godhandler

[godhandler]

“op is a morally corrupt pervert” ok 💖 yay +follow

[godhandler]

Glad to see the slutty little knee is alive and well in TLOU Season 2

[godhandler]

i’m full of rage but in a very chill and nonchalant way

[godhandler]

Please check in on your local Yuta stan we’re going through it right now

[godhandler]

@blackcvrds got me sinking my teeth into the itafushi baby trapping idea, so I wrote a little something.

Itafushi | Mature | <350 words

They’re young and in love, and the world is their pearl-tongued oyster, and Megumi Fushiguro needs to fucking ruin something. Maybe that’s what it’s about. Maybe life is just a little too good right now. Maybe he never learned how to live without chaos and calamity.

Maybe that’s why he needs a baby.

Or maybe it’s not about that at all. Maybe it’s about something softer, sweeter, messier. Cadbury eggs spilling their sticky guts. Yuuji and his honey-brown eyes. Afternoon delight with the fluffy feel of angel food cake. A love that melts Megumi like warmed taffy.

Maybe it’s about him, about having his baby.

Maybe that’s why he stopped his suppressants and his birth control.

Maybe that’s why he pricked holes in the condoms.

Maybe that’s why, three sorry, solitary lines later, he asked Yuuji not to use them at all.

Maybe that’s why he begged, “please, please, please,” whenever Yuuji neared his climax.

Maybe that’s why he mourned when Yuuji, dutiful as ever, pulled out anyway.

Maybe that’s why, this time, he locks his legs around Yuuji’s waist and pulls himself down hard over his cock.

“Fushiguro!”

The name stings like a hard slap. Yuuji uses it in moments of distress, regressing to a time when life was harder but simpler.

“Fushiguro, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to.” His hands tremble as they reach for Megumi’s rising, falling, rising chest.

Megumi sighs. “It’s fine.” He looks at their connected bodies, feels Yuuji’s essence leak from him, and allows himself to visualize it taking, the seed sprouting — his belly filling with syrup-veined branches. He wills the sweet, honey-eyed child into existence. “It should be fine, right?” Megumi’s brows furrow in an apology he doesn’t offer.

“I-Yeah… It should be fine.” Yuuji blankets him and runs his hands in assurance over Megumi’s sides then squishes them beneath his back to rest his arms between Megumi and the sheets. “You feel so good. I never want this to end.” 

And maybe that’s why.

Maybe that’s why Megumi whispers, “It won’t, then.”

Because Megumi will never let this end.

A/N: This one was fun, but probably took me way too long for the short length. Thanks for reading! Any feedback is appreciated!

Thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics for the dividers.

[godhandler]

I hope every single us soldier dies horribly and in shame. Yeah even your cousin and brother and uncle and grandfather and gay bf who's fighting for a "better future" bc he can't afford brand name underwear. Theyre not the good ones; there is no such thing as a good us soldier unless they're a corpse sitting in a watery hole

[godhandler]

on tumblr dot com i see the economics equivalent of 'horse tranquilizers can fix covid' and just sigh and go about my day with a heavy stone on my heart

[godhandler]

💬 reddit

← ⬤  r/relationship_advice • 16 hr. ago       

      1mjust-agirl02

I found out my (22F) sneaky link (25M) is a cult leader. Am I enabling him if we keep hooking up?

First-time poster here. I’ll try to keep this brief. A few months ago, I was going through a rough patch. I’d just moved to the city from a tiny countryside town—a major life change. Sure, it came with perks: a good job, a decent apartment, and better nightlife. But I felt… disconnected. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the gnawing loneliness. The more I tried to adapt, the more isolated I felt.

I’ve always been a model citizen—quiet, diligent, never stepping out of line. But in the city, my days dragged, my nights felt darker, and I was slipping into depression. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but everything around me seemed coated in this heavy, negative energy.

That’s when I started frequenting a local bar. It was small, dimly lit, and blissfully cheap. The kind of place where people drank alone to nurse their sorrows. I guess I fit right in.

The bartender knew my order. The regulars were predictable: the middle-aged lady with crimped hair, the clean-cut businessman with tired eyes. I even started to find comfort in the routine. Until he walked in.

It was a random Wednesday at 5 PM. He was tall, with long black hair tied back neatly except for two loose strands framing his sharp, bronze-toned face. Dressed in a plain black sweatsuit, he looked effortlessly suave, even with a grim expression. Our eyes met, for a moment, his stern demeanor softened, replaced by something that felt like intrigue. Without hesitation, he made his way over, settling beside me like it had been his plan all along. He ordered whiskey—straight—and downed it in one smooth gulp.

