days after the funeral, where they toasted Bobby with apple juice and vowed to carry on in his honor. But every time they met, there were tears, and even though that was normal and maybe even therapeutic, Buck eventually got sick of it. 

He was tired of waking up every morning with a headache, his eyes burning from all the tears he held back so he wouldn't walk around with a swollen face all the time. He was tired of looking at Athena's strong façade, knowing that she was going through it even worse. Every single one of them seemed to only barely be holding themselves together these days, like mugs that were filled to the brim and would eventually overflow. Even talking to Eddie, who now called almost every day, was exhausting. He kept asking Buck how he was doing while appearing so distant; Buck sometimes wondered if he didn't feel anything either. 

Often, Buck felt exhausted, not from his twelve-hour-shifts but from sadness. He lay on the couch watching his own chest rise and fall, just to make sure he wasn't already dead. Eddie explained to him on the phone that these were possible signs of depression, to which Buck replied that he was surely an expert on that. He had barely hung up when there was a knock at the door. Getting his body to stand up and actually walk to the door was like wading through water: somehow unreal and surprisingly difficult at the same time. Part of him loathed the idea of getting up just to pick up a parcel, or even worse, receive another visitor, asking him how he was feeling. 

Buck sure wasn’t ready for it being Tommy. He stood there on the doorstep, tugging at his chin as he always did when he wasn't quite sure of himself. It didn't happen often, but apparently quite frequently with Buck, and he couldn't blame him for that.

“Hey,” said Tommy softly.

Buck thought the serious face didn't suit him—what a contradictory idea. He couldn't even find the slightest hint of a smile on his own face, as if it hurt to lift the corners of his mouth. As if it were a betrayal of Bobby that Buck's ex-boyfriend still looked outrageously good even when he was grieving.

“I left a few messages, and I was kinda worried because you didn't answer. Didn’t even read them, as it seems.”

There was a strange shadow of uncertainty on Tommy's face, just for a brief moment. As if the concern he spoke of was encompassing more than Buck simply not reading messages. 

“I've got my phone on silent,” Buck replied, running his hand wearily over his face. “Sorry, I completely forgot. Come in?”

“You sure?” Tommy eyed him cautiously. 

Buck pushed the door open further. “Of course. I-I should have contacted you long ago.”

“You had a lot on your mind,” Tommy said as he entered, pulling the door shut behind him. “And I really don't expect any thanks, Evan, that’s not why I’m here. As far as I know, none of us are in any serious trouble.”

“Then why are you here?”

Apparently, the words came out of Buck's mouth much sharper than he intended. Tommy seemed taken aback, almost offended even. Or... no, there was a different expression on his face. Those furrows at the corners of his mouth, that vulnerability in his eyes, just for a second—what did it all mean? 

For a moment, Buck noticed his surroundings with crystal clarity. The house was a garbage dump, and he hadn't even been aware. He’d been living in the middle of takeaway leftovers for days, between carelessly discarded beer cans and a pile of clothes, from which he selected something as soon as he got home and slipped out of his outdoor garments. He mechanically did everything that was necessary to function outwardly, and only now did he realize that he was apparently not much different from Athena in this respect. Except that her home, as he knew very well, did not look like this.

“I'm sorry,” he said, unsure for what he was actually apologizing.

Tommy stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by chaos, frowning as if he had expected—not without reason—that the apology would be followed by an explanation. His shoulders slumped as he watched Buck with growing confusion in his eyes, when the latter bent down, manically picking up stuff from the floor. He didn't really care what the house looked like; he wasn't expecting visitors and didn't want any, but at least this way he didn't have to look at Tommy. Buck was fed up with looking at sad people, as ridiculous as that was. And he certainly didn't want this sadness to be directed at him.

Maybe Tommy didn't want that either. He bent down, picking up bags from a Chinese takeaway while saying, “I like the place.” Seeing Buck's skeptical look, he added, reading from the bag, “New Shanghai. They serve a good chow mein.”

Buck gave a snort, more surprised than amused. But somehow, it helped: Tommy, making small talk; the ultimate icebreaker, always making others feel comfortable. Always putting others first. Was that the real reason why he hadn't been in touch after all that, the funeral and the numb days that had followed? Not because he was waiting for Buck to make the first move—which he would have been perfectly entitled to do, since Buck had called him just to ask for a favor, stumbling and stammering, practically begging Tommy to come over and save his ass again. No, was it perhaps because he feared that this time, Buck was too damaged? Too broken to put back together the pieces?

“I missed you,” Buck said softly as he continued picking up things off the floor without really looking. “I should’ve called, b-but… I didn't know what to say. Except thank you. Because...”

“Because in the end, it didn't help.”

Tommy sounded as if there were a lump in his throat. Buck could well imagine that—his own throat had been constricted for days, almost as if he were hoarse from smoke inhalation. But then, you could at least cough, even if it was painful, you could let it out. Buck couldn’t. The grief inside of him was still too deep, still too much a part of him.

“It's not your fault,” Buck said.

“Well, it's not yours either.”

“Is it, though?”

Buck’s voice was bitter now, and he knew why. It's not because he believed the chain of events that lead to Bobby's death were actually his fault, or anybody's really, except Moira’s. It's because he wished he was to blame. It’s bad enough he’d have to live without Bobby now, because there was nothing he could do about it. Punishing himself was easy, it was healing in a way, at least for Buck. Even when he knew nothing he could have done would have prevented Bobby’s death.

“You did everything you could,” Tommy firmly claimed, almost as if he could read Buck’s mind. He’d always been so good at that, at knowing what he needed.  

“All I did was call you, and you actually came.”

“Of course.”

“But that's not a given,” Buck returned, his hands clenched tightly around foil containers. He didn’t even have a trash bag, so why was he rummaging around on the floor? Nothing made sense. Except Tommy. 

Tommy with his curls, which he hadn't hidden since they’d been together. How long had it been now? They’d only spent half a year together, and Buck had been so happy. Happiness seemed so far away now, a concept of the past. Now, there was only hope of forgetting; oblivion, just for a moment. 

