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[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 7: Apologize

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Chapter Summary: When you call it quits on secrets, it’s funny how more of them spill out. Then Harry comes sprinting after you, begging for forgiveness. I mean, how can you say no to that face? Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 10,5k, ROMANCE, feelings!!! fluffy, rom-com, lust, passion, jealousy, dirty talk, love triangle authors note: Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

As the elevator headed up to the penthouse, disbelief hit you hard. How could Harry have lied to you like that? You’d been cleaning his place without even knowing it. It felt like a total betrayal, but honestly, you were more pissed off than anything. Then another thought struck you—those cameras. Had he been watching you this entire time?

“Jerk. Fuckin' asshole.”

“Huh?”

Right, you were in the elevator with Mia, this little girl you just met, both of you heading to the same flat. But it was clear you had a shared goal. The elevator chimed as you reached the penthouse, and Mia stopped you. “I need to do something first.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confused.

Mia peeked out of the elevator, checking the area. “The cameras,” she said.

You were caught off guard.

“I can’t let my mom find out I’m here, so I need to shut them down before we go in.”

“Your mom is Maria, right?”

“You know her too? Who even are you?”

With a smirk, you said, “Just think of me as your partner in crime.”

Mia raised an eyebrow. “Partner in crime?”

Leaning in a bit, you said, “I want to take down those damn cameras too.”

She thought about it for a second, narrowed her eyes, and then glanced at your uniform. “So that’s you, huh? My mom mentioned you.”

“What did she say?”

She smirked. “You are the girl who made Uncle Harry look like he’d been hit by a truck.”

You giggled. “I really want to hit him with a truck right now. Because you see, I didn't know it was his apartment when I was cleaning here, he played a trick on me. And as if that wasn't enough, he watched me on the cameras. So what do you say, partner? You want to smash those cameras?”

She frowned. “Smash them? What are you, a vandal?” She took his tablet out of her school bag. “Here, I'll activate the app here, but since we're partners, I need you to turn on the signal first, can you do that?”

You felt like an idiot next to this smart 10-year-old girl. “Okay, tell me what to do, partner.”

“Since you're the cleaning lady who always comes here...”

“Maid.” 

“Yeah, maid, whatever. I need you to go to the control panel on the wall and choose the option to connect to nearby devices.” 

You frowned. “Why can’t I just walk over and hit the button to turn off the camera? There has to be an option for that.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks Einstein, if you do that, the camera's feed will be disabled and Uncle Harry will receive a notification, which could make him suspicious. I’ll just link to the camera from the tablet and adjust its angle. Then there won't be anything to worry about. It's not like Uncle Harry is going to be monitoring the camera constantly during his meetings at work.”

Now you felt even more silly; it was a super clever plan. “Wow, you’re really smart,” you said. She styled her hair like her mom. “I know. Just go do what I say.”

You chuckled softly, “Understood, ma’am.”

She flashed a grin.

As you entered the apartment, you acted casually, avoiding the cameras while strolling down the corridor. “It feels like I’m in a movie,” you whispered to yourself. You quickly connected to the cameras through the control panel’s touch screen and hit "add device." Moments later, Mia's tablets name appeared, confirming the connection.

“Connection complete,” Mia announced as she walked in.

“High five, girl!” you said, extending your hand.

She laughed and high-fived you back. “We make an awesome team. I like you.”

“I like you too, Mia,” you replied with a wink.

Looking at the cameras, you realized Mia was indeed controlling them from her tablet. They were all aimed toward the corners, so as long as you didn’t walk by, the cameras wouldn’t catch you. Mia sprawled out on the couch as if it were her own home and started watching a video on her tablet. Glancing at her knee, you noticed it was slightly bleeding.

“Hey, let me take care of that knee,” you said, heading to grab a first aid kit. When you returned, you sat beside her and cleaned her wound with some alcohol. “Is this because you skipped school today? Is it about your mom?”

She sighed. “Yeah, it’s about her and my dad. They keep saying they’ll get divorced, but nothing changes.”

You paused. That must be tough for her. “I didn’t know; that sounds rough. How do you feel about it?”

She shrugged. “I just want them to figure it out already. I’m so tired of their drama and constant arguing.”

“I get it. If it ever gets to be too much, just call me. My place isn’t nearly as big as this one—barely bigger than the living room—but I’ll make room for you. What do you think?”

Mia smiled with a maturity beyond her years. “Thanks, you’re a really good friend.”

You smiled back and wrapped her knee with some bandages. “Alright, don’t take this off until tomorrow, got it?” 

“Got it, thanks,” he said as he flopped back onto the couch. “You’re mad at him, huh?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m really angry. I just want to break everything in here,” you muttered while glancing around. 

“How mature,” he remarked quietly. 

Feeling a bit embarrassed, you looked at her. “I mean, of course I won’t actually do that.” 

“My mom did,” she replied, surprisingly calm. “She broke everything in Dad’s office. You adults can be super childish sometimes, and then want us to act like we’re grown-ups.” 

You let out a nervous laugh. “You’re not wrong; we can be pretty childish about things.” 

“Just talk it out and figure it out,” she said.

You grabbed the first aid kit and stood up. “What if I’m so mad at him that I don’t even want to talk?”

She smiled. “I don’t think you are.” You raised an eyebrow. “Well, I hope you are not, because I don’t want him to be upset.” She was messing with something on her tablet.

You loved how she was just like her mom, always keeping an eye on Harry. “I don’t want to upset him, honey, but I have to make him eat a little humble pie, okay?”

“But you’ll forgive him later, right?” she asked with hope in her voice.

“Of course, I love him,” you said softly.

“Awesome,” she said, clearly happy, and went back to playing with the tablet.

“Well, I guess I should get back to my chores,” you said, heading into the kitchen to start cleaning up.

“What's up?”

Oliver stepped into his office to find Harry staring at his tablet with a frown.

“There’s something wrong with the cameras. They won’t rotate and there’s no sound coming through. Do you think there's a bug in the app?”

“Maybe your girlfriend got fed up with the cameras and sabotaged them,” he quipped, taking a closer look. “Let me see.”

“I can't blame her,” Harry replied, guilt creeping in.

Oliver noticed Harry’s troubled look as he fiddled with the app. “Seriously, when are you going to tell her?”

“I’m planning to do it tonight,” Harry said with determination. “I just couldn’t find the right moment this morning.”

At that moment, Maria walked into the office. “Harry, I'm seriously considering taking that tablet away from you. You’ve been messing with it more than Mia. I worked really hard to convince them—it’s not worth ruining the meeting over.”

“He was just worried he couldn’t see his girlfriend on the camera,” Oliver muttered.

Harry shot him a glare.

“Okay, that’s enough. I’m calling her right now and telling her everything,” Maria said, pulling out her phone.

Harry jumped up and grabbed the phone from her hand. “Stay out of it. I’ll handle this.”

Just then, her phone began to ring. “School,” Harry said, handing her phone back to Maria.

Maria picked up immediately. “Hello? Yes, this is her mom.”

Harry glanced at Oliver. “Have you fixed it yet?”

“Nope, it’s weird. It’s like someone else has logged into the cameras on their phone and taken over.”

“What did you just say?”

They both turned to Maria, who looked concerned. “Okay,” she said, hanging up.

Harry frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Mia,” Maria said as she dialed another number. “Her teacher said she didn’t show up to school today. Come on, pick up the damn phone.” But Maria’s face dropped when Mia's dad said he hadn’t seen her either.

“Or perhaps she went back home,” Oliver added.

“We’ll find out now,” Maria said, pulling up an app on her phone.

Harry moved closer to her. “What are you doing?”

“Tracking Mia with a smartwatch app,” she said, waiting for the app to locate her. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll try the app that tracks her phone.”

“Geez, Maria. Have you planted a bug on her, too?” Oliver said with a smirk.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she did,” Harry scoffed.

“You’ll understand when you become parents,” Maria replied, giving them a pointed look.

“Hopefully not for a long time,” Oliver said.

Harry chuckled at the idea.

“There! I’ve got it,” Maria said, her eyes widening. “Oh no. Harry, you need to see this,” she said, showing him her phone screen.

Harry froze, staring at the location the app found. “No…Fuck...”

Oliver leaned over to take a look. “Damn, this is your apartment.”

Cleaning duty today felt tougher than usual. Ever since you discovered it was Harry’s house, things had started to feel different, especially now that you were technically his girlfriend. It made you feel a bit like a housewife, which was both thrilling and painful at the same time. You still needed answers, as you felt genuinely hurt. But your love for him was so strong—what could you really do? Deep down, you weren’t sure how long you could cling to your anger. With your pride and stubbornness tossed aside, you weren’t thinking straight anymore, so you chose to let it go for now.

As you walked through the hallway with the cleaning bucket, your eyes landed on that door—the locked door.

The secret room.

What was Harry hiding behind it? There were no keys in sight, so how would you ever get it open?

Did Mia know about this room?

When you walked in to check on her, her eyes were closed; was she asleep? Just as you turned to slip out quietly, you caught a hint of a muffled sound—no, she was crying.

“Mia? Are you okay?”

She sniffled and nodded, but kept her eyes shut. You moved to sit beside her on the couch. “Hey, what’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing... just nothing.”

You gently patted her head. “You sure?  You can tell me. I'll keep it between us, I promise.”

“My mom and dad... I hate them, especially my mom. They decided to get divorced without even consulting me. I don’t want them to split up, but they didn’t even ask how I feel. They won’t love me anymore, and they’re going to be busier with their work.”

“Shh, don’t think like that. Of course, they’ll still love you. They’re your parents, and their love for you will never fade, I assure you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because a mother’s love for her child is unconditional; it can’t just vanish. You're not the reason they're breaking up, I swear. Sometimes, even if adults love each other, things get messy, and splitting up is the only way to handle it. It might seem like the end, but it can also lead to something better.”

“Really?” she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy.

“Absolutely, trust me. You’re lucky to have both your mom and dad around; I’m sure they’ll take care of you, even if things change. I kind of envy you because I lost my mom, and I'll never get the chance to tell her how much I miss her. I wish she were still alive. As for my dad... it feels like he doesn’t care about me—he doesn’t even bother to call, you know?” Your voice cracked slightly. “But your mom and dad are with you and must have been searching for you all morning, haven’t they, Mia? I’m sure they are worried—”

Looking down, you saw that she had fallen asleep, holding your hand tightly. A smile crossed your face as you wrapped your other arm around her. Suddenly, you felt tired too, and before you knew it, you drifted off beside her.

“Mia? Sweetie?” Maria called out for her daughter.

You blinked awake, realizing Harry’s face was mere inches from yours, and his hand was gently resting on your cheek. You stared at him for a moment before pushing his hand away and getting off the couch.

How did you even fall asleep?

Mia stirred and rubbed her eyes. “Mom?”

“What happened to your knee?” Maria's voice rang out.

“It’s nothing, just a little scrape. I fell in the street, and she helped me clean and bandage it.” She pointed to you.

All eyes turned to you, but you avoided their gazes. You forced a smile at Mia and quickly looked away. “I think it’s time for me to go. I hope you enjoyed my service, Mr. Castillo,” you said, trying to sound casual as you made your way to the door.

Oliver stood by the entryway, looking guilty.

“Wait,” Harry called after you. Just then, Maria touched your shoulder.

“Thank you. I’m so relieved that Mia has been with you all day,” she said, pulling you into a hug that took you by surprise.

“You’re welcome, she’s a very smart girl,” you replied, feeling a bit evasive.

She beamed at you, and you offered a smile back, though it felt awkward given the situation.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Harry approached you from behind, his voice soft but insistent.

You turned to face him. “With whom? With your girlfriend? Or with your maid-in?”

Harry let out a troubled sigh, his frustration evident as he glared at you. You turned away again. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you said, stepping closer to the door.

Maria nudged Harry from behind, encouraging him to move. He stepped in front of you, causing you to halt abruptly.

“How can you say there’s nothing to talk about? There’s plenty,” he insisted, moving closer and locking eyes with you.

You turned your head away again. “Were you trying to get revenge? If you wanted to talk, you should have spoken up sooner.”

“Revenge?” he replied, confused.

“So because I lied to you from the start and deceived you, this was your way of getting back at me?”

“I would never, never do that,” he shook his head, his expression earnest.

“Is it out of pity then?”

His brown eyes darkened with frustration. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Then why, Harry? Why did you hire me for this job without giving me a heads-up? You totally deceived me. Did you actually enjoy watching me on camera the whole time?”

“I’m sorry. I felt responsible because you were unemployed because of me, and I wanted to help—”

“It wasn’t because of you! Besides, I could have found a job myself. You didn’t need to use your money or power. Did you really think I would feel better about this? Right now, I just feel like a complete idiot. How could you do this to me?”

Maria took Mia’s hand and started to leave. “You two talk it out; we’ll give you some space, come on, Ollie.”

“No, there’s nothing left to say,” you snapped angrily.

"But you'll forgive him later, won't you?" 

"Of course, I love him." 

Oh no, that sounds just like what you told Mia earlier.

Did she record you? 

"Mia!" you complained, glancing at her.

She just shrugged, holding her tablet. "Sorry, my finger slipped."

"That's my girl," Mia said with a giggle, as she high-fived her. 

Oliver chuckled, and Harry smiled. 

But you narrowed your eyes at them, feeling furious. 

"Oops, we should get going," she said to her mother. They quickly headed for the elevator, leaving you alone with Harry.

But before you could go after them, Harry came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off your feet.

“What are you doing? Harry! Put me down!” 

“Nope. You're going to listen, sweetheart. No more running away.” 

“Let go!” you protested, but he refused to budge. 

 He carried you to the couch and set you down next to him, holding your hands tightly, but you turned your head away. 

“Baby, please forgive me. I tried to explain before, but I just couldn’t find the right words. I thought helping you find a job would make you happy. I never meant to offend or hurt you; please believe that.” 