“You didn’t even flinch,” I blurted, unable to stop myself. “Impressive—or concerning.”

He smirked, devilish and confident. “You don’t even know.”

That was the start. We chatted. Or rather, we danced around anything personal, just sharing vague feelings and flirting between drinks. He had this magnetic sorrow about him, like we were kindred spirits.

The night carried on, the drinks kept coming, and somehow, he kept getting closer. Our knees bumped beneath the booth. He was attractive in that quiet, alluring way—charming. That distant look in his eyes, as though he’d seen too much too soon, only added to his appeal.

I think we both needed a distraction. I laughed at his teasing, swatting playfully at his chest. His dark eyes lingered, and when I fumbled with my glass, he reached over, swiping his thumb across my lips.

What came next was a blur: heated kisses stolen in a dingy bar bathroom, his coarse hands gripping my waist and sliding to the back of my neck. The kiss was messy, whiskey burning on his tongue as it slid against mine. We stumbled back to my apartment in a haze, barely making it inside.

The second the door swung shut, he had me off my feet. My lock hung unlatched as he threw me onto the bed, the impact knocking my head lightly against the headboard. His hands were everywhere—rough and deliberate. My blouse fell open, my slacks tangled around my ankles as he pushed me face-down on the mattress. I heard the shuffle of his sweats coming off, the warmth of his spit trailing down my skin.

He’s big. I struggled to take him, fluttering and gasping as he pressed inside. His hand yanked my head back, forcing me to look. Between the bunched fabric of his sweatshirt held in his teeth and the tense, toned muscles of his abdomen, the sight was utterly debauched. The sounds—slick, lewd—filled the room. By the end, my sheets were damp, my chest marked with his teeth and hands, and I had my first noise complaint from my neighbors.

I thought that would be it. A one-time thing.

But then, the next Wednesday, he was at the bar again.

Now sober, I finally got a good look at him—and somehow, he was even more devastatingly handsome. His sharp features softened by the loose claw clip holding back his hair.

Our dynamic stayed the same: casual conversation, teasing touches, and nights that left me trembling. He was addictive. Every time, his grip was firm, possessive—his habit of squeezing my throat just as my climax approached pushed me to the edge. It had me teetering between bliss and unconsciousness, choking out strangled moans as he drove into me, relentless. It felt like a punishment. It felt like everything I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.

If I were to indulge myself, I’d admit I liked him best when sobriety started creeping back into him. He had this way of reading my body like a map, tracing every nerve and exploiting it until I was trembling, breathless, undone. Sometimes, as he finished—his hair spilling over my face like a curtain—I’d let the lines blur. I’d tell him how good he was, how deeply I felt him, how pretty he looked. And for a fleeting moment, he’d soften, his rhythm slowing, kissing me with an almost tender deliberation.

Weeks later, I got a text and an address:

“Want to see you. Be here at 11. Side door, past the gate.”

Curiosity got the better of me, and I showed up. His house was bigger than I’d expected—too luxurious for someone his age. On the way to his room, I passed a door slightly ajar. Inside, I glimpsed pink walls and a boy band poster. My stomach dropped. Was he married? Did he have kids?

I confronted him immediately. Sitting nervously on his bed, sandwiched between his toned thighs, I listened as he explained. He’d been raising his two orphaned cousins for years. His voice softened as he talked about them—their favorite shows, their quirks, their hobbies. I’d never seen him like this before. The care and pride he showed for them stood in stark contrast to the man I knew intimately.

That night was different. When I came, hard and breathless, his lips brushed mine, our eyes locked, fingers intertwined beside my head. For the first time, I thought I was starting to understand him.

But everything changed soon after.

At work, I passed a bulletin board I usually ignored. For some reason, that day I stopped. A flyer caught my eye—his face stared back at me.

In the photo, he was dressed in a golden kasaya draped over black yukata robes, his serene smile paired with an outstretched arm in a regal, inviting pose. The caption called him a “Buddhist priest” and a “divine leader” of some obscure spiritual group.

Confused, I Googled it. Turns out, it wasn’t just a spiritual group. It was a full-blown cult. The photos showed worshippers kneeling before him, their faces aglow with reverence, calling him a godlike figure.

I couldn’t resist. That evening, I went to the event listed on the flyer, held at a local temple. I slipped into a seat in the back, close to the door. Watching him lead the ritual felt surreal. There he was—calm, composed, draped in robes—like he hadn’t had me screaming into my pillow just days ago.