“You always came when I called you,” Buck said slowly, as if all the little pieces of the puzzle were only now falling into place in his mind. 

Tommy's expression was so soft, so indulgent, as he repeated, “Of course.”

“You always came, and I always felt better,” Buck remarked, almost talking himself into a rage, his face hot, his whole body tense. “Can you do that now? C-can you do that for me?”

He may have sounded desperate, but that didn't matter. He was desperate. It was deeply ingrained in him, as if a piece of him had been cut out. There was no replacement for it, but perhaps a bandage that could keep the wound under control for a while. Tommy looked confused.

“Evan,” he said, “what…”

Buck dropped the trash he had just picked up. In two steps, he bridged their distance. 

“I need this now,” he stammered,  “I need you now.”

When his lips sought Tommy's, he found no resistance. 

[andthekitchensinkao3]

20 Questions with a Fanfic Author

Thanks for the tag @lavender-tea-fling :D I’m always surprised when someone tags me in these things - keep ‘em comin’!

*cracks knuckles* … *no, not really, because OW*

1. How many works on AO3?

I TOO HAVE 48 WORKS ON AO3! Find them all at this handy-dandy link: andthekitchensink

2. Total AO3 Word Count?

I’m almost embarrassed to tell. 947,443 words. How can there be almost 1 MILLION words on there?!?!?!?!

3. Top 5 Fics by Kudos (disclaimer: I loathe kudos. The hits go up, but the kudos stay at the same “Less than 10%” of hits, and even fewer people leave comments, so I’m left convinced nobody likes my stuff, or are being too polite to be mean in the comments)

Silent Treatment - Detroit: Become Human AU, in which Connor is a human, Selectively Non-Verbal, and there are no androids. Instead there’s a Nefarious Government Project having used children as lab rats. It’s basically a sci-fi thriller.

Great Pretenders - also DBH. Undercover as a Couple, Hankcon. Mutual pining, a convention dedicated to getting the most out of one’s relationship - what could possibly go wrong?

Tapestry of Time - Loki (TV) my first ever Lokius fic, full of Norse mythology. A fix-it fic set after the series finale.

Spa Day - five chapters of Hankcon smut. Gentle dom Connor, greedy sub Hank.

Metamorph - my first ever DBH fic, and also my first ever AO3 fic, uploaded back in 2018. Hankcon, set after the events of the game.

4. What fandoms do you write for?

I have written for FAKE, Yami no Matsuei, The Sentinel (TV), Star Trek: Deep Space 9, Metal Gear Solid, Harry Potter, Final Fantasy VIII, an anime style fighter game I can’t even remember the name of, Tin Man - but those aren’t on AO3. I’m not even sure I still have copies of them. Might have gotten lost in one of my computer crashes. This was before the days of cloud storage, people. Even going so far back as the days of ~dial up modems~. I also stopped writing fanfic altogether because I didn’t fit into fandom spaces, and some interactions with other fans made me think I couldn’t write for shit.

Be kind to your writers, folks. I didn’t write for ten years. Imagine the fics I could’ve written if I’d had more love from my fellow fans.

More recently, since I got my own AO3 account, I’ve written for Detroit: Become Human, Person of Interest, Loki (TV) and Dragon Age: The Veilguard.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to always respond to comments, but I have the memory of an empty fishbowl, and I work a fulltime job. So if I’m late to respond, it’s not because I don’t love your comment. It’s Life(™).

6. Angstiest Ending?

I don’t do angsty endings. I do angsty everything leading up to the end, which invariably ends on a happy note.

7. Fic with the Happiest Ending?

All of them, but I am particularly fond of the ending to A Promise Kept, my Lokius fairytale mashup set in the world of Baldur’s Gate 3.

8. Do you get hate?

So, that anime style fighting game I can’t remember the name of? The creator of Manly Guys Doing Manly Things once roasted my fic in the comments for being too stereotypical of the shounen ai genre - ie beefy boys crying, angst galore, so on. My sole claim to fandom fame, I guess. But no outright hate.

9. Do you write smut?

OH YEAH BABY

10. Do you write crossovers?

I want to, but I seldom come up with a neat way of meshing two fandoms and sets of characters together. A Promise Kept is my only finished project thus far. I do write AUs, though.

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge. Kids. Don’t steal people’s fics. Write your own.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated

Nope. I suppose I could translate one of my own into Swedish, but… I don’t see the point.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic?

I co-rp’d 200 pages worth of historical romance fanfic with a dear friend once. That was fun.

14. All time favorite ship?

Why you wanna make me choose? Come on. I will say, though, I shipped Kirk/Spock even as a kid, because they were so obviously in wub with each other and I thought they made a cute couple. Ah, Star Trek reruns back in the eighties… 

15. WIPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have a Hankcon/Passengers (movie) AU that I’m not sure I’ll finish. But never say never. Inspiration might strike again!

16. Writing strengths?

I’ve been told I do dialogue well, and that I’m funny. IMHO I think I’m kinda good at plot twists, but I’ll let the reader be the judge of that.

17. Writing Weaknesses?

I am utterly self conscious of Telling too much, versus Showing too little. But I’m working on it.

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue?

I do it all the time, when appropriate to a character. Being bi-/multilingual myself, it’s always fun. I’m a language geek at heart.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

FAKE - the anime/manga about two cops in love.

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

Again with the choices, tut tut. However, I am REALLY fond of How to Create a Monster, in which Connor goes deep undercover to expose a drug kingpin preying on androids.

Tags under the cut!