“Did it have to be your house?” you grumbled. 

“Isn’t this better than being at someone else's place?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. 

His hand trembled as he sighed. “I mean, I hate this too. It hurts to see you so exhausted, to watch you work so hard, and I can’t stand the thought of your beautiful hands being worn down in those cleaning gloves. I want to kiss those lovely fingers, to cherish them.” 

As he began to kiss your fingers one by one, your heart raced. You almost let your guard down, almost kissed him.

Almost.

“Harry,” you whispered. “This is my job, and—” 

“Don’t,” he interjected, frustration evident in his voice. “Can’t you just skip the cleaning? You can keep working with Chef Bruno, but please, no more cleaning.” 

“Is it because you don’t want to introduce your girlfriend in that way?” 

“No, what I mean is—” 

You stood up, your frustration boiling over. “I’m sorry, but this is my life. I have no problem introducing you to my friends, but it seems you hesitate to do the same. I can’t change who I am.” 

He rose to his feet as well. “I don’t know how we ended up here. I never intended for this to happen. Listen-” 

“Harry, you listen. I understand your intentions, and I appreciate them, but I wish you had considered how I might feel in all of this. And I can't do this if...” 

“Wait a minute, why do I feel like you’re giving a breakup speech?” 

“Because I am,” you said, tears brimming in your eyes. 

“No, no, no, don’t do that.” He moved closer, but you took a step back and raised your hand. 

“We agreed there would be no secrets between us, but we couldn’t even manage that. How can our relationship develop from here?” 

“There are no secrets left now that everything is out in the open,” he said, trying to smile. You crossed your arms and bit your lip, acknowledging his point. Then he drew nearer and wrapped his arms around you.

“I promise, baby, there will never be any secrets between us again, I swear,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his breath soft and tender. “Please don’t leave me.” The plea struck deep within you, twisting like a knife. How could you even entertain such a thought? The very idea of parting from him was unbearable, a wound that throbbed in your chest and brought stinging tears to your eyes. It was the last thing you wanted—a painful notion that sent ripples of hurt through your heart.

In that moment, you set aside all other emotions and surrendered to the warmth of his embrace, allowing yourself to rest your head on his chest for a while.

“What about that locked room?” you asked then, glancing toward it, wiping your tears meanwhile. “I wonder what you’re hiding behind that door.” 

A sly grin crept across his face. “Do you want to see it? But promise me that once you see what’s inside, you’ll tell me you love me again, and you won’t leave me. Deal?” 

“It all depends on what’s in there.” 

He chuckled, then walked into the bedroom, still holding your hand. Nervousness washed over you as you tried to pull your hand back. 

“Relax, I’m not trying to lure you into bed,” he laughed. “At least, not right now.” 

“You wish,” you grunted. 

He chuckled as he opened the nightstand drawer. “Funny. You were practically begging me last night. I can still hear you meowing.” 

Your cheeks flushed. “I don’t remember any of that,” you lied. 

He pulled out a box from the drawer and took out a key. “I have the scars on my back to prove it, kitten,” he teased. 

Your face was burning now, as red as a tomato. “Stop it and do what you need to do.” 

Chuckling, he held up the key, “Here it is; come on,” taking your hand again. 

Together, you stood in front of the locked door. Harry inserted the key into the lock and paused to look at you. “Are you ready, baby? The big secret is about to be revealed.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Stop showing off and open the damn door,” you muttered. 

Grinning, he unlocked the door and stepped back, inviting you in with his hand.

You hesitated before stepping into the room, shocked at what you saw. 

To your left stood a massive floor-to-ceiling wardrobe filled with clothes, and to your right was a complete wardrobe of bags and shoes. In the center was an elegant dressing table. Harry slid open the wardrobe, revealing all the clothes and shoes he had ever bought you, carefully arranged. He embraced you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder and kissing your cheek. “It’s all yours. This room is for you. I was waiting for you to say yes to me before I revealed it to you.  I kept it locked and tried to stay away, but I found it hard to resist many times,” he whispered, nuzzling along the curve of your neck.

You were rendered speechless, taken aback. Then you noticed a jewelry box on the dresser. “Isn’t that the earring?” You walked over, picked it up, and examined it closely. “Have you had this all along?” 

“Oops, looks like another secret is out,” he said with a chuckle. 

You shot him a pointed look. “You really. Why didn’t you say anything when I told you I would pay you back?” 

“Because you broke my heart,” he replied softly. “You told me you never wanted to see me again, so I thought the earring would be a good excuse to get you to meet me.” 

“You're unbelievable,” you shot back, your irritation surfacing. 

“What about you?” he countered, but then his expression softened as he noticed the look on your face. “I love you,” he confessed, his lips forming the word like an apology. 

Damn he was so cute.

His adorableness made you giggle despite yourself. 

“You didn’t say it again.” 

“Say what?” 

“Do you want me to make you say it? Just like last night,” he whispered, leaning in close. “You remember how well that turned out.” His lips brushed against your earlobe as his hand slowly slipped down, hovering dangerously close to your thigh. Your reaction was instinctive; you caught his hand. However, his lips found their way to your neck, and you couldn't help but bite your lower lip and roll your eyes. “Harry, stop.” 

“I know you want me, baby; don’t try to deny it,” he purred, his voice low and teasing. 

“No, you’re wrong,” you replied, almost breathless. 

“Then why are you holding my hand so tightly?” he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips. 

You withdrew your hand quickly, shocked at your own reaction.

What the fuck?

When did this escalate?

You frowned at his chuckle. “I really hate you,” you whined, though your irritation was half-hearted. 

“No, you don't,” he laughed, clearly enjoying the banter. 

“Well, I really like this room, but that doesn’t mean I forgive you. And it definitely doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into bed with you,” you declared stubbornly. 

“Then what do I need to do to win your forgiveness? I’ll do anything,” he said, voice dripping with seduction.

The look he gave you was enough to make you avert your gaze. 

“I don’t know; I need to think,” you said, fighting back a giggle. “But I have to go now—I told Bruno I would head to the hotel early.” You turned to leave the room. 

He followed right behind you. “I’ll give you a ride.” 

You responded without looking back. “Well, if you’re that eager.”

With a smile, he followed you behind as you walked toward the elevator.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” Harry asked again as he parked the car in front of the hotel.

“You just asked me that five minutes ago."

“I’ll keep asking until you say you forgive me,” he replied, shutting off the engine.

You opened the door and turned to him. “At least let me think it over.”

He took your hand, pulled you closer, and placed a quick kiss on your cheek. “Whatever you say, kitty. Good luck at work.”

“Thanks for the ride,” you said with a faint smile, stepping out and closing the door behind you.

As you made your way to the hotel entrance, Harry watched you from the driver’s seat. Just then, you spotted Alan getting out of his own car, heading your way.

“Good evening,” he greeted you.

You turned and smiled, “Good evening, Mr. Finnegan.”

“Come on, call me Alan already, will you?”

Harry, watching from a distance, muttered, “Asshole.” Trying to keep his cool, he stepped out of the car and approached you two. “Baby,” he called out, and before you could react, he spun you around and kissed you so passionately that it left you breathless. Pulling back, he glanced at Alan and added, “I almost took off without kissing my girlfriend goodbye.” The way he said “girlfriend” caught his attention and everyone around the street.

Alan’s expression darkened.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, caught off-guard by how intimate the kiss had been.

“Anyway, I should be on my way,” he said.

"Yeah, you do that," you said, squinting at him and gesturing for him to leave.

“Good night, Finnegan,” Harry said, getting into his car, clearly amused by Alan's reaction.

Shaking your head at Harry, you noticed Alan squinting at him, clearly unamused. “I didn’t realize you were with him,” Alan said as he walked inside.

“Well, things are a bit complicated,” you murmured.

“Not surprising, things always get messy with Castillo,” Alan muttered quietly. 

“Excuse me?”

“I just... You really should think twice about being with him,” he warned lightly.

“Alan, it’s—”

“Anyway, I suppose my employees’ personal lives are none of my business,” he said with a smirk, heading toward the elevator.

What just happened?

Why had he said that?

And why was he suddenly in a good mood?

You really should have asked Harry about the weird thing between them, but now you had to focus—you had a kitchen to get to.

Things were really hectic in the kitchen, and as if that weren’t enough, Alan was having a business lunch in the dining room and asked you to make some desserts just for him. As you handed off the treats to the waitstaff, he called you over and praised your work. If he wasn’t your boss, you might have said something about his overwhelming attention, but you figured it was best to keep quiet until your internship was over. Then, just when you thought the day couldn’t get any worse, Melanie called.

“What do you want?” you asked, annoyed.

“What do I want? I need you to talk to my dad, and I want you to do it right now, like you promised!”

“I will, but I've been super busy and haven’t had time yet.”

“Well, it’s on you. If my dad doesn’t let me come back home, I’ll just crash at your place.”

“Wait, what? You called my house a disgusting little flat. Aren’t you with Nate? Can’t he help you out?”

“Don’t even mention that jerk!”

“Did you two break up already? Wow, that was quick, even for you.”

“Just drop it, okay? It’s none of your business. Talk to my dad tomorrow night or I’ll make your life miserable!”

“As if you weren’t already a pain in my ass!” you shot back and hung up in frustration. As you walked toward the exit, muttering under your breath, someone called out from behind.

Ugh, it was Alan again.

“Are you okay? You sounded like you were venting at someone on the phone,” he said, wearing that annoying smile.

“Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

“Well, if you did it, they probably deserved it,” he said, grinning.

Just when you thought it was over, you turned to leave but almost bumped into the revolving door. Alan grabbed your arm, pulling you back.

“Watch out!” he said.

What the hell?

You could’ve easily dodged the door; you weren't that clumsy. His other arm wrapped around you, too.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” you said, carefully pushing his hand away. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” he replied, watching you walk away as you stormed out. Your phone buzzed again, but you ignored it; you weren’t in the mood for more of Melanie’s drama.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps behind you and turned to see Harry.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone? Are you okay?” he asked, and just seeing him made you feel so much better.

“Yeah, sorry, thought it was Melanie,” you said, spotting the bouquet of pink roses he was holding.

“Is she still being a pain?”

“Forget about her; I’ll handle it. Are those for me?” you asked, trying to hide your smile.

“Of course they are, beautiful,” he said, handing you the flowers.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a whiff of the roses.

“Come on, let’s get to the car.”

As you walked together, he leaned closer. “Am I forgiven?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not in a day, ol'man.”

Harry sighed and opened the back door for you. “So, if I asked you to spend the night at my apartment instead of going home, you wouldn’t consider it?”

Ah, damn...

Those puppy-dog eyes and dangerously tempting lips made it hard to say no, but you somehow managed to act like you weren't interested, thanks to your stubbornness.

And the oscar goes to...

“N-no, sorry, I need to check on Zoe. She’s still home alone,” you stammered.

He sighed again and closed the door after you settled in the car.

“Hey, Ollie,” you said while he was chilling in the driver’s seat.

“Hey, girl! How’s it going? You two good now?”

“We’re good, right, baby?” Harry said, sitting next to you.

“Kind of,” you muttered, still eyeing the roses in your lap.

“Kind of?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged, teasing him.

“Come on, really? Okay, I’m taking you on a date tomorrow night, and we’re going to sort everything out,” Harry grumbled.

“Uh-oh,” Oliver chimed in as he drove.

You squinted at Harry. “If you ask me with that tone, you might be going on that date alone.”

“Okay, sorry,” he said with a sigh. "Would you like to accompany me for dinner tomorrow night, lovely lady?"

You giggled but kept your expression cool. “Um, let me check my calendar first.”

Oliver chuckled.

Harry squinted again.

“Alright, fine. But I need to have a quick chat with Jack tomorrow. If he agrees, you can pick me up at the hotel again.”

He smiled widely taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. “As you wish, darling.”

As you stepped into the apartment, the sweet scent of the bouquet Harry had given you lingered in the air, enveloping you until you finally reached your place with the flowers cradled in your arms. When you opened the door and walked inside, you were taken aback by the scene in front of you.

“Oh sweet Jesus!”

John and Zoe were on the couch, wrapped up in a passionate kiss—thankfully, they were fully dressed. The moment they noticed you, they pulled apart, and John shot up from the couch, his face a canvas of embarrassment.

But you felt even more embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry, guys, I, uh…”

“No, no, no, I’m so sorry!” John stuttered, quickly averting his gaze, adjusting his hair.

“Awkward,” Zoe murmured, covering her mouth in surprise. “I thought you were with your boyfriend,” she added, glancing at you and the bouquet still in your hands.

“Well, yeah… I mean, no, I wasn’t. It’s a long story.”

“I’d better be going. Bye, girls. Good night,” John said, grabbing his jacket and making a hasty exit.

Once the door closed behind him, you turned back to Zoe. "Jesus, girl, what just happened?"

Zoe huffed in disbelief. "I have no idea! He helped me change my bandage, touched my leg and then… suddenly we kissed. It was so strange, but it felt amazing."

“Strange”? You seemed pretty into it."

“It might have turned into something really hot if you hadn’t barged in,” she replied with a hint of annoyance.

“Sue me,” you muttered, placing the flowers in a vase on the table.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. You were with him last night, right?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, it’s a long story.”

“Still not officially together? Seriously, get your shit together already. What’s going on with you two?”

You let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know. Just when I think things are finally going well, something messes it all up, and I'm left feeling hurt again…”

“Uh-oh, spill everything.”

"Okay, do you want something cold to drink?"

"Yes, please! I’m dying of heat over here."

You giggled as you made your way to the fridge. “So if I had come in five minutes later, would you have been completely undressed? Good thing I didn’t.”

“You're so bad,” she laughed.

You began the day with that text that pinged on your phone the moment you woke up, that familiar message from the person you had been longing to hear from, the one you had been waiting for eagerly.