Then, I saw him lay his hands on a sobbing woman kneeling at his feet. Her cries turned into praises as she clung to him, trembling. It was… chilling.

I barely had a chance to settle in before I felt the need to leave. I thought about ending things right then and there—but I hesitated. Now I’m torn. On one hand, he’s the best I’ve ever had—dominant, attentive, and downright divine in bed. On the other hand… he’s a cult leader.

If I keep seeing him, am I complicit in whatever shady things his group does? Or am I overthinking it—can I keep pretending I know nothing?

Advice is welcome. Don’t hold back.

( ↑  734  ↓ ) ( 🗨️ 1K ) ( ୨୧ ) ( ↳ Share )

⬤ toge-talks-shit  MOD  • 14h ago • 

This is the wildest shit I've read all day. My prayers go out to you, OP—but your hookup might be answering them LOL. Fr though, the cult stuff sounds creepy. Not worth it. ↑  1.5K  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ blue-eyes-savelives  • 11h ago • 

OP, message me privately. Did he ever mention old regrets, breakups, or friends? Plz answer. T-T ↑  425  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ k-nam_mister73  • 9h ago • 

Delete his number. You should’ve ceased all contact a long time ago. ↑  344  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ nobarabara_yaps  • 2h ago • 

He sounds hot. See it through. Gatekeep, Gaslight, Girlboss. ↑  109  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

[godhandler]

satosugu is like crack for the overthinkers, the dwellers on the past, the ponderers of the "what-if's"

[godhandler]

JJK Ability Tree Part 1

Two years ago, I made a post where I compared the abilities of the characters with each other using this ability chart Gege had made previously. It's time to go back to it now! First, the information on this chart is outdated, eg the Maximum Technique isn't on it, and Gege might change other things if he ever comes back to this, like changing the name extension technique to hollow technique.

Regardles, here is Gojo's ability chart. The first is from 2 years ago and the second from right before he croaked.

Gojo's chart was already full at the start of the manga, the only thing added was Simple Domain NSS and that one he simply didn't show until the Shinjuku fight. In other words, Gojo was always the charatcer who was the benchmark when it came to JJKs abilities and magic system. He's eg still the only character who ever performed an extention technique aka Purple.

In Battle Shonen, developing a character's power is partly synonymus with character development, following this, Gojo's static power levels are a hindrance to good story telling. To remedy that it's where Hidden Inventory and Toji comes in, where we go back in time to a Gojo who wasn't even close to this insane chart which aided greatly in telling a good story.

(This of course, isn't everything of what makes a good character or storyline. It's just part of it.)

Hidden Inventory Gojo

Blue is what Gojo started with and Red is what he gained during this arc. And it's not a 1:1 equivalent to (good) storytelling but this change in abilities comes hand in hand with a character arc that by definition has a satisfying element to it: Growth.

We see the same process with Yuji but unfortunately with Megumi and Nobara we run into problems. Those we'll tackle in Part 2.

[godhandler]

Covert fascist South Asians online pretending to be woke are amazing like “let me brag about being light skinned and brahmin but im NOT white passing and experience 100 racisms every day and im NOT a hindutva im just against cultural appropriation and hinduism is a closed religion you can’t convert that’s appropriation. and i love women but arranged marriage is just part of our culture look at the low divorce rates white people are cooked 🤣 hitting your kids is a part of our culture that isn’t accepted by the west and and and and

[godhandler]

my apologies for the people waiting for the toji series to finish up, i've been struggling with my health for a while and haven't the slightest energy to do anything. please wait a bit more ill post at soon as i can make it <3

[godhandler]

unpunishable - ethel cain / georgia o'keeffe

[godhandler]

gender affirming pornbot

[godhandler]

Listen, I truly believe if Suguru pointed a gun at Satoru, he’d find it hot.

That’s my brain worm folks, Satoru is shameless and Suguru has enough screws loose to keep things entertaining for the both of them.