@ghoulehhh @natendo-art @in-my-loki-feels @kusakichan15

@devilbearingtrouble @impulsemuppet @mirilyawrites @scifikimmi @silentxsymphony

@rin-love-is-green @confetti39x @stillwanderingflame

@insert-witty-user-name-here @blackbirdofasgard @dreamycloud @distracteddream

@mobius-m-mobius @dilfmobius @adorbspotat @lgwilt

 @redheadsramblings @starfleetteddybear @mercars-musings @starrose17 @holyglassbone @genocidalfetus @wolfpup026 @elodiah @lokimobius @thosegayoldmen @kcscribbler @tinygameralec @notyourmamasdeerbat AND anyone else not mentioned 🧡💜💚

[liesmyth]

Anon with the friend who's reading tlt on the reverse order: Yes, he knows he's being a lab rat, he doesn't keep motes on the books because he's very much a casual reader (and thus perfect for the experiment) and so far we have only done Nona The Ninth and The Unwanted Guest, plus some chapters of HTN & Doctor Sex. There's the slight chance of osmosis corruption because I occasionally reblog modern au memes on my main blog, which I think is how he got Palamedes' whole deal.

There's not much he guessed, and even less he guessed correctly. He did call the fact Crown and Ianthe are related a pleasant plot twist, and he initially thought John was Varun.

The most interesting guess he had, which he arrived through flawed means, was Paul's existence, and the fact Pyrrha had some sort of connection to Gideon The Ninth — mostly because he guessed the average Lyctorhood to be Camilla and Palamedes', and with the reference of Gideon and G1deon as 1) permanently dead, in a setting where he's aware necromancy exists and he thought zombies to be actual resurrected people 2) connected to Pyrrha, and 3) the fact Pyrrha had "some weird vibes" (he refused to elaborate) led him to thinking Pyrrha was half Gideon, half someone else, and the reason Kiriona was vaguely off-putting to people was because she didn't have a full soul. Anyways he did think the same would happen to Palamedes and Camilla, which it did, and that Kiriona was pissed at Pyrrha because of an ambiguous degree of relationship

We have paused rn, as the labrat experiment is in return for me reading a webcomic per book

Oh yeah also im doing this because i either dreamt a post proposing it up or actually saw it, and honestly i wanted to see how much biases and previous narrative impacted the relationship of the reader with tlt characters, their relationships, and worldbuilding, as i absorbed tlt by osmosis as an agender aroace. so yeah giving a gay guy tlt without previous context in the reverse order to complete the trifecta (lesbian woman reading it in the correct order, aroace agender getting to know it by osmosis and figuring out the plot best I could before reading it, gay guy reading it in reverse)

ANON THANK YOU FOR COMING BACK! @mayasaura and everyone who wanted a follow-up to the first part.

"Thought John was Varun at first" is soooo big brained actually! I'm always thinking about John's more RB-like traits. I'm also very amused that he cast Pyrrha as the zombie puppeteer, I bet he's going to love tiny Harrow walking around her dead parent's bodies for a decade.

I also feel like the worldbuilding in NtN is veeery different from the general #vibe of the first two books — it feels like an "anime filler arc" kind of sidequest plot — and I'm very curious if going from NtN to HtN is going to make the settings vibe changes feel stronger or weaker than reading it normally would.

Anyway, I love that you decided to do this, and please let us know what he thinks about HtN! I hope you enjoy the webcomic :D

[the-machines]

Yin and Yang

Current time: 3:27 p.m.

*Ethan is at home, while Mikaela is wandering the Ferum Research and Rescue building.*

*With Ethan, he's in his room, on his phone. His Tri-Color jacket is by his side. Then, Michael Shirona, Ethan's roommate Lucario walks in.*

Michael: Hey, Ethan! What's up?

Ethan: Nothing much. Just... thinking about stuff...

Michael: What sort of stuff?

Ethan: Umm... I don't know if I want to tell you...

----------

*Meanwhile, with Mikaela, she's listening to this song in her headphones.*

*Then, Isabelle Patterson, Mikaela's roommate Braixen happens to walk by.*

Isabelle: Mikaela!

Mikaela: Isabelle?

Isabelle: What are you doing, here?

Mikaela: Nothing much. Just listening to Spotify and taking a walk.

Isabelle: Okay. Well, you seem distracted by something. Is there a problem?

Mikaela: Well...

----------

Ethan: We've been roommates ever since we were teenagers. Yet, I don't feel comfortable talking to you out of all people in the Ferum R&R building about this... No offense.

Michael: Oh, none taken. I've gotten worse

----------

Isabelle: So, what happened?

Mikaela: I met 14-CAT the other day...

Isabelle: Ethan?

Mikaela: Yep, him.

----------

Michael: What happened between you and 12-LOTL?

Ethan: We were just eating our lunch, hanging out, even though we just met, and it struck me.

----------

Mikaela: We relate to each other very vividly.

Isabelle: Ooooo-!

----------

Ethan: She's so sweet, and dare I say cute, because just looking at her makes me feel fuzzy inside.

----------

Mikaela: Oh, I wish I could see him, now...

Isabelle: Well, why don't you go do that?

----------

Michael: After all...

Isabelle: Knowing the information you gave me...

Michael: I think we both can see...

Isabelle: that you...

Michael: are

Isabelle: in

Ethan: You know what?

Mikaela: Maybe you're right.

Ethan: I'm gonna go find her...

Mikaela: and confess my feelings to him.

Michael: Okay, then!

Isabelle: Good luck!

*Ethan and Mikaela are gone.*

Michael and Isabelle: (S)he doesn't need it.

[quitealotofsodapop]

One thing I don't think is mentioned enough is the fact that during the journey, a lot of Celestials took the opportunity to just... outright FUCK around with Wukong. Like, they'd send all sorts of demons their way intentionally just to intervene and say "Oh hey! You found my favorite pet!" Even Guanyin hadn't been innocent of this considering she had this huge fit over her pet goldfish. And if they weren't using their pets they were finding other methods to delay or otherwise force the Pilgrims off the beaten path and into danger out of some sort of test, spite, or pettiness.

Now, think about how in the both JTTW and Slow Boiled au Wukond actually was pregnant or not during the journey, and in Century au, the Heavenly Court BELIEVE he was pregnant. So imagine how those guys feel after they decided to fuck with Wukong put of spite and found out they unknowingly were stressing a pregnant monkey out!?