Morning, kitten. The sun is shining, the birds are singing— Isn't it the perfect day to make you feel like forgiving?

Was he rhyming?

He was really good at it or bad not sure, but he would have to try a little harder.

Hmm. I'm not sure if today is the day. You'll know for sure tonight, doll. I'll make you. Hmm, how ambitious. Always I am.

After you changed, you stepped into the living room and saw Zoe was getting ready.

“Where are you off to?”

“To the hospital to get my ankle checked.”

“Do you want some company?”

“John will,” she replied with a cheeky smile. “Besides, you’ll be off on your date with Harry tonight, right?”

Your cheeks warmed at the thought. “Well, yes, maybe.”

“I’m planning to invite John over for dinner, and he’d better come clean about something tonight.”

“Oh, I see, you’re trying to get rid of me, huh?”

"Come on, he shares an apartment with three guys; it’s more convenient for us to be here."

“Okay, don’t worry, I won’t crash tonight,” you replied with a grin, thoughts drifting to Harry’s bedroom.  

“Awesome!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.  

“Wow, you could be a bit less eager about this.”

“Sorry, but I can’t help it, I’m in love,” she said, giggling.  

“Apology accepted,” you responded, grabbed your bag, and headed out the door. Just then, you bumped into John in the hallway. “Hey."

“Hey there. How’s work treating you?”

"Good. Listen, John, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what’s up?"

"Do you have feelings for Zoe?"

"Yes, she’s a wonderful person, and cute too," he said, smiling.

He was definitely into her.

“I mean, I thought there was something going on between you and that woman Lucy at the wedding. I need to know if you really like Zoe.”

"Lucy is just my childhood friend and ex. But, don't you know her already?"

"I only know she's Alan's girlfriend and a matchmaker."

John crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Surprised that Castillo hasn’t told you about her."

“What’s there to tell?”

John let out a troubled sigh. “You know, I’m not sure if it’s a good time for me to drop this on you, but those two were actually together a few years ago.”

Damn, you were worried about this. "So that’s why," you murmured after a brief pause.  

“Listen, he will share the details with you, but Lucy isn't like you or Zoe. She deceived both me and Castillo, leaving us heartbroken in the end. I can't hold a grudge against her because we share this strange bond, but I promise you, I’ll never hurt Zoe because of this."

You nodded. "It better stay that way, John. You should tell her as soon as possible, or I will," you said. After receiving a nod from him, you turned and headed down the stairs to leave the building.

All day long, as you worked, your thoughts kept drifting back to Lucy. You regretted asking John about her. It wasn’t just that Harry hadn’t mentioned her—after all, that was fine considering the incident had happened years ago. What truly unnerved you was the possibility of her showing up at any moment, especially as Alan's girlfriend. It felt like trouble was just around the corner, and you couldn’t shake that feeling. Alan himself was another source of tension; his frequent encounters with you and his growing interest were weighing heavily on your mind. You knew deep down that sooner or later, things were bound to get complicated.

You really hoped this internship would wrap up soon, and that Chef Bruno would write you a glowing letter of recommendation. Yet, with the fair approaching and the day ticking down, you had to press on through the culinary internship.

Earlier, you'd called Jack, and he had already said he wanted to meet. As you waited at the table, you spotted him approaching and stood up to greet him. "Thanks for taking the time to meet me here," you said, shaking Jack's hand as he took a seat across from you.

"Of course, no problem," he replied, settling into his seat.

"Jack, about Melanie—"

"Save your breath, honey. I’m not here for her."

You were taken aback. "What do you mean? I thought that’s why you came—"

He pulled out a bunch of newspapers and magazines from his bag and dropped them on the table with a bang, making the glasses and plates rattle.

Your eyes went wide. “What’s all this?”

“Why don’t you check for yourself?”

Following his lead, you picked up the top magazine, and your heart sank at the sight of your own image on the cover. Someone had captured a photo of you and Harry dancing at the wedding from a distance.

Who is the mystery girl dancing with famous businessman Harry Castillo? the headline read.

You quickly grabbed another magazine, revealing a picture of you and Melanie.

Get ready for a surprising twist! How did the maid in Melanie Johnson's mansion pretend to be her and trap a famous billionaire?

“Ugh, what a bunch of vultures,” you muttered, shaking your head.

As you continued flipping through the articles, the headlines turned more shocking. Words like "gold digger," "sneaky housekeeper," and "fortune hunter" jumped out at you.

"That's what I was warning you about," Jack said. "I don't want you to worry, though—none of these magazines have been printed yet. These are all test editions. We managed to confiscate them before they went into mass production, and Harry’s assistant has ensured the online stories have been taken down."

You looked up at him, relief washing over you. "Thank you, Jack."

"You don’t need to thank me for dealing with the news, which includes Melanie; I did that for my own reasons. But regarding the rest..." He pointed to the magazine cover with your dancing picture. "This is the thing I wanted to discuss. I see you as a daughter, so take this advice from a father to his daughter: end whatever is happening between you and Harry before it spirals out of control. If this keeps up, there’ll be more stories about you, people will dig into your past, and in the end, it’s you who’ll get hurt. Do you understand?"

You sighed. "Jack, I honestly get what you’re saying, and I do appreciate it. But there's nothing in my past or family that I’m worried about. Gossip like this finds someone new to focus on every day; it could just as easily be me one day and someone else the next."

He paused for a moment, then nodded slowly. "So, it appears there's something more between you two than I realized. You've made up your mind. Well, it's your life, after all. I just hope you don’t wind up hurt and come to regret this decision.”

"Jack."

You both turned your heads, and damn it was—Alan. He usually didn’t come to the hotel on Saturday nights, but today was clearly an exception.

Of course.

Jack stood up to shake his hand. "Alan."

"How are you? Didn’t see you at the wedding."

"I was in D.C.," Jack replied. Just then, his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and answered. Alan looked at you with a smile, and you returned it.

Damn, he might have noticed the magazines on the table, you thought.

"Sorry, I’ve got to leave," Jack said suddenly.

You stood up, worry creeping in. "Is everything okay?"

"Melanie," he hissed, frustration clear in his voice. "She ran away from home."

"What do you mean she ran away? Or have you been keeping her locked up?" Your voice rose higher than you meant it to.

You couldn't shake off the memory of that one time Jack had locked her in her room, and it had ended poorly. A shudder ran through you at the thought.

"I had no choice. I thought she’d see reason and come to her senses, but apparently, I was wrong."

"Jack, are you out of your mind? Do you really not know your daughter? Locking her up isn’t the solution!"

Heads in the dining room turned toward you.

"You’re right. I messed up this time, but I couldn’t let her keep hanging out with that playboy Nate."

"I can’t say I blame you for that," you replied quietly.

"Anyway, I really have to go. Catch you later, Alan."

"See you, Jack."

As Jack strolled away, casting a backward glance, a heavy sadness settled in your chest. Melanie hadn't matured much and was acting like a nightmare. Despite his faults, Jack was a good father—if only he showed a little more genuine care to his daughter more than his work.

"Sounds like Melanie’s giving Jack a rough time," Alan said, still holding onto that smile.

"Yeah, she’s a bit immature," you admitted quietly.

To your surprise, Alan looked around the table and sat down in Jack’s vacated chair.

"Have a seat; your dessert's still waiting."

You did your best to keep it together and not roll your eyes. "Thanks, but I really need to go—"

"Just give me five minutes, alright?" he said, leaning in a bit closer.

You glanced at your watch, thinking about how Harry would be picking you up in about an hour. With a sigh, you plopped back down. "Fine."

"Thanks," he said, adjusting his suit jacket and settling in. "I know what happened here last time." You looked at him in surprise; this wasn't what you expected. "About what Lucy did..." He paused and took a breath. "I want to say sorry on her behalf."

Your eyes widened. “Alan, it’s okay. But if you start treating me differently because of her, it will only make her dislike me more. Plus, this kind of stuff probably isn't over yet."

“It won’t happen again,” he stated firmly. “I won’t allow it in my hotel. I broke up with her, and I doubt she will be coming back here.”

“That can’t be the only reason you decided to break up with her, right?”

He smiled and shook his head. “No, but it played a part. It’s disgraceful to have such disrespect shown here, especially towards our customers. I was wrong about her; she’s not the kind and innocent person I thought she was.”

"I’m sorry," you said, your tone a touch insincere.

"Not me," he replied with a grin. "I’m kind of relieved."

What was that supposed to mean?

A nagging feeling grew as you sensed he was gearing up to say something you wouldn’t like.

"One of the reasons I broke up was because of a question she asked me."

Oh, please, let this be over.

"She wanted to know if I had feelings for you."

You fought to maintain a neutral expression.

Don't say that, please don't.

"I couldn't answer her because, honestly, I actually have feelings for you that I didn't realize until now."

That was more than you could handle.

"Alan, do you even realize what you’re saying?"

"Yes, I’m fully aware."

You sighed deeply. "Maybe you’re mistaken," you suggested, looking away and starting to shake your foot nervously.

"No, I absolutely know how I feel now. I like you." He reached across the table and took your hand, catching you off guard.

You quickly pulled away. "Alan, I’m with Harry."

"You mentioned before that things were complicated between you two," he said, casually picking up one of the magazines.

"That doesn’t mean I don’t love him," you shot back, your voice sharp.

His serious expression told you he wasn’t taking it lightly.

You stood up, feeling a surge of urgency. "Look, Alan, whatever you’re feeling, you need to let it go, or I won’t be able to stay here."

"Are you really going to quit your internship?"

"If I have to, yes," you affirmed.

"Alright, I won’t pressure you unless you come to me yourself."

Surprise and annoyance washed over you. "That’s not going to happen."

He leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile on his face. "Don’t be so sure; life has a funny way of surprising us.”

What the fuck?

Your phone started ringing, and you just held it in your hand without answering as you rushed out of the dining room, still shaken by what had just happened. It was Nate calling, so you definitely weren't picking up; you quickly silenced your phone. Taking a deep breath, you let it all go and shifted your focus to getting ready for your date. Harry had offered to buy you a dress again earlier, but you turned him down. This date was meant to feel like a fresh start, a first date of sorts, and you wanted to treat yourself to the entire process.

During lunch break, you popped into one of those upscale department stores and slipped into the black, shimmering backless dress you had chosen—probably the priciest dress you had ever bought, costing almost four months' salary. You tried to keep a positive mindset; nothing would ruin tonight. The expensive Birman black shoes that Melanie had given you the night before matches perfectly with the dress. Just as you were putting the finishing touches on your makeup, your phone rang again, but your smile quickly faded when you glanced at the screen.

It wasn’t Harry.

Seeing "Trouble" light up the screen only added to your anxiety.

No way were you picking up.

The phone could ring its heart out. When it rang again as you reached for your red lipstick—perfectly matching your nails—you pushed on, determined to finish your look.

However, the incessant ringing soon got on your nerves, and you finally answered, ready to give Melanie a piece of your mind. “Look, I can’t deal with your drama right now—”

“It’s me, Garry.”

You could barely hear him over the loud music in the background. “Garry? What are you doing on Melanie’s phone? And where in the world are you?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on her for a while; she’s completely wasted, and I don’t know how to handle this. Please, I need your help.”

“Look, I have a very important date tonight—”

“And it seems we have our new volunteer dancer!” a woman’s voice chimed in, followed by masculine cheers and applause.

Oh man.

“Don’t tell me you’re at a strip club!”

“You just heard it. I’ll try to drag her out of here, but you need to hurry. I’ll send you the location.” Garry hung up before you could say anything. “Garry! Hold on—what the hell! What kind of night is this?” you exclaimed, quickly changing up your outfit and bolting out of the room.

When the taxi driver brought you in front of the strip club, you were cursing inside, nervous and angry. It was too much, the strip club was too much, even for her. How could she be so thoughtless and reckless?

At the entrance to the door, unfortunately, everyone was staring at you, including the women.

Oh that's right, you were all dressed up, probably looked breathtaking, but it wasn't to come here, damn it, it was to meet your boyfriend. 

Things got even worse when you entered the club. You've never been in a club like this before, it wasn't like other nightclubs.

You're thinking, No shit, I wish it was.

The music was blaring, and two girls were dancing on stage. Some men were cheering and staring at you.

Great.

Ignoring the gazes, you spotted Garry and made your way to him. However, just like the other guys, he seemed fixated on the girls performing. “Hey!” you nudged him.

“Oh you're here? Wow girl, you look great, but I wish you hadn't come here wearing a dress like this.” he said, looking around at the men.

“I couldn't change because you called me while I was getting ready for my date.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, but Melanie's gone crazy.”

“Where is she?”

“She was going on stage and tripped and fell, I was tried to check her but the women wouldn't let me in. That's why I called you.”

“Goddamn it,” you grumbled, shoving your purse at him. “Hold this, I’ll go get her, and then we’ll all head to the car together, okay?”

“Got it. I’ll wait here.”

Just as you left, Garry couldn’t help himself when your phone started ringing non-stop. He didn’t think to check your purse without asking, but when it rang like crazy, he finally picked it up. “Yeah?”

Harry nearly wrecked his car when he heard a guy’s voice on the other end. “Who the hell are you? Why are you answering my girlfriend’s phone?”

“Mr. Castillo, you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Mr. Johnson's driver.”

“Wait, is that club music I hear? Where is she?”

“We're at the strip club. It’s kind of complicated.”

Harry was stunned and slammed on the brakes, making the tires screech on the road. The car behind him honked and yelled, but he didn’t care. “Just tell me where the club is!”

"Melanie, I swear to God, if you don't come with me right now, I'll drag you out of here by yanking your hair if I have to! I'll do it, believe me, I will!"

“Not until Nate gets here!” she snapped.