[godhandler]

seeing you doomscroll at 2am

nanami would be slightly worried, telling you to think of your health and maintain proper sleep schedules (he is a big fat hypocrite because why is he up at 2am doing paperwork). "if you have time to watch asmr cooking videos you better use it productively, honey." he won't actually nag tho because nanami of all people gets that adult life is hard, if these silly videos make you feel a little happy who is he to deny you that? would offer to work in bed so that he can be near you while also making sure that you do sleep.

gojo is probably working hard mid-mission or creating lesson plans lol. at this point in life he doesn't actually know what time people are supposed to sleep. "ooh, im jealous~ send me any fun reels if you find them, 'kay?" if he has no mission (once in a millenia), he's doomscrolling alongside you, pushing his phone in your face now and then to show you smn like 'cat falls from 10th floor, lands on feet!' or a insta post of a woman in a bikini - 'see that would look good on you. or me. we're good looking <3'

shoko wouldn't know. she's dead to the world the second her exhausted and overworked head hits the pillow. she'd put the pieces together when you're still sleeping the next day till noon with your glasses on and phone in hand. wouldn't care that much tbh. chill girlfriends fr.

toji sees you scrolling in the dark when he wakes up at night to pee, will poke his head in to see judge your the kinda shit you waste time on. "the hell are those white boys putting cat ears on for?" or "how many times are ya gonna watch jay park shake ass?" or "tumblr. loser." toji probably pees at 2-3 times per night. idk why. i just know.

kamo doesn't doomscroll. he just doesn't. thinks it's a nasty childish habit, like vaping or interacting with tiktok in any form. pre getting kicked out the clan, i think it would genuinely lower his opinion of you a bit. it's like, he doesn't want himself or his significant other to be that kind of person who doomscrolls till late and sleeps thru work/classes next morning like a slob. post, he wouldn't like it but he can shrug it off. as long as you still wake up on time next morning.

sukuna "this is so stupid. your recommendations suck. you should watch more educational informative videos, news and shit, learn a language instead of wasting your time like this. egirls are ugly."- all while watching your phone with his head over your shoulder. he has opinions on every reel you watch and will make himself heard.

higuruma "what's doomscroll?" this man is pushing 40 and is an introvert. his knowledge of social media is liking his friends' throwback pics on facebook. he'd be interested if you're shopping online, "love, can you order my woollen socks too? please make sure they cover the ankle and isn't more than 30% polyester. thanks, love." but otherwise he's a big 'phones at night harm your brain' kinda guy.

nobara, yuji, megumi all three forward each other reels on a LINE group chat named smn stupid that yuji and nobara agreed upon after much debate, like 'three musketeers (in english to be fancy)' or 'nobara and the dwarves' or 'diaper gang 😛'. yuji sends stuff he thinks others would like (baby duck vids). nobara sends stuff she likes (xiaohongshu fashion inspo). megumi doesn't reply or send much of anything, will leave the group if the other send too much brainrot content but they keep adding him back in. megumi watches mostly reels talking about recent discoveries in outer space and those carpentry videos where the wood just perfectly slides into place and locks together.

choso is a complete phone addict. see he initially didn't understand a lot of human society stuff so he just googled everything he didn't get cuz he's a proud man who doesn't want to bother people with his questions and ended developing a social media addiction lol. types super fast. knows every trending trend on every sm even though he doesn't post anything. he's doomscrolling harder than you.

[godhandler]

Tokyo Day 

| s. geto x reader, mentions of n. zenin x reader, infidelity, angst, fluff ending, geto is an unstable maniac in love as he was created to be, porn with serious plot, 2k words, part 4 | FIN.

previous series masterlist

“A younger you would’ve spat in your face if she saw you now.”

The plates stacked neatly outside your suite door, you and Suguru sit in the tub, him scrubbing your back. Warm lavender-scented water lap at your natural nakedness. The designer of this Modern Japanese suite must have been anything but Japanese, you muse. Why else would they set the ¥ 142,500 bathroom walls to mimic cheap public baths? 

These two things are polar apart. They could never be the same. One holds dignity, pride, excellence, and the other is like you. 

You wonder what Suguru means by his words. No question, you were beaten down by life. White ashes, leftovers of the blazing hurricane you were a decade ago. Was that the crime your former self would detest you for? It wasn’t like you planned to lose yourself, it just happened because that’s how life played out. 

You imagine a freckle-faced 15 year old questioning you– Why don’t you get a sorcerer job and become independent? 

Naobito would never let you see your son again then. 

Then why did you even have a kid?

It wasn’t your choice. Naobito wanted a kid. 

Why did you marry that jackass? 

Mom needed money and you couldn’t get a job. 

She’d just be confused, you think. You used to get so mad when adults told you things like – ‘oh you’re too young, you won’t get it’, but now you think they were right. To some degree. You’d understand, sure. But you hadn’t suffered enough to empathise. 

Why don’t you kill yourself?

My son. 

“Earth to the lady.” He massages your soapy neck, thumbs pressing into the right parts that hurt the most. Foam catches onto your locket. 