Yeah! Characters like Gold Star hide their identities to aid the main characters, while some are just... doing it for fun? Are they LARP-ing? And Monkey has Gold-Vision; why does he always not recognise these people even from his Celestial days?

Guanyin set up a whole honey trap knowing that half the squad ain't into it, and dropped the gang on their way home cus they missed 1 story event. The abbey with the Ginseng tree were pretty rude af. The Buddha's own servants tried to fleece the gang of the scriptures. Multiple kingdoms suffered cus King Who-Care shot somebody's bird-cousin, or knocked over a table of offerings. And the 28 Lunar Mansions took almost 13 years to realise that the Wood Wolf was missing.

Lao Tzu's lab assisants literally run off with his stuff and become demon lords for lulz (or they were the assisants that let the Rhino King/Buffalo out and were scared that they'd get in trouble). And lets not forget RHINO KING. Bruh, you somehow lost track of a gotdang celestial Bull-Rhino!?

Guanyin's not immune from this; TWO of her pets became horrific demons (Goldfish and Sai Taisui) and are arguably the most irredeemable of all the villains faced.

Lady Earth Flow/Albino Rat/Bat spirit is even described as Li Jing's adoptive daughter - how the f that happen?? How did he lose track of a whole kid so bad that she became a vampire-esque demon?

Manjusri let their cat (Azure Lion) out TWICE. And they cursed the Wuji kingdom for tossing them in a sewer for preeching.

After a point, I'd imagine Wukong in the stone egg aus would just throw his hands up and start yelling at the gods directly. He's even bolder in the Jttw Stone Egged au given that he has Macaque as back-up.

You know that chapter where Rhino King steals all of the Heavenly Army's powers and weapons, and the immortals are all infighting so hard that Wukong has to be the voice of reason?

Imagine a tiny hormonal monkey just going nuts at these gods. He's screaming in their faces. He's demanding Nezha lift him up so he can look General Li Jing in the eye. He's telling them what good are they as fighters if they only feel safe with their weapons and powers? Wukong has a *damn* good reason he ain't taking on Rhino King in a 1-v-1 rn, whats all these gods excuse?!

The gods are too surprised and intimidated to argue back. And you better believe a certain alchemist is getting a smack for letting a whole animal loose from his lab.

[lcvebucky]

i miss my lover, man // stevebucky angst

pairing: steve x bucky

chapter: 2/3

summary: “Don’t forget Steve” is all that goes through his head as he is strapped to the chair. “Don’t forget Steve” is that that goes through his head as the machine whirs to life. “Don’t forget Steve” is all that goes through his head as they shout orders at him, scream so loudly he flinches. He knows that he’s going to lose his memories, knows that one day, he will forget everything. He can’t even seem to remember his name now. The only name he remembers is Steve’s, and he is desperate to hold onto it. Steve was someone he loved, once. He can’t seem to remember his face-- it’s all blurry.

or

Bucky suffers at the realization of what his hands have done as the Winter Soldier, drowning in guilt and depression. A journey to his recovery.

word count: 4.1k

follow me on ao3 @mikoilu

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54277762

The asset throws the man in front of him inside, stopping only when several guns are pointed at him. He pauses, breathing heavily.

One of HYDRA’s men, Alexander Pierce, walks in. “Mission report,” he demands angrily.

The asset does not answer. All he can think about is the name the mission called him. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Why does it sound so familiar? The word echoes in his brain, reverberating and jumping around. There’s something he’s missing, something…

“Mission report, now,” The man repeats, walking forward.

The asset stays silent, eyes glazed over and haunted. He receives a lash from the Alexander. It stings, but hardly registers. It’s just barely enough to bring his attention to the man.

“The man on the bridge. Who was he?” He says quietly. Broken. He is broken into a million shards and this strange, strange man calling him Bucky fits together.

“You met him earlier this week on another assignment,” Alexander Pierce says calmly, but the asset knows he is lying.

“I…knew him,” He whispers.

Alexander sighs and takes a seat down. “Your work has been a gift to mankind—” His words blur out as the asset’s ears ring to the point of pain. Bucky Bucky Bucky. He remembers faintly, trying to remember something. Someone. What was his name? He can’t seem to place it, can’t seem to clear the fog in his brain.

“But I knew him.”

The muscles in Alexander’s jaw tightens. Wrong answer, the asset thinks. “Prep him.”

“He’s been out of cryo freeze too long.”

“Then wipe him and start over.”

At those words, the asset’s heart drops. But no, he has learned to not feel fear. The asset does not feel. He swallows his terror as they push him back on the bed, a bit harshly.

The moment the machine whirs to life, he starts to panic. Hyperventilating, a sign of weakness. His chest rises and falls as the machine clicks to his face. This is what the asset was made for, a lab rat to be tested. He should not protest, accept it without hesitation.

The sound of his anguished screaming fills the chambers.

++

The next thing he remembers is fighting. He’s locked in battle with his mission, who remains stubbornly on the defensive, never lashing out.

“Bucky,” the mission pants. “You know me.”

His head feels like it’s going to split in two at the sound of that wretched name. “No, I don’t!” he shouts angrily, hitting him across the face.

The goddamn man gets back up again, refusing to stay down. “Bucky…” he breathes. “You’ve known me your whole life.”

No. No. No. Stop saying that.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” the man says between heavy breaths.

“Shut up!” The asset screams, backhanding him.

The mission gets up again. “I’m not gonna fight ya,” he pants, dropping his shield. “You’re my friend.”

Friend.

Mission.

Friend.

Mission.

“You’re my mission,” The asset bites out angrily, “You’re. My. Mission!” he screams in between punches. With each draw of his fist, he should feel better. Yet all it does is make him feel worse.

“Then finish it…” The mission manages to say. “‘Cause I’m… with you to the end of the line…” He gasps out in between heavy breaths. His face is banged up from the Winter Soldier’s metal arm, and the sight should satisfy him, yet all it does is twist his stomach horribly.