The girl was not only drunk but also trying to climb onto the stage. You were tugging at her from behind the curtain, hoping Garry could lend a hand, but she was putting up a fight.

“Hey, you two, get lost! Stay clear of the stage!” one of the dancers hissed at you.

“I'm not interested; as you see, I'm trying to get her out of here!” you retorted, still struggling to pull Melanie back.

“No! I’m going up there! I paid for it!” Melanie shouted defiantly.

“What did you just say?” you exclaimed, bewildered. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Leave them alone, girls,” an older woman chimed in, casting a knowing glance at you. “The guys who wanted you on stage shelled out a lot of cash,” she said with a sly smile.

Melanie laughed. “See? They’re dying to see me! Nate needs to get over here right now, call him!”

“It wasn’t for you,” the woman replied, eyes darting between Melanie and you. She surveyed you up and down, a smirk playing on her lips. “They paid for you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “I’m not a dancer or stripper.”

“That doesn’t matter, darling. You look fantastic. I could even give you half the take.”

“What the fuck? You promised me that I’d go on stage! Not her!”

You narrowed your eyes and glared at Melanie. “No one’s going up there!” you shouted firmly.

“Enough with this! Girls,” the woman called out, and the two dancers approached you, trying to take off your jacket.

“Hey! Get your hands off me! What do you think you’re doing?” you exclaimed, wrestling against them.

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t overreact. Just trust yourself,” she replied, grabbing your wrist. But before she could pull you away, someone else seized her arm and pushed it back.

“Leave her alone!”

When you spotted Harry, a mix of surprise and embarrassment washed over you, yet relief followed quickly. He grabbed your arm, pulling you behind him, and draped his jacket around you, wrapping you with it.

“Hey, mister, what do you think you’re doing?” the woman asked, taken aback.

"If you touch my girl again, I'll bring this club down!" Harry growled.

Just then, a man approached you two, dressed in a suit. "Mr. Castillo, there's been a terrible misunderstanding. Please forgive us, sir." He then turned to the girls. "Get back to work and return the money to those customers." 

"And give me back my jacket!" you shouted. 

Harry reached over, snatched it from one of the girls, and pulled you closer. "Are you okay?" 

You nodded. "Yeah, thanks. Melanie! Harry, stop her!" you exclaimed, pointing at her. Harry grasped her arm and pulled her away from the stage. 

That's when Nate strolled in, his phone in hand, ready to take pictures. "Oh no, did I miss the show?"

The son of a bitch was grinning.

"It's all your fault!" you shot at him. 

Garry came over to Melanie. "Miss Johnson, let’s head to the car, please." 

Melanie clung to Harry's arm touching his face. "Hey, old man, want a lap dance?" She was clearly trying to make Nate jealous, but it was Harry she had her hands on. 

Your man. 

Harry chuckled as he gently pushed her hand away. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I'm not interested."

Wait a minute.

Not only was Melanie, but almost all the women dancers were looking Harry up and down. A wave of jealousy washed over you.

And then you lost it.

You were so angry that you pulled her off of her by the hair. "You little slut, who do you think you're touching?" You pushed her towards Nate. "Take your girlfriend and get the hell out of my life! Garry, you call Jack right now!" you said to him. Grabbing Harry's hand tightly, "Let's get the hell out of here." you urged.

He was still laughing as you pulled him out with you.

“Stop laughing, Harry,” you scolded as you made your way to the car.

“But you were so cute when you protected me from real Melanie back there,” he replied, still chuckling.

You paused and turned to face him. “Are you really enjoying this?”

“Actually I don’t know what to think. Do you know how angry I was when I saw you here with those women? And those men… the way they look at you? I think I hate the real Melanie.”

“Welcome to the club,” you replied sarcastically. “But I’m sorry; you are right. I shouldn't have come here. Tonight was supposed to be special, and now it’s all ruined—just like my hair,” you said, running your fingers through your locks.

Harry glanced at the clock. “Um, the restaurant is about to close.”

“I really messed up,” you said, biting your lip. “I’ve ruined everything.”

He gently took your face in his hands. “Nothing’s ruined, baby. We’re going to plan B.”

“You had a plan B?” you asked, intrigued.

“I just came up with it,” he said with a grin. “Come on, we’re starting over.”

You smiled. “Okay, but where’s your car?”

“There it is,” he said, pointing to a red sport car.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “But it’s a Mustang GT!”

“That’s right. I rented it just for tonight,” he said, pulling the keys from his pocket and handing them to you. “So, am I forgiven now?”

You snatched the keys from his grasp. “Let me take it for a spin, and I’ll think about it.”

He laughed, and as you slid into the driver’s seat, he took the passenger seat beside you. You fastened your seatbelt and started the engine. “Hold on tight, ol'man.”

“Drive carefully, honey. The streets of New York are a whole different beast compared to the traffic you dealt with back in Paris.” 

You shot him a playful glance before slamming your foot on the gas. “I accept the challenge.”

“Hey, that wasn’t a challenge,” he retorted, his eyes wide as he clutched the seat.

You laughed, the thrill coursing through you. “Relax! A little excitement never hurt anyone.”

“You excite me enough in that dress, babe,” he grinned, glancing at you with a mix of admiration and mischief. 

After a few exhilarating laps, embarrassment washed over you when the flashing lights of a police radar caught you speeding through the night. Still, you found a way to enjoy the moment, laughing together as you swung by a 24-hour diner to grab some late-night munchies before heading toward Harry’s building. “Wow, that was an incredible ride."

“Yeah, it was a blast, even if it’s going to cost me a few hundred bucks in fines,” Harry said, opening the car door.

“Oops, sorry about that,” you said, stepping out of the car.

As he opened the trunk, he pulled out a huge bouquet of roses. “If it hadn’t been for that strip club incident, I would have met you at the hotel with this.”

“Harry,” you murmured, touched.

“Here you go, Cinderella—99 roses.”

You raised an eyebrow as you accepted the bouquet. “Why not a hundred?”

“That’s you,” he said, smiling sweetly. “The hundredth rose is you.”

You felt yourself melting at his words.

“That’s very romantic, ol'man. Thank you,” you said, reaching out to kiss his cheek.

“So, you forgive me now, right?” he asked, extending his arm so you could take it.

“Come here,” you said, encouraging him to lean closer. He complied, and you shared a tender kiss, sweet and gentle. “You’re forgiven, Mr. Castillo.” 

He grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist, leaning in to kiss you again, this time with more passion, the world around you fading away. But since you were still out on the street, you gently pushed him back, laughter in your eyes. “Save the rest for later, mister.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer with one arm still wrapped around your waist, and together you strolled toward the entrance.

“Here we have some Bordeaux wine,” he said as you unpacked the food and set the plates on the table. 

“Parfait,” you replied with a smile, embracing the French language. 

With skilled hands, he uncorked the wine using a polished corkscrew, the soft pop echoing in the cozy room, and poured the ruby liquid into your glasses, its rich color glinting in the soft light. 

“Hmm, delicious,” you remarked, savoring the first sip. 

As you shared the meal, the conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving in and out of tales about Melanie and the others, laughter bubbling up like the wine in your glasses. “That’s actually much better,” you said softly, feeling the warmth of the evening. “I mean, it’s better that we’re here than in a bustling restaurant.”

“I couldn’t agree more; it’s just the two of us,” he replied, his fingers entwining with yours.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your gaze locking with his, a deep connection simmering in the air between you. 

He sighed and stood up, a hint of excitement in his voice. “I have something for you.” 

“Another surprise?” you asked, intrigued. 

He returned with a small box, sitting back down and handing it to you across the table. Different from any jewelry box you’d seen, it piqued your curiosity.

"I’ve been pondering this all day, and I've come to a realization. I always wanted you to be part of my world, but I was missing something important," he said as you opened the box. Inside, you found a card and a key. nstantly, you recognized them; it was the very card and key you had used countless times for the elevator and the apartment door.

“Harry,” you gasped, taken aback. “You mentioned that you don’t feel like you fit in my world, so how about letting me into yours?”

Your eyes filled with tears as you rose and embraced him tightly. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.” 

He pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you before leaning in for a kiss. Then, he turned on some soft music from the stereo. “Will you dance with me?” 

You nodded. “Absolutely.” 

You found yourselves swaying together, lost in the slow, sweet melody, savoring the magic of the moment in comfortable silence.

But then the tension between you began to rise. Harry ran his hand through the fabric of your dress. “Great choice of dress by the way.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” he whispered.

“What about my bra?” you said huskily, guiding his hand to the lace strap of it.

“I admire it,” he purred.

You lifted the skirt of the dress, revealing your lace garter stockings. “My stockings?” your eyes twinkling.

He smiled at you and reached out, drawing a circle on your leg with his fingertip. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on the side of your neck. “I worship it, baby,” he said, his voice breathy and deep.

Your arm found its way around his waist, and your fingertips caressed his back. “Mmm. Keep doing that, please.”

He chuckled and continued, his hands slowly creeping up under your dress. You gave a deep, breathy moan when he latched on to the spot behind your ear, licking, sucking. Getting eager, you found his lips and kissed him, your tongue sweeping into his mouth tentatively. He responded by grabbing your hips and pulling you, lifting you into his lap. Then you broke the kiss to unbutton his shirt.

Taking a brief moment to admire you he let you stripped him out of his shirt before kissing you deeply, exploring your mouth hungrily. Popping the clasp on your bra with ease he let it fell to the floor, whilst he kissed a path between your breasts leaving a trail of goose flesh in his wake. Noticing your nipples were already pert betraying your arousal, taking one between his thumb and forefinger he rolled it making you cried out, lowering his head he circled you other with his tongue before drawing it into his hot mouth and sucking. He could feel his cock straining against the his pants but he ignored it focusing all his attention on you. He repeated the action with your other nipple before moving on, his lips gliding down over your ribs, across your stomach towards the garter belt and waistband of your panties.

Hooking his thumbs into the lace, he pulled the small scrap of material down your shapely legs until you could kick them off, but letting the garter belt still be on you. Kneeling before you he cupped your hips bringing you closer to him inhaling your scent, then he ran his tongue along your wet folds the cry that escaped you when he circled your clit was guttural, he felt his cock throb begging for attention but he ignored it once again. Slowly he worked you over, teasing you with shallow thrusts of his tongue into your velvety softness over and over again until your skin was slick with sweat and your thighs began to tremble.

“Please,” you begged, your fingers tangled in his curls, clinging to him. In answer to your plea, he flicked his tongue over your swollen bundle of nerves until you cried out when your orgasm hit. Keeping a tight grip on your hips, he held you steady, letting you ride it out before kissing his way back up your body, finally claiming your lips once more. You tasted yourself on his tongue, but you didn’t care; you devoured each other desperately.

Once your equilibrium returned, your hands found his belt, quickly you unbuckled it and pulled it from the loops before popping the buttons on his fly and pushing the material down over his hips. He shucked his pants and his boxers off and before he knew it your hand was around the base of his throbbing member and you were pumping him into your fist. He gritted his teeth, "Fuck, baby, you are such a needy kitten aren't you? Good girl. But there’s no way I’ll last if you keep that up."

Taking your hands in his, he threaded your fingers together and crushed his lips to yours once more, pinning you against the wall with your interlocked hands above your head. You gasped in response. His aching cock lied heavily against your core, you shuddered. He realized he couldn’t stand it anymore; he needed to be inside you.

Hoisting you up, he hooked your legs around his waist, pushing into you in one smooth stroke.

"Harry," you moaned, feeling dizzy with incredible consuming lust.

Your hair was plastered to your sweaty face now and in the throes of passion when your pupils dilate, cheeks flushed.

"You're breathtakingly beautiful just like this, darling," he hummed.

You were soft and warm, and your walls gripped him tightly as he thrust into you, making love to you against the wall. God he’s missed you so damn much, burying his head into the crook of your shoulder he picked up his pace, he knew you were close because he can feel your inner walls begin to tremble around him. Your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, your heels press into his firm ass as he pounds into you deeper and deeper.

As you ran your fingers through his hair down to his neck, spurring him on with sweet cries. "Harder, faster, please."

"Fuck," he growled, pressed his forehead against yours so that he held your gaze as your second orgasm striked. You screamed his name as your body locked up, your sex gripping his cock in an iron grasp.

He made an incoherent sound and cursed as your orgasm triggered his, and he released himself inside of you. You collapsed into each other a hot, sticky, sweaty mess, panting heavily. When finally he caught his breath, he ran his nose along your smiling devilishly down at you.

“So how was it, baby?” he asked waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Fast, delicious, hair-raisingly good,” you giggled.

"How about a second round? This time in the bedroom?" he panted, still catching his breath.

You tightened your arms around him playfully. “You betcha, mister."

Just as your words finished, he scooped you up and rushed toward the bedroom, causing your laughter to ring out cheekily through the hall.

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your comments, likes, and reblogs. I'd love to hear what you think about the chapter!

here's the taglist...

@balhoneysweetstuff @orcasoul @pedroslut4eva @lailathepedritofan @queenofodds @darkheartgatita @ccmoonshine @suzysface @javiismyhsbnd @aurorathegreekprincess @daejangandimja @longlivekingminnn @jisungandpedrolover @urlivingdeadgirl @laliceee @sincerelywithheartt @indiegirlunited @fancyyoouu @blackborndue @shinymusicpanda @her-fandom-sanctum @aegoniipascal @zanylightmilkshake @bonadeaamo @spencercmlover @heramj @pedroloverbilmemkac @churchofjoemiller @urlivingdeadgirl @thanyatargaryen @icanbringyouinhot @universallygentlemenharmony @bitchyfestnight @sukivenue @l1zzygr0nt @pedrofan @javiismyhsbnd @00honey @brittmb115 @picketniffler @javiismyhsbnd @00honey @kneelarmhstrung @zanylightmilkshake @melsunshine @inept-the-magnificent @catofash @secretlettersfromyourlove @pedge-page @speaktothehandpeasants @krystal---meth @pasc4lfuzz @brittmb115 @behomewhenthestreetlightscomeon @kneelarmhstrung @pedrofan @l1zzygr0nt @sukivenue @cherri-zaza @0-moonbeam-0 @krystal---meth @joelmillerpascal @harrington-thedad @darkheartgatita @javiismyhsbnd

If you want me to add you to the tag list or remove you from it, just let me know! if I missed your name, I'm sorry, remind me, plz.

lots of love 💋💋❤️❤️

[luludeluluramblings]

A meme for feral basis if I may:

*babies first kidnapping*

Criminals: "We have you're daughter now give us 12 million or she dies."