“A younger Suguru would’ve set his dragon on you if he saw you now,” you reply. No venom in your words. Just stating factual truths.

“Because we were stupid kids.” He smiles. “We were stupid kids who thought we knew everything. I thought I could have everything.” He leans down to kiss your neck from behind you. “I thought I could have you.”

Lost glory, tears turn your eyes cloudy. “Have me.” 

The spot where his lips touched your skin burns even after he washes all the soap off. 

You sit on the edge of the tub, Suguru towelling your feet dry on the heated floor. “My body’s not like it used to be,” you tell him, an apology in your tone that he frowns at. “After the pregnancy, I mean. I envy men. You look just as good as you did back then, even better, if anything.”  

“You look perfect, darling. I have scars too.” 

“And abs.” 

“Pardon me for having abs,” he grins, pressing kisses to your foot. “How could I ever make up for the crime of having abs?” 

You kick him lightly in jest, but he simply grabs your heel and kisses your calf instead. “You look like a mother should. Why is that bad? We’re not kids anymore. I’m happy that you lived a life and your body shows it. I just-” he kisses your knee. “- wish that you lived it with me.” 

“I wish he was yours,” you confess, sighing as Suguru parts your knees and buries his face in there. “My son. You should’ve been the father. Should’ve been my husband, my groom at the altar.” 

“Tell me more.” He briefly comes up for air before resuming his work. Master of your body, he draws his skill from both an archive of memories he hasn’t used in a decade and natural instinct that just knows. Soul-mate. 

You keen from divine pleasure, Suguru feasting on the taste of you to his heart’s content. You can feel his rock hard cock pressing against your leg. “We could do our hair similarly. I always thought lilies would go so well in your hair bun. We’ll wear cream white and ivory with just a hint of gold.” 

“How about a spring wedding? We’ll get a venue filled with cherry blossom trees.” 

“Yes! Ah-” Soft bathroom lighting catches on the edge of his jaw as he sucks on your clitoris, two fingers curled deep inside you. Searching around for that sweet spot… here or here or here– found it. “-Oh, Suguru!” 

“Keep talking,” he orders. “Darling.”

You gasp in between each word, trying to think of anything other than the burning pleasure flooding through you. “All- ah- our friends would be in attendance. Too much, oh, Suguru! Sigh- Nanako and Mimiko could be the ring bearers, Naosuke the flower boy.” 

His grasp on your waist is so tight, his nails mark your skin into little crescents. “I want another in your belly by that time.” He promises, “Have you pregnant under your pretty pretty wedding dress. Mark you mine.” 

Suguru cannot stop smiling like a fool when you grab the back of his head and hump your orgasm out on his face. 

“Wanna be mine so bad, darling?” His taunting words so unlike his gentle kisses as he carries you to the bedroom, his tongue still warm from the depths of your sweet cunt. You can’t help but moan. “Want to have my kids? Be with me forever?”

He places you into the bed soft as the most precious crystal in the world that he’s finally got his hand on after with much cost and yearning. His. You’re his. 

“I’ve been faithful, Suguru.” The diamond between your collarbones could almost trick him into thinking it’s true. Naobito Zenin’s wedding ring, chucked out of sight under furniture, still exists in the same reality as you two. Not that either of you were thinking about it. “Always been yours.”

Suguru kisses you over and over again, buried in your arms as he smooths your hair away from your face with his large hand. Sunk in you, surrounded by pillow fluff and warm blankets. The bedsheet is soft uncrinkled silk, made to be enjoyed sex on. It feels like he’s been out travelling the world for a decade and is just one step away from entering home. 

He thinks that you mouth ‘I love you’ before your face scrunches up through the sting of penetration. So pretty, so perfect, all his now. 

“I love you more,” a whisper that drowns under your cry as he pushes fully inside you. Snug fit, flesh made for each other. 

He can’t not bring up your husband, no matter how much it’ll hurt you. “Does he feel like me?” He thrusts harder, your eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. “Tell me, darling, does he?”

“He’s busy with his whores, thank fuck.” You reply, lightly pulling his hair to punish his unfounded jealousy. “At my luckiest, I see him once a month.” 

“I’ll kill him, I swear on your life.” 

“I would’ve done that myself if not for Naosuke. Besides, I’ve kept you with me.” 

It must be some telepathic connection because he immediately understands what you mean. It was a gag gift from Satoru 13 years ago when you had first started dating. A clone-your-penis kit, where you poured black silicone into a mould of Suguru’s dick and created your own homemade dildo. You used to hit Suguru on the head with it back then. 