The ground lurches beneath them, and the glass falls beneath his feet. The mission tumbles to the ground.

The Winter Soldier hangs on, watches his fall. He feels like a piece of his heart is wrenched out of his soul.

++

Steve wakes up to the sound of Trouble Man. He’s hooked up to a bunch of machines in an unfamiliar setting.

“We need… we need to find Bucky,” he says, trying to get up.

“Woah woah woah,” Sam says. “Calm down, Cap. Bucky is safe. He’s in the other room right now. Natasha knocked him out ‘cause he kept trying to kill us all.”

“…How?” Steve groans. His neck is killing him right now, and it’s taking everything in him to speak.

“Well… about that. He actually… turned himself in,” Sam rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“What?!” Steve exclaims, sitting up all the way, much too fast.

“Something about… wanting to talk to “the mission.” But once people got too close to look at his wounds, he took down a couple of agents, so Nat had to sedate him. It took three times the normal amount to get him down— that man’s not human, no doubt. He should be up soon.”

There are so many questions he wants to ask, first of all being how did Nat stick a needle in the Winter Soldier without getting absolutely crushed? But that’s not important right now. He has to see Bucky. Steve moves his legs over to the side of the bed, ripping out the wires.

“Wait, you’re not cleared to go yet—” Sam protests, but Steve waves him off.

“I’ll be fine. Superhealing, remember? I’ve been worse,” Steve offers him a Captain America, winsome smile, which seems to convince Sam a little bit, because he doesn’t follow.

He asks a passing (nurse? agent? civilian?) where Bucky is held, and she points toward a door down the end of the hall. “Be careful, though,” she warns him in a slight Australian accent. “He just woke up, and he’s a little… unstable.”

Steve thanks her, ignoring the pit in his stomach. He pushes the door open. To his surprise, there is no guards in the room, other than two armed agents at the door. He’d expected much more security for a wanted war criminal.

“Hey, Bucky,” he says tentatively.

Bucky-not-Bucky sits on the edge of a bed. His hands are clasped together, and his leg is shaking up and down.

“I expected more… guards,” Steve tries to joke, lighten the situation.

“I took them out,” Bucky-not-Bucky says matter-of-factly, as if simply stating that the weather was nice today. “So they left.”

Typical. Steve approaches hesitantly and sits next to Bucky on the bed. To his surprise, the man doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t tackle him with his arm to Steve’s throat.

“Do you… remember?” Steve asks, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“They told me your name was Steve. Steve Rogers,” Bucky tells him quietly. His voice is so cold, so not Bucky, that Steve flinches.

“Yes,” Steve says slowly. “Do you…remember me?”

Bucky stops. Looks at him. “Steve,” he says. “Whoever it is you think I am… I’m not him. I don’t recall any memories of you. Whatever HYDRA did to me— it’s permanent. Whoever it was that you used to know: he’s gone.”

Steve has been punched in the stomach many times in his lifetime, but none have hurt as much as this. He swallows, tries to give Bucky a smile. He fails miserably.

“That’s okay. Just… just don’t leave, ‘kay? Stay for a bit. HYDRA’s gone now, they won’t hurt you anymore. We… we have food, and clothes, and— ” He doesn’t realize he’s rambling until Bucky stops him.

“Okay.”

“—cell service, and…Wait, really?” Steve startles, trying not to sound too excited.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. Maybe once in a lifetime he would have given Steve a reassuring smile.

Not this one.

[voxofthevoid]

Shibuya Swap Wednesday #8. The fic is currently 14 chapters and 78k and far from over. Turns out that when I sprinkle in bits of self-indulgent plot in Part 1, I'll have to follow through in Part 3.

Yay.

This is entirely SFW, somehow—canon!Yuuji meeting Chōsō after alt!Yuuji sorted out the whole brother business. Gojou's there to, uh, supervise.

“I’d like to have some time alone with my brother.”

“And I’d like your shared parent’s head on a platter, but only one of those is gonna happen.”

“You intend to hunt down Kamo Noritōshi.”

“Well, he’s going by another name right now. You’re familiar with it.” There’s an edge to Gojou’s voice that makes Yuuji crane his head to look at him. But Gojou’s staring right at Chōsō, his eyes gleaming behind the shades. “But not for long. Yuuji—the one from Shibuya, not my cute little student—said you have an ability to sense family via a blood connection. Can you track that parasite using it?”

Chōsō blinks, looking nonplussed. “It…doesn’t work that way. And I can only sense my siblings, not our parent.”

Yuuji can feel Gojou shrug, their bodies close enough for it.

“Worth a shot, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll find them myself,” he says, and two heavy hands come to rest on Yuuji’s shoulders. “Meanwhile, we need to figure out what to do about you. I wanted to see your reaction to Yuuji—”

“I feel like a lab rat, sensei.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Chōsō here is the lab rat,” Gojou replies without missing a beat. “You’re not violent. Or you’re one hell of an actor. Either way, it’s not enough. You know why, don’t you?”

Chōsō nods very slowly. “I understand.”

Yuuji looks between the two of them, but Chōsō’s somber expression is as unhelpful as Gojou’s bland smile.

“Sensei?” Yuuji prods. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I want to tell you many things, Yuuji,” comes the unhelpful answer. “But I’m not sure now’s the right time. What do you think, Yuuji’s new big bro?”

Chōsō looks a little like he’d like to strangle Gojou. But under and over that, there’s an emotion Yuuji’s all too familiar with—guilt.

“I killed people,” he says, “at Shibuya. There’s good reason your teacher doesn’t trust you with me.”

“Honest to a fault, huh,” Gojou mutters.

Yuuji doesn’t say anything. He’s not very surprised. Gojou didn’t tell him details of how Yuuji’s other self rescued him, but he did say they Chōsō was among the people who trapped him. And Yuuji saw the state of the station. He could make an educated guess or two about what was in store for the civilians there.

It doesn’t make it better. It doesn’t make it right.