Bruce: *sweats* "WhIcH dAuGhTeR!?

Criminal 1: *describes feral mc whose actively biting through her restraints*

Bruce: Good luck! *laughs and hangs up*

Criminal 1: What the?! dang kid your dad must hate-

*notices they're gone*

Criminal 2: Where I'd she go?!

*They hear feral laughter from everywhere*

Criminal 3: She's in the walls. SHES IN THE WALLS!!

Mc: *Appears behind them like the undertaker* Boo!

Criminals: *horrified screams*

Actually this is baby's third kidnapping.

The first kidnapping Feral!Reader was on their best behavior. They had just moved to Gotham and the whole family had been pounding into their head that they needed to behave and show some decorum.

So Feral!Reader managed to keep all intrusive thoughts under control that one incident.

Bruce (and the rest of the family) freaked the fuck out. Their little abomination was kidnapped for ransom. They're monstrosity had some thugs holding a gun to their head.

Of course, Feral!Reader doesn't flinch or anything. They stay very mindful and demure.

After the whole incident, Feral!Reader does get grazed with a stray bullet. But, they were so excited that they did such a good job even if Bruce was in cardiac arrest from the possible close call.

Bruce makes the decision then and there that Feral!Reader is allowed to go ape shit ONLY when kidnapped.

Which leads us to the second kidnapping. Well, attempted. The idiots tried to kidnap Feral!Reader from a gala. High society has given Bruce so much space since.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

*Goons break into Gala to hold everyone hostage and steal shit*

*Villain of the week monologging *

*Bat Fam hidden in various locations around the Gala with com-links*

Bruce *hidding in a closet* : Who's on patrol tonight?

Barbara *in the BatCave* : Jason, but he's twenty minutes away.

Damian *Under one of the tables* : We can take them.

Stephanie *By the dessert table* : Not if we want people to ask questions.

Duke *back at the manor* : I can maybe swing it in fifteen if I use the Bat mobile.

Damian: Now who wants to drive it?

Tim *stuck with a group of investors getting their luxury watches stolen* : Shut up you two.

Jason *Driving on his motorcycle* : I'm on my way. Cass can be my backup.

Bruce: Good, we can manage until-

Dick *at a random table* : Feral!Reader vanished on me!

Stephanie: How did you lose them?!

Bruce: Does anyone have visual on them?

Damien: No, but I have a bad feeling.

Barbara: I'm pulling up security footage of the venue.

Jason: I'm booking it.

Duke: I'm heading to the Cave to suit up.

Tim: Wait, I think I saw them. Their by the buffet table.

*Feral!Reader ginning manically while they steal the fuel pots from the food warmers.*

Tim: Oh, that's not good.

Bruce: What's not good?

Tim: Babs, get the fire department on speed dial.

*Feral!Reader manged make a pipe bomb with a few things they found. Then used some random fabric they ripped from their clothing hog tie the villain and their goons.*

Villain: You little bitch!

Feral!Reader: Don't call bitch or you ain't gonna like what I do to you!

Villian: Do your worst, bitch!

Feral!Reader: Bet.

*Feral!Reader proceeds to procure a bottle of maple syrup and a fire ant farm before shoving both objects down the villains pants.*

Feral!Reader: My cousin once said that this was a good hack to make your dick bigger.

*Villain screaming.*

*Goons screaming cause the ants are getting on them too.*

*Gotham elite looking in horror.*

Bruce: ...

Bruce: Well, I'm sure this was just a one time incident.

*It was not.*

Tim: Someone needs to check on that cousin…

[batboyblog]

I'm seeing a worrying amount of idiots on tumblr dot com push that "Kamala hates trans women" and I am losing my mind at how they are pushing it, constantly, saying she is a proven transmisogynist, despite it being a complete lie and her actively working behind the scenes to help trans women in prison. Is there like, sources that could help debunk this shit because I'm at my wits end as these people scream and cry and vomit trying to get biden to drop out but then are like "eghhhh still don't wanna vote for a transphobic cop..." when she's NEITHER-

Isn't the internet wonderful? first rule NEVER examine your priors! ALWAYS! hang onto whatever the first hot take you had on a subject to THE DEATH!

"Kamala is Transphobic!" over here in reality

past that trans and LGBT rights groups have been quick to endorse her like

Advocates for Trans Equality

Human Rights Campaign

just today 1,100 LGBT celebrities, lawmakers and leaders endorsed her

“The intersection on the issue of reproductive care and trans care, and the ability of families to be able to have care for their children and their families, is really, again, an intersection around attacks that are on an identity,” -Vice-President Harris, 2023

any ways the root of the idea she's transphobic comes from one case in 2015. Two inmates in the California State Prison system sued to get GRS, which as inmates would have been covered by the Prison system. It's worth noting here, both women got what they wanted, one was paroled and got the surgery covered by California Medicare while the other serving a life sentence was ultimately covered by the prison system.

Two things are important to bear in mind here, 1. Part of the job of California Attorneys General is to defend the state when it is sued, thats the job, 2. It seems early on in the case Harris was not personally aware of it, about 1,000 lawyers work in the Cali AG's office and so the AG cannot be personally aware of every case, and check this quote from the Lambda Legal lawyer handling the case:

“The California AG’s office shifted its handling of these cases significantly after now-Sen. Harris took over,” Renn said. “Initially there was language in briefing for the state that glaringly misunderstood the medical necessity of transition-related medical care and was patently offensive. But then, there was a dramatic change, which seems to have gone along with important policy shifts.”

Link

in 2019 Harris talked about the case and working after it was settled to change the policy of the California State Prison system

"When that case came up, I had clients, and one of them was the California Department of Corrections. It was their policy. When I learned about what they were doing, behind the scenes, I got them to change the policy," Harris said.

"I commit to you that always in these systems there are going to be these things that these agencies do. And I will commit myself, as I always have, to dealing with it," Harris said.

Any ways Harris can consistently spoken out for and supported Trans people, banned the hateful Trans panic defense when she was AG, in the Senate supported the Equality Act, during her 2020 campaign for President she drew attention to the hate crimes against black trans women while holding herself accountable for the 2015 case. As Vice-President she drew fire voicing support for Dylan Mulvaney during the hellish Bud Light backlash. Her Husband Doug was tapped to host the first ever White House Trans Day of Remembrance

basically you're looking at a great ally who clearly supports trans rights, who was involved in a case, which involved two people who got the surgeries they were looking for paid for by the State of California, close to 10 years ago now, there's evidence that both she moved the case in a better direction when she took over it and also that she changed the polices of the state to before more gender affirming.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Tech’s benevolent-dictator-for-life to authoritarian pipeline

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/10/bdfl/#high-on-your-own-supply

Silicon Valley's "authoritarian turn" is hard to miss: tech bosses have come out for autocrats like Trump, Orban, Milei, Bolsonaro, et al, and want to turn San Francisco into a militia-patrolled apartheid state operated for the benefit of tech bros:

https://newrepublic.com/article/180487/balaji-srinivasan-network-state-plutocrat

Smart people have written well about what this means, and have gotten me thinking, too:

https://www.programmablemutter.com/p/why-did-silicon-valley-turn-right

Regular readers will know that I make a kind of hobby of collecting definitions of right-wing thought:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/29/jubilance/#tolerable-racism

One of these – a hoary old cliche – is that "a conservative is a liberal who's been mugged." I don't give this one much credence, but it takes on an interesting sheen when combined with this anonymous gem: "Conservatives say they long for the simpler times of their childhood, but what they miss is that the reason they lived simpler lives back then wasn't that the times were simpler; rather, it's because they were children."

If you're a tech founder who once lived in a world where your workers were also your pals and didn't shout at you about labor relations, perhaps that's not because workers got "woke," but rather, because when you were all scrapping at a startup, you were all on an equal footing and there weren't any labor relations to speak of. And if you're a once-right-on tech founder who used to abstractly favor "social justice" but now find yourself beset by people demanding that you confront your privilege, perhaps what's changed isn't those people, but rather the amount of privilege you have.

In other words, "a reactionary tech boss is a liberal tech boss who hired a bunch of pals only to have them turn around and start a union." And also: "Tech founders say things were simpler when they were running startups, but what they miss is that the reason no one asked their startup to seriously engage with the social harms it caused is the because the startup was largely irrelevant to society, while the large company it turned into is destroying millions of peoples' lives today."

The oft-repeated reactionary excuse that "I didn't leave the progressive movement, they left me," can be both technically true and also profoundly wrong: if progressives in your circle never bothered you about your commercial affairs, perhaps that's because those affairs didn't matter when you were grinding out code in your hacker house, but they matter a lot now that you have millions of users and thousands of employees.

I've been in tech circles since before the dawn of the dotcoms; I was part of a movement of people who would come over to your house with a stack of floppies and install TCP/IP and PPP networking software on your computer and show you how to connect to a BBS or ISP, because we wanted everyone to have as much fun as we were having.

Some of us channeled that excitement into starting companies that let people get online, create digital presences of their own, and connect with other people. Some of us were more .ORG than .COM and gave our lives over to activism and nonprofits, missing out on the stock options and big paydays. But even though we ended up in different places, we mostly started in the same place, as spittle-flecked, excited kids talking a mile a minute about how cool this internet thing would be and helping you, a normie, jump into it.

Many of my peers from the .ORG and .COM worlds went on to set up institutions – both companies and nonprofits – that have since grown to be critical pieces of internet infrastructure: classified ad platforms, online encyclopedias, CMSes and personal publishing services, critical free/open source projects, standards bodies, server-to-server utilities, and more.

These all started out as benevolent autocracies: personal projects started by people who pitched in to help their virtual neighbors with the new, digital problems we were all facing. These good people, with good impulses, did good: their projects filled an important need, and grew, and grew, and became structurally important to the digital world. What started off as "Our pal's project that we all pitch in on," became, "Our pal's important mission that we help with, but that also has paid staff and important stakeholders, which they oversee as 'benevolent dictator for life.'"

Which was fine. The people who kicked off these projects had nurtured them all the way from a napkin doodle to infrastructure. They understood them better than anyone else, had sacrificed much for them, and it made sense for them to be installed as stewards.

But what they did next, how they used their powers as "BFDLs," made a huge difference. Because we are all imperfect, we are all capable of rationalizing our way into bad choices, we are all riven with insecurities that can push us to do things we later regret. When our actions are checked – by our peers' social approval or approbation; by the need to keep our volunteers happy; by the possibility of a mass exodus of our users or a fork of our code – these imperfections are balanced by consequences.

Dictators aren't necessarily any more prone to these lapses in judgment than anyone else. Benevolent dictators actually exist, people who only retain power because they genuinely want to use that power for good. Those people aren't more likely to fly off the handle or talk themselves into bad places than you or me – but to be a dictator (benevolent or otherwise) is to exist without the consequences that prevent you from giving in to those impulses. Worse: if you are the dictator – again, benevolent or otherwise – of a big, structurally important company or nonprofit that millions of people rely on, the consequences of these lapses are extremely consequential.

This is how BDFL arrangements turn sour: by removing themselves from formal constraint, the people whose screwups matter the most end up with the fewest guardrails to prevent themselves from screwing up.

No wonder people who set out to do good, to help others find safe and satisfying digital homes online, find themselves feeling furious and beset. Given those feelings, can we really be surprised when "benevolent" dictators discover that they have sympathy for real-world autocrats whose core ethos is, "I know what needs to be done and I could do it, if only the rest of you would stop nagging me about petty bullshit that you just made up 10 minutes ago but now insist is the most important thing in the world?"

That all said, it's interesting to look at the process by which some BDFLs transitioned to community-run projects with checks and balances. I often think about how Wikipedia's BDFL, the self-avowed libertarian Jimmy Wales, decided (correctly, and to his everlasting credit), that the project he raised from a weird idea into a world-historic phenomenon should not be ruled over by one guy, not even him.

(Jimmy is one of those libertarians who believes that we don't need governments to make us be kind and take care of one another because he is kind and takes care of other people – see also John Gilmore and Penn Jillette:)

https://www.cracked.com/article_40871_penn-jillette-wants-to-talk-it-all-out.html

Jimmy's handover to the Wikimedia Foundation gives me hope for our other BDFLs. He's proof that you can find yourself in the hotseat without being so overwhelmed with personal grievance that you find yourself in sympathy with actual fascists, but rather, have the maturity and self-awareness to know that the reason people are demanding so much of you is that you have – deliberately and with great effort – created a situation in which you owe the world a superhuman degree of care and attention, and the only way to resolve that situation equitably and secure your own posterity is to share that power around, not demand that you be allowed to wield it without reproach.

[loveesiren]

𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝙱𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚍𝚊𝚢

Thanos (Choi Su-Bong) x American!Reader | Forever Masterlist

a/n: hiiii, I know I haven't updated this story in centuries lol. I actually wrote this part out a while ago but never posted it. Now that I'm rereading it I kinda hate it but I said I'd post it so here it is. It's better if you've read the whole Forever series but if you haven't you can stll get the gist of it. Link for my taglist at the bottom!

synopsis: It's the third birthday Y/n has gotten to spend with Thanos since they escaped the games. Now that they are engaged, she has the best gift to surprise him with.

warnings: fluff, smut at the end

wc: 4.8k+

It was your favorite time of the year again: Thanos’ birthday. A day he had grown up hating, shrouded in unpleasant memories and a disdain for celebration. But for the past three years, you’d been on a mission to change that. You wanted him to associate his birthday with joy, love, and the kind of memories worth cherishing. Slowly but surely, you were breaking through his walls.