“The scandal,” Suguru grins, “The Head Lady Zenin fucking herself on a silicone cock of her former lover. Did you enjoy that, darling? Cucking that old man? If you missed me that much, you should’ve just come to me.” He kisses you again, his rhythm messing up as he gets closer to finishing. “I keep waiting for you to come.” 

“Don’t pull out.” You tell him. 

“Of course not.” He replies. He doesn’t. 

Wrapped up in his arms, his full weight pressing you down, you pray that it takes. You pray so hard. You don’t know if you’ll see him again. The very thought of having to go back to your real life now, to put on the ring and hide the locket under your blouse, to serve dinner to the husband waiting back home and lay under him at night– the very thought makes you want to drown yourself in the bathtub. 

Again came the question you could not answer: what was your original sin? That at the critical juncture, what was the wrong choice– to run to the arms of a genocidal maniac or to meekly submit to the socially correct match?

Why, when you picked the right option 10 years ago, are you this miserable?

“Will you come?” He laughs stupidly at his own pun, all strength sapped out for the time being. “Seriously, will you?”

“Will you come, Suguru? Could you leave it all behind? Just run away with me, love and honour me?” You ask, “Marry me?”

Kitten-like, Suguru softly squeezed a breast, thinking. How could he love and honour you if he didn’t even love and honour himself? And how could he love and honour himself if he willingly chose to not be himself? Close his eyes and turn his back to the duty he was put on Earth to do? Accept defeat? Be weak?

No. you both knew that. No. At the end, it came out a no. 

But– “I could marry you.” He decided. The kind of decision that only the strong are allowed to take. “Who could stop me? I want you. I want to have you.”

“My son, he–”

“I would raise him as my own. I’d give him my name– Geto. Both of you will be mine. Our son, our daughters. How does that sound?” Rhetorical question, because Suguru has already decided that it sounds exactly like what he wants. 

“His birthday is soon, right, darling? We’ll have his renaming ceremony together as well. Wonder what technique he’ll have? Ha- the Zenins would only waste him, better off that I train him myself.” 

“Suguru, it’s too fast, I think.”

“I don’t.” 

He waits for you to debate him. You weren’t blind to his wrongdoings. You couldn’t even read the report from his last mission without vomiting from the pictures of the devastation he caused. Rotting bones, half-charred people, a whole village burnt off the map. And yet–

“Was I wrong? Darling, look me in the eye and tell me that I was wrong, that my logic or actions do not make sense, and I swear on your life that I will give it all up.” 

“... Your morals are wrong.”

“But am I wrong?” 

Is he? Is this the wrong decision? You’ve already made one in the past, but that was actually the right one which turned out to be wrong. Hell, is there even anything like a right or wrong decision? 

“No.” 

Suguru cleans you both up. After a quick cuddled-up nap and a light sashimi filler, you had to part. He was travelling back with his daughters and you could not stay the night without your son, who would cry and cry till he saw you. 

He walks you back to your Volvo, a spring in his step. He’s accomplished a lot before dinner today. “In case the cuck bothers you,” he nods to the detestful ring back on your finger, “kill this little bug-curse I’ve planted in your locket. I’ll know, and I’ll be right there before you blink an eye. Though I don’t doubt you can handle yourself.” 

Suguru opens the car door for you, kissing you a long goodbye right in front of the Zenin servants. Not that they dare flicker a glance at your direction, what with the leech-curse still wrapped around the car till Suguru called it back. “Remember our promise, guys?” He reminds them cheerfully. 

“Get home safe, darling. Bye-bye!” 

He’s still waving to your car disappearing into the distance when his own car reaches. “Woahhh– Mimiko, look, Geto-sama’s face is all red and happy!”

“Thanks for getting us the canvases, Geto-sama. Nanako, isn’t it obvious, he’s having hot flushes. Because he’s old.” 

“Thanks, Mimiko.” He replies, good mood unbroken by teenage girls. “How was the school trip? How did you like Tokyo?”

“It was okay. We just went to see shrines, like we don’t have more than enough of them in Kyoto,” Nanako replied. Mimiko was pulling out the cute plushies she bought to show him. “You lived here back when you were young, right? What about you, Geto-sama, did you have a good day?” 

“Oh,” he smiles, hugging his daughters to him. “Just the best.”

As they set off for home, Manami driving again and the girls asleep after their long day, Geto Suguru, victor of the day, taps on his iPhone: 

text when you reach 

see you tmr 

I love you 

previous series masterlist