“You’re angry,” Chōsō says without surprise.

“Yuuji,” Gojou says, squeezing Yuuji’s shoulder, “is a very good boy.”

“Sensei,” Yuuji sighs. “Of course I’m angry. Innocent people didn’t deserve to die because the lot of you wanted Gojou-sensei out of the way.”

“No,” comes Chōsō’s quiet agreement. “They did not.”

“But—” Yuuji pulls his hand out from under Chōsō’s and steps away from Gojou too, putting some distance between himself and both men. “But your brothers didn’t deserve to die either. It was us or them, and I chose us. I don’t regret it, but that doesn’t make it right. I’m angry about what you did, but you should be pissed at me too.”

Chōsō’s expression does something that Yuuji can’t even begin to parse. Gojou looks an odd cross between amused and exasperated.

“Sometimes, Yuuji,” Gojou tells him, “you’re too noble for your own good.”

“I’m really not—”

“Thank you, Yuuji,” Chōsō cuts in, his voice quiet but choked; his eyes are suspiciously shiny. “But I meant what I said. Esō and Kechizu would never have fought you if they’d known the truth. You didn’t know either. They’d forgive you. It’s what brothers do.”

Yuuji shifts in place, with no idea how to respond to that. The sincerity in Chōsō’s voice threatens to choke him too.

Gojou has no such issues: “You know, I’ve never been unhappy I’m an only child, but I feel especially glad right now.”

“Sensei, don’t be mean,” Yuuji chides. “Please ignore him, Chōsō-san.”

“Don’t call me that,” Chōsō says, eyes all wide again. “Just Chōsō is fine. Or you could call me big bro—”

“Nope,” Gojou says.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Gojou Satoru.”

 Gojou’s grin widens dangerously.

Yuuji closes the scant distance he put between himself and the other two, slotting himself between Gojou and the couch, directly in front of Chōsō.

“Chōsō,” Yuuji says firmly. “Sensei. Behave.”

“Scary,” Gojou whispers dramatically, leaning against Yuuji’s back. “Well, you two seem like you’ll get along fine. Very compatible crazy. But for now, you need to go back to sleep, Chōsō.”

“Huh, why?” Yuuji asks, looking up at Gojou and nearly slamming his head into his jaw; Gojou smoothly avoids the collision, resting his chin on Yuuji’s head instead.

Chōsō’s eyes have narrowed, as severe as the set of his mouth. “I’d also like to know why.”

“I don’t trust you,” Gojou says plainly. “I’m willing to tolerate you for Yuuji’s sake, but at present, we can’t let a special-grade curse—or a grade-one sorcerer, if that’s the path you want to choose—run around unchecked. We don’t have the manpower to safely contain you either, not until the mess you and your friends made is all cleaned up. Sleep or die, those are your choices.” There’s a pregnant pause and then— “Sorry about this, Yuuji.”

“I…don’t think I’m the one you should be saying that to, sensei.”

“That so?” Gojou asks, his voice dangerously mild. “So, what do you say, Yuuji’s brand-new brother?”

Chōsō’s expression is blank, in a severe kind of way. The shadows under his eyes seem darker, and the eyes themselves are pools of near-black, fixed unwaveringly on Yuuji.

He says, “I won’t ever hurt you.”

Yuuji blinks. “Thanks? I wasn’t worried though?”

“Unfortunately,” Gojou says, “your brother complex isn’t enough of a guarantee right now. Don’t worry. Once I’m back, you’ll have a very generous chance to be on your best behavior.”

“What happens to Yuuji in the meantime?”

“Nothing.” One of Gojou’s arms slides around Yuuji’s middle, just as his chin is lifted from Yuuji’s head, and then he’s being tucked against Gojou, snug and secure. All of Yuuji grows pleasantly hot. “Only a few others know about Yuuji’s connection to you and the parasite, and all of them are more invested in Yuuji’s safety than the rules. He’ll be fine, and as long as you behave, there won’t even be any complications.”

“I don’t think you need to keep threatening him, sensei,” Yuuji ventures. “I mean, you made your point.”

There’s a deep sigh, Gojou’s chest moving against Yuuji’s back. It feels so big like this. Gojou feels so big, like he could swallow up the world.

Yuuji tries not to think of this morning, of being tangled up in warmth and safety, of being touched—

“You have no flair for the dramatics Yuuji,” Gojou says mournfully. “The least you can do is appreciate mine.”

Yuuji pats the arm wrapped around him. “I do appreciate you.”

“You trust him.” Chōsō’s voice is very quiet, but it cuts through the air.

And it’s not a question, but Yuuji still says, “With my life.”

Gojou’s arm tightens.

“I see,” Chōsō says with a gravity that makes Yuuji’s spine snap straight; Gojou moves with him, accommodating the motion. “Then I choose to sleep, for now, Gojou Satoru.”

“Wise,” Gojou says softly. “Lie down then. This won’t hurt.”

Chōsō’s expression darkens like he doesn’t really believe that.

“It doesn’t,” Yuuji chimes in. “Promise. It really just feels like going to sleep.”

Chōsō’s eyes flit to him and stay, and Yuuji can see Chōsō soften all over. It’s a bit disconcerting. There’s so much there that Yuuji doesn’t even understand. He’s an only child.

He still feels like one. He can’t much imagine that changing despite Chōsō’s existence.

“I’m not worried about pain,” Chōsō says very gently. “But thank you, Yuuji. Please be safe.”

“Sure. I’ll, uh, do that.” He flashes Chōsō a thumbs up. “Good night?”

Gojou snorts and steps away from Yuuji, circling around the couch to kind of…loom at Chōsō.

To his credit, Chōsō doesn’t give anything away, though Yuuji can’t imagine he’s not unsettled. He can’t imagine ever being scared of Gojou, but he’s seen the way his teacher gets sometimes, the way his smile twists under radioactive eyes. He’s seen curses flinch from it.

Chōsō doesn’t flinch. He calmly lies down on the couch, crossing his arms over his stomach. Throughout it all, his gaze stays on Yuuji, flickering away only when two of Gojou’s fingers are inches away from his face.