The first year, it was just the two of you. You stayed in, baking him the perfect little cupcake with one candle perched on top. Thanos, stubborn and reserved as ever, refused to leave the house back then. But as he sat on the couch with you, laughing through cheesy rom-coms and licking frosting off his fingers, you could see something shift—a tiny crack in the armor.

The next year, you managed to coax him out of his comfort zone. A quiet dinner at a nice restaurant was a big step for him. He had been hesitant at first, but by the end of the night, he couldn’t stop smiling as he clinked his glass of wine against yours.

But this year was different. So much had changed.

You and Thanos were engaged now. The ring on your finger sparkled with the promise of forever. He had recently reconnected with his estranged mother, Choi Bong-Cha, a relationship that had taken years to rebuild. His new album, raw and brimming with emotion, had been a massive success, catapulting him to a level of fame he never thought he’d achieve. And soon, the two of you would embark on a three-month tour—your biggest adventure yet.

This birthday needed to be unforgettable.

Granted, Thanos had long since left his wild partying days behind. He didn’t want a rager or a night that would blur into oblivion. But that didn’t mean he’d get away with just another quiet evening. Not this time.

He was at the studio for most of the day, so you took full advantage of the time to prepare. The house was a whirlwind of activity as you decorated every inch with streamers, balloons, and glitter that sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the windows. The glitter was deliberate—Thanos hated the stuff, but you loved the idea of him muttering under his breath as he tried to clean it up later. You smiled at the thought, a mischievous glint in your eye.

Balancing precariously on a ladder, you stretched to hang a giant “Happy Birthday!” banner across the living room windows. You were so focused on your task that the sharp knock at the door startled you, almost sending you toppling off the ladder.

“Come in!” you called, steadying yourself.

The door creaked open, and Thanos’ mother, Bong-Cha, stepped inside, immediately gasping in horror.

“Get down from there this instant!” she scolded, hands on her hips. Her gaze shifted to your outfit—a pair of shorts and a snug tank top that showed just enough skin to earn her disapproval. “And what are you wearing? You call that appropriate?”

You climbed down, grinning sheepishly as you bowed in greeting. “Hi, Choi Bong-Cha.” you said and pulled her into a warm hug.

“You Americans,” she huffed, shaking her head but smiling nonetheless. “Always driving me crazy with your nonsense.”

You laughed as you took her hands. “I’ll change before the party, I promise. I was just finishing up the decorations.”

“Good. Now help me bring in the food before it gets cold,” she said.

The two of you worked side by side in the kitchen, unloading dishes and preparing the feast. Bong-Cha had embraced you as her future daughter-in-law with open arms. Seeing how happy you made Thanos had softened her heart, and she treated you with the love and care of a mother who had always wanted a daughter. She even helped Thanos pick out the engagement ring, a secret she loved to remind you of whenever she saw you wearing it.

As the kitchen filled with the smell of cooking food, you turned on a playlist from your teenage years. The nostalgic sounds of your 2007 emo phase filled the air, earning an exasperated sigh from Bong-Cha.

“This is music?” she teased, pretending to cover her ears.

“It’s art,” you said dramatically, twirling a spatula in your hand.

Before she could argue further, another knock sounded at the door. You hurried to answer, your heart leaping when you saw your grandmother standing on the other side.

“Halmeoni!” you exclaimed, wrapping her in a tight hug.

“Look at you, dressed like this! Aigoo!” she clucked, shaking her head as she stepped inside. “Go change before your friends and fiancé arrive. This is no way for a young woman to present herself!”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I’ll change, I’ll change!” you promised.

As you made your way to the bedroom, you muttered under your breath with a smirk, “As if Su-Bong hasn’t already explored every inch of my body.”

Your cheeks flushed at your own boldness, but you couldn’t help feeling giddy. This birthday was going to be perfect, filled with the people Thanos loved most. And as you slipped into a new outfit, you couldn’t wait to see his face when he walked through the door.

For Thanos, this birthday would be more than a celebration. It would be a reminder of how far he’d come—and how much love surrounded him now.

-

The muffled hum of conversation filtered through the walls, a lively symphony of laughter and voices mingling in the crisp evening air. You stood in front of the mirror, inspecting your reflection one last time. The tight, champagne-colored dress hugged your curves in all the right places, shimmering faintly under the bathroom lights. It was a bold choice, one you knew would earn scathing looks from your grandmother and Bong-Cha, but you weren’t dressing for them tonight. This was Thanos’ birthday, and you knew exactly what he loved.

A spritz of hairspray, a swipe of gloss on your lips, and you were ready—well, almost. Scanning the bathroom, you caught sight of the chaos you’d left behind: makeup scattered across the counter, clothes piled haphazardly on the floor, and—your eyes landed on the drawer, partially open. Heat rushed to your face. Right. The toys.

Shaking your head with a rueful grin, you quickly tidied up, shoving away any evidence of the “unholy things” you and Thanos indulged in nightly. With nosy elders roaming around, the last thing you needed was for anyone to wander into your private space and find those.

Satisfied with your cleanup, you turned to the closet, reaching behind a row of purses. Your fingers brushed against the small box wrapped in shimmering blue paper, topped with a pristine white bow. You pulled it out, a flicker of excitement sparking in your chest. This was your gift to Thanos—a surprise you’d been planning for weeks. You could hardly wait to see his reaction.

Clutching the box, you stepped out of the bedroom and into the chaos. The house was alive with energy. In the kitchen, Thanos’ close friends and family gathered, chatting animatedly over trays of snacks and drinks. The air buzzed with anticipation.

“Se-mi! Min-su!” you called out, your face lighting up as you spotted two familiar figures near the counter.

They turned at the sound of your voice, and before you knew it, you were enveloped in their warm embraces.

“I’m so glad you guys could make it!” you said, squeezing them tightly.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Min-su replied, his boyish grin reminding you of the shy, nerdy kid you’d first met years ago. Now, he looked at you and Thanos like older siblings, a bond that always filled your heart with gratitude.

Se-mi smirked, giving you a once-over. “That dress is going to send Halmeoni into orbit.”

You laughed, shrugging nonchalantly. “The night’s not about her.”

As if summoned by the mention of her name, your grandmother appeared, a flurry of indignation and disapproval. She scolded you in rapid-fire Korean, her voice rising with each word as she tried to pull your dress further down your legs.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you waved her off with a grin. “T is calling. Everyone quiet!”

Stepping into the foyer, you answered your phone. “Hey, baby.”

“Hey, Señorita,” Thanos’ deep voice rumbled through the line. “I’m on my way home. Be there in five.”

“Can’t wait!” you replied, your smile widening as you hung up. Turning back to the kitchen, you clapped your hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Okay, everyone hide! I’m going to throw on a robe so he doesn’t suspect anything. When I turn on the lights, jump out and yell ‘surprise’!”

The room erupted into quiet laughter and hurried footsteps as everyone scrambled to hide. You dashed back to the bedroom, slipping into the silky pink robe Thanos had given you during one of your more playful anniversaries. Its softness wrapped around you like a secret, concealing the tight dress underneath.

The sound of the front door unlocking sent a jolt of anticipation through you. You rushed to greet him, your heart racing as his tall frame filled the doorway.

“Hey, baby,” you said softly, pulling him into a kiss.

“Mmm, missed you,” he murmured against your lips, his hands sliding to your waist. His voice dropped, a low, dangerous whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “Can’t wait to be inside you…”

Your eyes widened as he pressed you against the wall, his hand slipping under the hem of your robe.

“Wait!” you gasped, squirming out of his grasp. “I have something to show you first!”

Thanos groaned, running a hand through his hair, but let you guide him toward the kitchen. “Baby, I just wanna—”

Before he could finish the sentence you knew would get him in trouble with his elders, you flicked on the lights.

“Surprise!” The room erupted with cheers and applause as everyone jumped out from their hiding spots.

Thanos froze, his eyes wide as they swept over the crowd, then landed on you. With a slow, deliberate motion, you let the robe slide off your shoulders, revealing the dress beneath.

“Happy birthday, baby,” you said, your voice brimming with excitement as you wrapped your arms around his neck, planting a soft kiss on his lips.

His hands found your hips, his grip firm as his gaze darkened. Leaning down, he whispered in your ear, his voice laced with both amusement and frustration.

“I was about to fuck you in the middle of the living room. This dress? Not helping. And there’s glitter everywhere.”

A playful smirk tugged at your lips. “When everyone’s gone, you can take all your frustrations out on me.”

“Deal,” he growled, before straightening and turning to greet his guests, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

As the night unfolded, filled with laughter, toasts, and the warmth of loved ones, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Thanos. The man who once dreaded his birthday now stood at the center of it all—happy, loved, and utterly yours.

-

The laughter and chatter around the room quieted as you emerged from the kitchen, carefully balancing the Oreo ice cream cake on its tray. It was adorned with little Marvel characters, each one meticulously placed—a miniature Iron Man here, a tiny Hulk there, and of course, Thanos himself standing triumphantly in the center.

As you approached the table, everyone cheered and clapped, and Thanos let out a sheepish laugh, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment. But you knew better. Beneath his playful groan, his lips curved into a smile, his eyes soft with gratitude. He’d chosen the name “Thanos” for himself years ago, and the cake was your cheeky little nod to that—a reminder of how far he’d come from the brooding, self-doubting man he once was.

“Make a wish, baby,” you said softly, standing beside him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, he blew out the candles with one steady breath. The room erupted in applause, and you leaned down to plant a quick kiss on his temple.

After cutting the cake, you passed slices around the table, making sure everyone got a piece. The sound of forks clinking against plates and delighted murmurs filled the room as everyone dug in. But the festive mood only escalated when Bong-Cha and your grandmother started chanting in unison.

“Presents! Presents!”

You saw Thanos tense slightly, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. He had always felt awkward opening gifts in front of people, but you leaned in close and whispered, “Don’t worry, there’s just a few.”

He nodded, his shoulders relaxing just enough for you to gather the small pile of gifts from the corner of the room. The first one he opened was from your grandmother—a stunning pair of cufflinks, polished silver with delicate engravings.

“These are for the day you marry my granddaughter,” she said, her voice proud but thick with emotion.

Thanos bowed his head in thanks, his lips pressed into a grateful smile as he admired them.

Next came Bong-Cha’s gift. She handed it to him with a rare softness, her usually stern expression melting as he opened the small velvet pouch inside. His hands stilled as he pulled out the dog tags, their metal gleaming faintly under the lights.

“These belonged to your grandfather,” she said, her voice quivering. “He wanted you to have them one day. I’ve been waiting for the right moment.”

Thanos blinked rapidly, his eyes glistening. For a moment, it seemed like he might cry, but he quickly cleared his throat and placed the dog tags gently back into the pouch. He thanked her quietly, giving her a rare, heartfelt hug before moving to the next gift.

Se-mi and Min-su’s gift brought a genuine laugh from both him and you—a pair of small silver squid earrings, their diamond eyes glinting mischievously. Tucked alongside was a note that read:

"Your best and worst memory. You survived, and you found Y/N."

Thanos chuckled, his laughter tinged with something bittersweet. The four of you had never shared the full story with your families, but those earrings symbolized so much: the night you’d all met, the harrowing experience that bonded you, and the unbreakable little family you’d built ever since.

“Thank you,” he said simply, his voice quiet but brimming with meaning.

After a round of hugs and smiles, you stepped forward with a sly grin. “Wait! There’s one more…”

Thanos raised an eyebrow, his smile turning playful. “Señorita, you’re making me open more?”

“I think this one might be your favorite,” you teased, striding over to him and setting the small blue box in front of him. Leaning down, you placed a tender kiss on his cheek and whispered, “Happy birthday, my love.”

Thanos sighed, settling back into his seat as he opened the box. For a moment, he stared at its contents, his brow furrowing in confusion. Then his eyes widened, and he froze.

“You’re joking,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Inside the box was a pregnancy test. The pink plus sign was unmistakable, standing out starkly against the white plastic.

“You’re joking,” he repeated, picking it up to study it closer. His hands trembled slightly.

You smiled nervously, chewing on your bottom lip as you nodded. “No joke, baby.”

His head shot up, his wide, teary eyes locking onto yours. “Baby, y-you’re pregnant?”

“Mhmm.”

The room erupted in gasps and exclamations, but all you could focus on was Thanos. He stood abruptly, scooping you into his arms and spinning you around. His laughter rang out, joyous and unrestrained, as he pressed a deep, fervent kiss to your lips.

When he finally set you down, his cheeks were streaked with tears. He cradled your face in his hands, looking at you as though you were the most precious thing in the world. “I can’t believe it,” he murmured. “You’re giving me a family.”

“Of course I am. You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met.” you whispered back, your voice cracking as tears welled up in your own eyes.

The rest of the evening was a blur of hugs, cheers, and endless congratulations. Bong-Cha cried openly, your grandmother held your hands tightly as she whispered blessings, and even Min-su and Se-mi couldn’t contain their excitement.

Eventually, you found yourself sitting beside Se-mi, who had been unusually quiet.

“You’re going to get so fat,” she teased, her tone light but her eyes misty.

“Don’t remind me,” you laughed, nudging her playfully. Then your expression softened. “Se-mi?”

“Don’t,” she warned, though her voice wavered.

“Se-mi,” you said gently, placing a hand on hers. “Will you be the godmother?”

Tears spilled over her cheeks as she tried to wipe them away quickly, failing miserably. Finally, she turned to you, her face breaking into a watery smile.