“Night night,” Gojou chirps, tapping Chōsō’s forehead.

Dark lashes flutter, eyes rolling back. A second later, Chōsō’s face is slack.

“That was fast,” Yuuji whispers.

“It’s more delicate than it looks,” Gojou says in a normal voice. “I was impressed the other Yuuji knew how to do it. I’ll teach you some day. You won’t misuse it, will you?”

Yuuji blinks over at Gojou. “Misuse it how?”

“How innocent,” Gojou practically purrs. “Don’t you know what boys like you would do to a pretty sleeping thing? Or do you want to be the pretty sleeping thing?”

[aliypop]

Return To Sender : Chapter 2

Word Count: 1,908

Writers Note: Alright so here's part 2! Once again dedicated to @sissylittlefeather Sorry if twos a little short

Warning: Language

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis / OC x Jerry

Plot: It's 1968 and Natalya Dyer a divorcee and single mother is tasked to interview Elvis and Cecelia Presley at their humble mansion Graceland about their spicy relationship only to learn more about them as people.

Chapter 1

Taglist

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

@leapresley

@everythingelvispresley

@dreamondina94

@elvismylove04

@pocketfulofpresley

@elvispresley1956

Memphis August 1968

"Jerry Schilling..."

"Natalya Dyer." She removed the cigarette from her mouth, "Nice to meet you," He smiled at her as she nodded, "Likewise." Natalya heard footsteps, which made her focus on the door, "Mama!" was all she heard as her son came charging towards her with the force of a bull. Jerry looked at her and then at her son as he smiled, "I'll let you handle that." He exited the door. Jerry thought she was pretty, but he was sure she wouldn't even be interested. Besides, she probably already had a husband.

 "Yes, Jer- Bear?"

"Can I go ride golf carts with my friends?" Jericho's eyes got huge, like a puppy. She thought about it from a mother's standpoint on how dangerous it could be, but she remembered she trusted that the Presley family, like any parent, would keep their kids safe. Of course, she also thought he'd be playing with the kids of Elvis and Cecelia, which in its own right was odd in its way, "Please, mama!"

"Oh, alright," She ruffled his blonde hair and kissed his forehead, "But be careful! You have school tomorrow!"

"I'll be okay!" He ran upstairs as she followed him up. 

"El..." Cecelia laughed as she felt him kissing her neck, 

"Hmmm..."

"I can't make dinner if you're seducin me." She chuckled, "Then Birdie can make dinner." He whispered,

 "Birdie's got the week off," She smirked, 

"But, baby,what'cha want me to do..." He pouted as Cecelia nudged him. 

"Let me cook." She turned to face him to kiss him. Elvis picked her up and placed her on the countertop. He kissed her eyelids, then her cheeks, then her nose and her lips again with a sweet hunger as she blushed, 

"What's wrong, Satnin..." He asked,

"You have a way of makin' me fall deeper in love with you every day." She whispered as she pulled him closer to her. 

"You love me, huh honey," 

"Mhmm," Cecelia kissed his cheeks, then his hands, 

"Do have anymore Mai Ta-" Natalya began to walk off as Cecelia and Elvis broke apart,

 "We do!" She flattened out her pants as Natayla laughed,

 "If you two were gonna make out, I could sit in the dining room." 

"We weren't going to do that," Elvis mumbled, 

"Mhmm..." Natalya chuckled, "You know I was thinking about that magazine proposition you two mentioned and..." 

"And..." Cecelia said,

"I wanna work on my first article, and..."

"You want us as your lab rats?" Elvis suggested as he leaned against the counter. Cecelia handed her another Mai Tai as Natayla sipped it, 

"Nothing like being a kissin cousin to a ripe pineapple." She joked as Elvis couldn't hold his laughter in, "Alright, but none of those raunchy questions about my-" Cecelia nudged him again, "Of course not, I want the world to get to understand you two as like a couple, not the stars you know." Cecelia nodded,

"I'd like that," Elvis smiled, 

"Cool, so uh... anything I can do while i'm interviewing?"

"You can help cook," Cecelia gave her a knife and a cutting board. Natalya began to cut onions. She thought of her first question, 

"So what was it like being an interracial couple in the 50s versus now?"

"Well... Should I answer first or you?" Elvis asked Cecelia as she shrugged, seasoning up the steak, 

"I'll answer," Cecelia smiled,

 "Honestly... It's hard. There's not much of a it was, you know. My fans didn't mind it, but when it came to the elders..." Cecelia sighed, "I was ridiculed and called a traitor to my race,"

"We tried to hide it, but our love was too strong to hide." Natalya caught his glance as she alternated from chopping to writing, "I mean, I-It was rough when we had the twins, the uh press askin if they'd be dark or fair," Natalya could tell that angered him, "It didn't matter none to me as long as they were healthy, because love ain't color, it ain't creed, it's a feelin'." He smiled, 

"Oh, Elvis..."

"Hmm?"

"Are the greens missin somethin?" Cecelia asked as he ate them, 

"tomatoes..." He grinned, 

"You and your tomatoes," The pair laughed as Natalya chuckled, "It was like that with my son," Natalya mentioned, "He's half Seminole, so a lot of speculation on why he's got blonde hair and blue eyes, unlike me."

"Hell, we got Cherokee in us." Cecelia smiled. Natalya grinned as she began to feel at home around them,

 "I'm a natural blonde," Elvis added, 

"So what made you two fall for each other?" 

"Her soul."

"His heart," She put the steaks in the oven, 

"Explain that, please."  