“Of course!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around you.

It was rare for Se-mi to show this kind of raw emotion, and you cherished every moment of it. She had been there through everything—your best friend, your sister in spirit, your rock.

As the party carried on around you, you looked across the room to Thanos. He was laughing with Min-su, the dog tags now hanging proudly around his neck, his eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them.

For the first time in a long time, Thanos wasn’t just celebrating a birthday. He was celebrating life. And the future had never looked so beautiful.

-

By 11 p.m., the house was finally beginning to quiet. Guests had filtered out one by one, their laughter and goodbyes still echoing faintly in the air. Min-su and Se-mi, however, had gotten far drunker than they’d intended. You had to practically guide them by the elbows to the guest rooms, their laughter sloppy and unfiltered.

Min-su flopped onto the bed with a groan, mumbling something incoherent, while Se-mi giggled uncontrollably, half-hanging off the doorway as you tried to steady her. “You guys are always the last ones standing,” you teased, tucking a blanket over Min-su.

“Not my fault your champagne tastes expensive,” Se-mi slurred with a grin, finally climbing into the other bed.

You rolled your eyes, smiling fondly. They were the only ones who ever occupied the guest rooms anyway. This was their second home, and it always warmed your heart to see them so at ease.

As you walked back toward the front door, your grandmother and Bong-Cha were lingering, still fussing over you. Your grandmother pressed her hands gently against your belly, murmuring prayers in soft, melodic Korean.

“Rest well, Halmeoni,” you said, taking her hands in yours as you kissed her cheek.

“Be careful, child. You must protect that baby.”

“I will. I promise.”

After her, you turned to Bong-Cha, who gave you an approving nod as she slipped on her coat. “You’ve made him very happy tonight,” she said.

You smiled at her warmly. “He deserves it.”

When the door finally clicked shut behind them, a heavy, contented silence filled the house. You turned the lock and exhaled, the weight of the evening finally settling over you. When you turned around, Thanos was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his dark eyes watching you.

“Do you hate me?” you asked in your cutest tone, prancing toward him with a teasing smile.

“Let’s see,” he began, his voice laced with mock annoyance. “You threw me a surprise party even though you know I hate surprises. You embarrassed me with a Marvel cake—cute, but still embarrassing. And there’s glitter everywhere. Everywhere.”

You smirked, swaying as you approached him, lifting the hem of your dress just enough to show a hint of thigh. “But?”

His expression softened instantly as his hands found your hips, pulling you flush against him. “But…” he said, his voice low, “I’ve never been fucking happier.” His lips pressed firmly to yours, tender but insistent. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “I can’t believe you’re giving me a child…”

“You’re going to be such a good dad, Su-Bong,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

He winced slightly, but not from discomfort—it was rare you used his real name, and hearing it fall from your lips like a caress always unraveled him. “Go run the bath,” he murmured. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

You nodded, your smile radiant, and skipped off toward the master bathroom.

Thanos stayed behind for a moment, his hand slipping into his pocket. He pulled out the pregnancy test, the little pink plus staring back at him. It was surreal. His breath caught as he studied it, his chest tightening.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice breaking as tears slipped down his face. A soft, overwhelmed laugh followed. He tilted his head back, his shoulders sagging under the weight of gratitude. Whatever gods or fate had orchestrated this, he thanked them silently—for you, for this life, for this second chance he never thought he’d get.

Carefully, he placed the test on the mantle above the fireplace. It was small, but it was everything. He wanted to see it every day—a symbol of the life you were building together.

When he stepped into the bathroom, the lights were off, and the room glowed with the warm flicker of candlelight. Steam curled lazily from the soapy water filling the tub, and there you were, nestled in the bubbles, your hair pinned up, lashes fluttering as you met his gaze.

“Join me,” you said softly, your voice inviting, your smile luminous in the candlelight.

Without hesitation, Thanos stripped out of his clothes, letting them pool on the floor before stepping into the tub. The water rippled around him as he settled in opposite you, taking one of your feet into his hands. His fingers kneaded gently into the arch, his touch soothing yet intimate.

He leaned back slightly, his dark eyes roaming over you, drinking in your beauty. “Thank you,” he said after a moment. His voice was soft but heavy with meaning. “For today. For everything.”

You smiled, your cheeks flushing faintly. “Did you enjoy your party?”

“It was amazing,” he said, his lips curving into a small smile. His hands moved to your toes, his lips pressing soft kisses against them. “Your gift…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if words couldn’t capture how he felt. “You were right. It’s my favorite.”

Your grin widened, your heart swelling with joy. “C’mere,” you said, reaching for him.

Thanos shifted in the water, moving to your side of the tub. He pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoed in your ear as his hands gently traced patterns along your arms.

His hand moved gently beneath the water, his fingers grazing over your still-flat belly before traveling lower. The touch was tender, reverent, as if he was savoring every inch of you. His middle finger slipped through your slick folds, eliciting a soft moan from you that vibrated against his neck.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pressed a single finger inside you, his other hand sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb grazing over your sensitive nipple. The warmth of the bath surrounded you, but it was nothing compared to the heat building between your bodies.

“Mmm, fuck, T…” you murmured, leaning your head back against his broad shoulder. You floated in his arms, completely at his mercy, your body melting into his.

His lips brushed your temple as he added a second finger, curling them just right, sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. Your loud, unrestrained moan filled the room, your back arching as his fingers worked you with deliberate care. You could feel the press of his growing arousal against your lower back, a firm reminder of how much he wanted you.

“Feel good, baby?” he whispered in your ear, his voice low and intoxicating.

“So fucking good…” you whimpered, your voice breathy and needy as he curled his fingers again, hitting that perfect spot.

“T…” you gasped, your words barely audible, a desperate plea for more.

“Tell me what you need, baby,” he murmured, his lips trailing to the shell of your ear before placing a slow, teasing kiss on your cheek.

“From behind, please…” you begged, your voice trembling with anticipation.

His lips quirked into a grin. “As you wish, princess.”

Gently, he withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a heated intensity. “You taste incredible,” he said softly before helping you stand, the water cascading off your body as he positioned you at the edge of the tub.

You leaned forward, gripping the porcelain for balance as he knelt behind you. His hands gently spread your legs, and then his tongue found you, his warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. He took his time, savoring every part of you, his tongue exploring your folds with a mix of gentle licks and firm strokes.

Your whimpers filled the room as he worked you, his lips and tongue driving you closer to the edge. “Fuck, T! You’re going to make me cum!” you cried out, your thighs trembling.

He smiled against you, the vibrations of his chuckle sending another wave of pleasure through you. He pushed his tongue deeper, moving in and out, savoring the way your body responded to him. Just as you felt yourself begin to tighten, teetering on the edge of release, he pulled back, his lips glistening as he stood.

“You’re going to cum on my cock, princess,” he said, his voice husky and commanding.

“Mmmkay…” you whimpered, your desperation evident as you arched your hips, needing him.

He positioned himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips as he lined himself up with your entrance. “Think I can get you pregnant again?” he teased, his voice playful but filled with desire.

“You can certainly try…” you replied, your words a breathy challenge.

He chuckled softly before pressing into you, inch by inch, the stretch making your eyes roll back. No matter how many times you’d been with him, his size always took your breath away.

He started slowly, his movements deliberate, as though he wanted to memorize every sensation. He watched as his length disappeared into you, glistening with your arousal, the sight nearly undoing him.

“You tired, baby?” he asked, his voice thick with affection as he noticed your head resting lazily against the tub.

“No… Just feels so good…” you whimpered, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through you.

His lips curved into a soft smile as he picked up the pace, his hips snapping against yours with more urgency. You felt the knot in your stomach tighten, your breathing shallow as you neared the edge again.

“Shit, baby, I’m close,” he panted, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrust faster.

The tension built between you until it finally snapped. You cried out his name, your body shaking as your release washed over you, your walls clenching around him. With a few more thrusts, he followed, groaning as he buried himself deep, his warmth flooding you.

He collapsed against your back, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he caught his breath. “Fuck, baby…” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with awe.

“You fuck me so good every time, T…” you whispered, a small laugh escaping your lips. “Guess that’s why we’re having a baby.”

He laughed with you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he kissed your shoulder. Slowly, he pulled out of you, both of you sighing at the loss. He reached for the drain, letting the water empty before grabbing a towel and carefully drying you off.

He took his time, rubbing lotion into your skin with gentle hands, his touch lingering with love. When you were dressed in your silky pink pajamas, and he had slipped on a pair of boxers, he led you to bed.

The moment your head hit the pillow, you sighed in relief, exhaustion pulling at your eyelids. Thanos climbed in beside you, pulling you into his arms and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Goodnight, jagi. Thank you for everything,” he whispered, his voice low and full of emotion.

“Love you forever, baby. Happy birthday,” you murmured against his chest, your words soft as sleep overtook you.

Thanos held you close, his heart full as he stared at the ceiling. He couldn’t stop picturing the future—a little one with your eyes and his smile running around the house. Tears pricked his eyes as he imagined the life ahead, a life filled with love, laughter, and the family he’d never thought he deserved.

He lay awake for hours, daydreaming about the life you were building together, until finally, sleep claimed him, his arms wrapped securely around you.

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

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[imagine-darksiders]

Angel of Highway 49.

Ch. 6 - Collateral.

Optimus & Reader. Bulkhead x Reader. Starscream x causing mayhem.

Summary: 'For the first time, your eyes meet his optics, and there’s not an ounce of recognition flickering in their glossy depths as they stare up at him in unmitigated terror.

No… not terror…. Horror.

You’re horrified by his presence, his appearance, his incomprehensible existence.'

-------------------------

On paper, the mission brief had seemed quite straightforward.

Investigate the substantial Energon signature that Ratchet's scans had turned up, get in, gather as much as they could carry, and get out again.

Optimus knew the likelihood of beating the Decepticons to the punch was minimal, at best. No doubt the only reason Ratchet's scanners had picked up anything was because raw Energon had been exposed where it wasn't before, say, by a mining operation that drilled straight into a fresh deposit laying deep beneath the Earth's crust.

The coordinates had been of immediate concern to the Prime, and as soon as the team was debriefed, he and Bulkhead drove straight out to the reference point with their pedals almost to the floor, though the latter couldn't fathom his Leader's sudden sense of urgency, and when prodded, Optimus only told him that the location was 'concerningly close to a human settlement.'

It was a mine, long-abandoned, sunk beneath the cliffs near a large agricultural unit.

They were to evaluate the subterranean passages, determine the level of Decepticon activity, preferably without engaging, and look for any opportunity to seize Energon from the enemy forces. Underhanded, perhaps, but if it secures his Autobots a few more months of precious fuel, Optimus isn't above resorting to clandestine tactics.

Of course, as it's been said before, even the best laid plans often go awry...

----------

The sturdy cables of Optimus’s neck buck and strain against their tubing as he wrenches his helm towards the Southern tunnel, his optical apertures spinning wide, blazing with a fierce, cyan light.

Hidden parallel to his leader, ducked down behind a stack of energon crates on the other side of the cavern, Bulkhead does the same, his colossal chin piece falling open with a dull ‘thunk,’ and his entire frame turning rigid with alarm.

Unfortunately for them both, so too do the frames of all four Vehicon Miners.

One by one, each of the energon drills wind down to sputtering halts as their wielders disengage from the deposits in the cave walls, pausing to turn their inexpressive masks towards the disruption.

And what a disruption it is.

A haunting, spinal-strut-chilling shriek is ringing out through the mine like an air-raid siren, more piercing than the drills and far shriller than the clanking of heavy machinery. The sound goes on and on, even when the source runs out of steam, and only the echo of a scream passes through the labyrinthian tunnels until that too falls silent, leaving every Cybertronian who heard it caught in a moment of temporary bewilderment.

Optimus is the first to recover.

Denta grit tightly behind his mask, he draws his slate-dark brow plates together and begins gauging the distance between his hiding spot and the tunnel.

Speed will be essential here… Because it’s to his utmost distress that he’s matched the vocal patterns of the distant scream to that of a human.

In the next instant, his private com-link scratches to life, and Bulkhead’s hushed, bassy voice is whispering into the Prime’s audials.

“That wasn’t Miko, Boss,” he defends his charge without hesitation.

Admirable, of course. But in this instance, unnecessary.

Optimus is well aware that the cadence of the scream doesn’t belong to any one of their charges. He has them logged, after all – though he often wishes he didn’t, if only because those audio logs serve as constant reminders that there have been times where the three younglings – whilst under his care- were in states of distress severe enough to cry out at all.

That aside however, Optimus is also confident that right now, the children are safe and sound back at the Autobot base with Ratchet, doubtless waiting anxiously for Arcee and Bumblebee to return from a routine scouting mission around Jasper’s outskirts.

But that begs the question; why would a human be down here in a defunct mine during the middle of the night?

It’s a question he doesn’t give much processing power to, not when there is a far more urgent matter at hand that needs addressing.

Loathe to wait even another second for something bad to happen to the unfortunate, wayward human, the Prime heaves himself out of his crouch and vaults gracefully over the energon stacks he’d been using as cover, barking a single, concise order to his comrade-in-arms.

“Engage!”

He’s barely cleared cover when he hears Bulkhead’s response.

“So much for the element of surprise!”

A necessary sacrifice.

If there’s a human down here in danger, they no longer have the luxury of scoping out the mine’s multiple chambers and trying to take things slow.

No matter.

What matters is getting to them before whatever – or whoever - frightened them can do any harm.

Optimus’s explosive arrival sends the Vehicons scrambling about to face him, and no less than two of the four manage to drop their handheld drills in shock.

“Prime’s here!?” one bellows, tripping over his own pedes in his haste to retreat towards the far wall.

“And he brought company!” his fellow growls.