"Elvis has a heart of pure heaven, not even gold. He doesn't like to see anyone sad or struggling. Instead, he tries to be an angel on earth," Cecelia looked over her shoulder, "He's my angel on earth. He's so damn funny and," Cecelia chuckled, "He's makin' faces, isn't he?" Natalya nodded, ratting him out, 

"What can I say? Her soul brings out the best in me." He held her, "When I'm here with her, I'm not Elvis the star. I'm Elvis, her best friend, her husband, the father of our children, the man who comes home with messy hair and his shoes off,"

"The pain in my ass, but my joy, my refugee, my home," She looked at him lovingly, "Your green beans are burnin'" He smirked as she puffed out her cheeks, "See, there's the pain in my ass part." She joked,

"Oh, you love it." He smacked her butt as Cecelia blushed. 

"Did the twins change anything in your relationship?" Natalya asked. She remembered when she had Jericho, and her ex-husband couldn't even look at her for long. It was like the love in her ex-husband's eyes was vanishing. 

"The first few years were fine..." Elvis smiled, "But when they started growin older..."

"We started hitting a dry spell." Cecelia leaned against the counter, 

"A dry spell? You two?!" Natalya gasped, "No!"

"Yeah! It was bad Cece was holdin out, and I wanted to put in,"

"Or I wanted to put in, and El here was holdin out." 

"So, how'd you two fix it?"  

"We learned to listen, never go to bed angry at each other, and to kiss while makin' up."Elvis chuckled,

 "We also learned we've got a temper. And it gets in the way, every couple fights, but how you win the battle is what matters." She could see the pure admiration they had for each other. It was what Natalya wanted. Someone who'd look at her with a twinkle brighter than any star.

"Any advice to anyone finding love again?"

"Correction, don't go finding love, find a friend."

"A best friend." Cecelia nuzzled his nose, 

"You two are so sweet." The plates were made, and everyone was sitting down as Jesse reached for a role, Cecelia glaring at him 

"Not until we say grace..." 

"But mama..." Jesse tried batting his baby blues,

"Mind your mama," Elvis suggested. Even Natalya had to agree Elvis was very sexy, even as a dad, 

"Okay..." 

"You know, daddy! Today, I learned at school...How to count by 10, but then Jesse got stuck on 2x2 because he was talkin in class!" She smirked, her curly hair bouncing with every word she said, 

"And who was he talking to?" 

"Jericho." 

"Nu-uh!" Jesse stuck his tongue out, "Right, Jericho..." Jericho was blushing as he looked at Elaine, his mother noticing, "You're pretty..." Elaine's lip curled up like her father's. In disgust as she said, 

"You've got germs."

"I do not have germs!" Jericho huffed,

"Do too!"

"Do not!

"Do too!"

"Do-"

"Hey uh I'm heading home for the-"

"UNCLE JERRY!" Elaine and Jesse ran toward him as Jericho looked at his mother, her eyes on his, "Night." He mumbled, picking up his God niece and Nephew, 

"Say Jerry you like kids right?"Elvis asked as he was saying goodnight, 

"I mean I like your kids." The Memphis bachelor said back,

"That sounds... wrong as hell..." Natalya mentioned as Cecelia chuckled, 

"I didn't uhm mean it like that Mrs. Dyer." He blushed getting shy again, "Can I get you another Mai Tai?"

"Yes, you can."Elvis grinned getting invested in whatever was stirring up in front of him. 

"Actually gotta get this little one to bed," Sleep had hit Jericho as he was nodding off on his plate, 

"You two can stay over!"

"El, I'm sure she wants to go home..." 

"But..." He pleaded, and whispered, "I'm playin' Cupid." he smiled as Cecelia chuckled, 

"Besides when have I ever been wrong..."

"Well..." 

"Go 'head name a time..." 

"That damn monkey Scatter..."

"Scatter was fun!"

"Scatter wore my bra on his head, and let's not forget what I caught him doing with my favorite dress..."  

"Well... Uhm, may I walk you to your car?" Jerry offered. Natalya nodded, "That would be nice," she picked Jericho up as Jerry opened the door for her,

 "Great... now He's heavy," Natalya huffed, 

"Mind if I..." Jerry asked, 

"That would be kind." She smiled as he picked him up, 

"See who's stupid now!"

"Still you cupid." She chuckled, as they raced to the door to watch, "Your husband must be worried." Jerry spoke as Natalya chuckled, 

"My husband hasn't been worried about me in years." Trying to laugh off the heartache, 

"I'm sorry."

 "Ah, no need. He was a bastard." She shrugged, "What broke you two apart?" He kept walking as she sighed, "He wanted a trophy wife, and I wanted my husband to be a husband, " Natalya sighed, remembering how he'd come home late smelling of Whiskey and cheap perfume, "I'm sorry that happened to you."

 "You can give a man your life, and it still ain't enough." She looked at him. Jerry placed Jericho in the car as he looked at Natalya. She was strong, beautiful, witty, and charming and he had to know more. He had to see her again, he wanted to, 

"It's a shame he left a woman like you all alone."

"Well, he wanted to stick his dick in anything that wasn't me, especially after our son was born." She mentioned, taking a cigarette out as he took his lighter and lit it for her. 

"Thanks, Mr. Schilling."

"Of course, Ms. Dyer" 

"Please call me Natalya." 

"I'd like to call you some time if that's okay," Jerry smirked, remembering he had some of his flirtatiousness in him, 

"Was that too strong?"

"Not at all, but maybe we should start as friends." Remembering the advice given to her, "If that's okay with you, I'm still adjusting and-"

"I could show you around Memphis," He added, "The best restaurants everything," 

"I'll think about it." she took out her keys as he opened her door for her

"Well if you think about it and change your mind, meet me at Valmos Sound."

"Isn't that in Nashville?" She questioned, 

"Yeah, but it's three hours," He smirked as she felt her knees go weak, "Whadya say?"

"Oh alright..." She laughed, "But don't you dare try anything."

"I would never try anything with a friend." He smiled as he closed her car door. Driving off, the radio was playing Love Me Tender, she then groaned as she changed it again, and Can't Help Falling in Love was playing,

 "Fuck this.."

"Debuting on W.H.B.Q. Cecelia Presley's new hit To Be Loved." 

"God what did I do to deserve this!" She sighed,

SHOULD I MAKE PART 3?