No sooner has he spoken than an eruption of noise rocks the cavern as Bulkhead comes careening around the side of his hiding spot with all the unstoppable brutality of a runaway freight train.

“Head’s up!” he bellows, raising his hefty arm high into the air and charging for the first, unfortunate Miner.

Only one seems to have recovered in time to aim his plasma cannon at Optimus, who ducks smoothly beneath the first shot and skids along the ground on his knees for several metres, drawing up close enough to the Con to negate any space between them.

Before a second round can even charge in its chamber, one of the Prime’s enormous metal servos curls into a devastating fist, and with the struts of his forearm tensed and locked in preparation, he launches himself off his knees and –

‘CRUNCH!’

The knuckles of his servo connect with the Vehicon’s chin-guard with terrifying precision.

An uppercut, the power behind which is enough to send the dark, purple visor snapping backwards with an audible crack. Its wearer is quick to follow suit, crumpling over onto his back before Optimus’s fist has even finished its upswing.

One down…

Bulkhead has also reached his own Con, and Optimus is glad to see that he seems to have taken the Prime’s briefing to spark.

Incapacitate only, where possible.

These are miners, not warriors.

The wrecking ball perched on the end of Bulkhead’s arm is already swinging by the time the Con has his own weapon readied, and it’s promptly knocked aside by the Wrecker’s weaponised name-sake, who is quick to follow up with a single punch to the Vehicon’s helm.

One, hard wallop, and he’s down like a sack of bricks.

Two down, two to go…

The remaining pair, those clumsy enough to have dropped their drills, at least seem wise enough to recognise when they’re outmatched.

Bulkhead wheels about, shaking scraps of the miner’s visor from his fist as he glowers at the retreating taillights of two, purple vehicles fleeing as fast as their tyres can carry them down one of the adjoining tunnels.

“Aw, where’re you going!?” he taunts them as they vanish around a corner like jettisoned scrap, “I didn’t even break a sweat!”

Yet another turn of phrase he’s picked up from Miko, Optimus notes, thankfully one of her more palatable expressions. Primus knows that girl could be an honorary Wrecker through vocabulary alone…

“Leave them!” the Prime commands urgently, breaking into a loping run for the opposite passage and shifting the plates on his dominant arm to reveal his colossal, devastating barrage cannon, hoping against hope that it won’t be seeing any action beyond warding off a potential threat.

Setting off a detonative blast in this place could cause the whole subterranean structure to collapse in on itself, another reason he’d stressed the importance of melee before this mission.

Clunking footsteps soon fall into pace behind his own, rattling the shards of energon still wedged into the cave walls.

There’s little point in maintaining stealth now, not with time swiftly trickling away beneath their pedes and the deafening silence the drills have left behind.

Whoever remains in this cavern is bound to know of their presence by now.

There’s a sudden blip on his radar - an energon signature far more significant than the deposits in the walls. It’s large, and active, and at this distance, uncloaked.

With coolant pumping fervidly through his pipes, Optimus kicks himself into gear and swings around the curve of the tunnel, bringing into view a sight so gruesome, it nearly freezes his spark inside its chamber.

A surge of alarm - his very own - hits the airwaves before he can suppress it, and although he reels it back in microseconds, he knows Bulkhead has already felt it, even from several paces behind him. An answering jolt of panic crashes into Optimus’s field as the Wrecker stumbles, his armour flaring nervously.

Because if the Prime is worried, then…

Optimus doesn’t have time to reassure his teammate.

Starscream is looming up ahead, silhouetted at the tunnel’s end by an unearthly blue light.

Megatron’s second in command cuts an intimidating figure. A frame as sharp as his tongue is angled towards the oncoming Autobots, but his attention – and more horrifyingly – his missile arm is aimed near the ground at a comparatively small rock, behind which Optimus has already locked onto four human signatures.

Another surge, this time of unshackled indignation rattles the plating across his shoulders and sends his protective protocols careening into furious overdrive.

Taking point, the Prime charges from the tunnel and into the cavern first, cannon raised and whirring as he digs in his heels and slides to a halt, drawing up his colossal frame to stand tall beneath the rock ceiling, his optics narrowed to thin slits.

“Starscream,” he thunders, authoritative and unyielding. His voice booms around the cavern, drawing another short scream from one of the humans below, yet he doesn’t dare take his optics off the threat to assess their condition, not while Starscream still has his weapon aimed unwaveringly at them.

It seems his arrival was anticipated after all.

The Decepticon doesn’t balk at their presence, doesn’t raise a weapon to defend himself… Gradually, wholly aware that he has the advantage here, Starscream raises his helm and tips his chin back to flash the Prime a haughty smirk.

“Ah, ah, ah~” he singsongs airily, just as Bulkhead lumbers to a halt at Optimus’s side, “That’s close enough, Autobot scum.”

Letting out a choked sound of rage, the wrecker lifts an arm, and his ion blaster whirls to life, though Starscream is quick to nod at the rock near his pedes and add, “Surely you wouldn’t risk any collateral damage now, would you?”

The Prime’s optics flare brightly.

Collateral… A Decepticon’s preferred synonym for the children under the Autobots’ care.

As Starscream speaks, he bobs his missile tauntingly up and down, never letting it stray from the humans locked in his crosshairs.

Behind the battle mask, Optimus peels back his dermas by a fraction of an inch – the only show of frustration he allows himself.

He’s almost relieved that Bulkhead is, by contrast, able to express himself so freely.

A low, thrumming growl shakes its way out from between the Wrecker’s clenched dentas. “Bullying humans now, Screamer?” he fumes, chomping at the proverbial bit but held in check by the seeker’s threat, “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size for a change? Or are you afraid you might lose?”

Starscream’s smirk twists down at the corners into a sneer, yet before he can offer some cutting retort, another voice pipes up from below, shattering his concentration.

“Bulk!?”

Two of the three Cybertronians present feel their sparks drop heavily into their tanks.

Bulkhead’s jaw hits his sternum with a ‘clunk!’ whilst Optimus’s only outward display of shock is the slight jump of his optical ridges.

“Miko!?” the former exclaims in a voice so shrill that it might have been comical in any other situation.

At last, unable to resist tearing their optics from the Con, both Optimus and Bulkhead shoot twin glances down over the top of the rock.

The Prime only needs a nanosecond to process the faces of each human below him.

And it’s just as he’d feared.

There’s Jack, a tired face gone slack with relief at seeing Optimus tower above him. And Rafael, with his youthful features pulled taut in fright, yet those wide, brown eyes are still so full of trust as they silently implore the Prime for help. Miko in the meantime is gazing adoringly up at her guardian with a gleeful smile stretching the edges of her mouth.

But it’s the fourth human that Optimus finds his optics drawn to and struck by, locking onto a face not quite as familiar as the children’s but known and inexplicably fond to him all the same.

“Y/n?” he murmurs far too softly to be heard over Bulkhead’s sputtered sounds of dismay and increasing panic.

His last parting from you was... regrettable, and still weighs heavily on his spark and processor when he finds himself alone with his thoughts.

For the first time, your eyes meet his optics, and there’s not an ounce of recognition flickering in their glossy depths as they stare up at him in unmitigated terror.

No… not terror…. Horror.

You’re horrified by his presence, his appearance, his incomprehensible existence.

In your eyes, he and Bulkhead are no different from Starscream – the true and only threat. In your eyes, what is he? Not a protector, but an aggressor. An unknown you have no hope of overcoming.

It doesn’t escape his notice; the stance you’ve taken in front of the children. With your back to them, arms flung out wide, you’re a trembling bulwark of fear and confusion and bravery, and the only thing standing between them and the Decepticon’s missile.

An unanticipated curl of pride warms the spark in his chamber, though it immediately bucks when his optics register the discolouration on your back. From his elevated angle, he has a clear and uninterrupted view of your shoulder blades… and the distressing gradient of a deep purple shadow sweeping across them, hemmed in by a frame of diffusing yellow.

It’s a bruise - he distantly recalls the term – and it’s swallowing up a vast swathe of your fragile skin, disappearing beneath your shirt. He’s seen bruises on humans before, small ones on the children’s knees and elbows after a tumble, or underneath Agent Fowler’s eyes after one too many sleepless nights. And while those instances are disquieting enough to witness, none have quite matched the extent of this one.

He knew you’d been hurt but this looks…

The lights in his optics flicker.

… He should have put his pede down… He should have just driven you straight to the medical clinic in Jasper regardless of your protests - no ‘ifs,’ ‘ands’ or ‘buts.’

Of all the humans who could have ended up down here, it would be the one who implied quite categorically that they never wanted anything to do with him again. He supposes there’s something divinely poetic about that. Divinely comedic too. Perhaps right now, Primus is looking down on his creation with a knowing smile.

Optimus, however, finds himself wishing that you were anywhere else at all, that fate had not led you down here. That it hadn’t led any of you down here, where your life and that of the children’s hang treacherously in the balance.

The nanosecond ends when you blink – and Optimus’s intake stalls to see a shimmering tear break free of your lash line and trickle down your cheek.

It strikes him that not only do you believe you’re supposed to protect Jack, Miko and Rafael from Starscream, but now that the Prime has unwittingly added himself and Bulkhead into the mix, you think you have two more perils to contend with.

Optimus flicks his optics up to the Decepticon once more as a dozen differing strategies spin around inside his processor. He’s getting you out of here. You and the children. ‘Whatever happens,’ he sends a silent promise down to the humans under his charge, his solicitous field spilling all the words he can’t verbalise, ‘I will keep you safe.’

Bulkhead feels it – Optimus’s EM field is a powerful thing, like everything else about the Prime. And right now, the noble intent of his leader hits the wrecker’s chassis like there’s real force behind it, tangible and physical.

Starscream feels it as well, though he isn’t bolstered by it like Bulkhead is. In fact, judging from the sudden wipe of his smug expression, the Seeker may have just come to the realisation that he’s currently threatening the very young, very vulnerable wards of a Prime and his powerhouse of a soldier.

Optimus wonders, between flitting through tactics, what you might think of him if you could feel it too.

-----

This has got to be one of – if not the - most vivid and dramatic nightmares you’ve ever had.

Either that, or…. or there’s a buildup of… of gasses in this mine or something, causing you to hallucinate. Hell, maybe that’s why this place was abandoned to begin with. If those old miners found coal seams or shale deposits down here, you could be standing in a pit filled with methane right now. And those beams and timber that were rotting away over your head as you made your way down…? How long have they been decomposing? Long enough for the carbon dioxide to seep out and gather at the bottom of the mine, you’ll bet!

That has to be it.

Gasses. Hallucinations. A nightmare.

Because you couldn’t possibly consider the third option, could you? That this might actually be happening. That there really are three unfathomably colossal titans surrounding you and the kids on all sides.

It certainly feels real enough. The sweat slicking your palms and hairline, the blood roaring in your ears, and the heart in your chest trying to make a jailbreak are all about as vivid as it gets.

Rationale is telling you that this isn’t happening. Your body is telling you otherwise. And it’s very hard to try and listen to both at the same time.

When the tallest of them – the one that had shouted something in a voice that sent a ping straight to your brain – lowers its ‘eyes’ to lock you in its sights, you freeze in place, helpless as a butterfly pinned to a corkboard.

Awful, cerulean light cuts like frostbite through the dimness of the mine and sends a chill sweeping up the length of your spine.

You’re stuck fast by its stare, the light cold and calculating as it burns down at you from an otherwise expressionless face.

Your own eyes sting with the effort of keeping them open, too afraid to blink, too afraid to take your gaze away lest it decide to strike the moment it thinks you aren’t looking, like a predator, a hungry wolf with designs on the back of your neck.

It’s hard to believe that the giant is the first to look away, pulling those twin beams of light from your face and turning them onto the comparatively smaller monster, the one with a blood-red stare.

Battling down the temptation to collapse onto your knees, you instead suck in a deep, noisy breath through your nostrils and clamp your lips firmly together as your gaze flits across to the third and final titan, shorter yet somehow so much larger than the others.

It’s as broad as a barn. Broader, perhaps. Military-green from head to toe, and it too sports a gaze that’s just as blue as the strange quartz that surrounds you. It cocks its colossal head at you, what passes for a head on that behemoth anyway, and the lights set in its face blink off, then on again. Once, twice… until something in your brain clicks into place.

It’s blinking.

You’d almost begun to entertain the notion that you’ve unwittingly stumbled upon some kind of Government-built superweapon, and that Terry might not be the crazy bastard you thought he was. But when it blinks at you, when it tips its head to the side as if it’s curious… in some uncanny way, you recognise it for what it is.

That’s something humans do.

That’s something living things do.

… What the Hell have you found down here?

Or perhaps the better question is, what the Hell has just found you?

“I see you’ve added another little pet to your menagerie,” the first robot suddenly drawls, breaking the silent stalemate that’s been brewing between you all for the past few seconds and sending your attention snapping back towards its slender face, chest rising and falling as you remind yourself to keep breathing, “I’m beginning to think you don’t care much for humans at all, if this is where you bring them to play.”

‘Humans?’

Your racing mind latches onto the word and sticks fast.

Humans… It called you humans. Implying that the speaker isn’t one…

The revelation doesn’t help you much, you’re still very much in trouble here, regardless of whether there’s another person operating these things or if they’re powered by something else entirely.

The longer you stand there without a shift or a waver in the makeup of the figure ahead of you, the less confident you are in your hallucination theory.

“Who’re you calling pets!?” Miko’s voice abruptly blasts past your ear, reminding you quite starkly of the three children pressed to your back, “If anyone’s the pet, it’s you! Megatron’s little groupie!”

You don’t have a chance to wonder what in the world she’s talking about.

The robot’s red glare snaps to her and zeroes in with murderous intent, its strange, malleable lip curling with hostility. Somewhere below your elbow, you hear Raf hiss “Miko!”

Just like that, you realise with a start that it doesn’t matter if you’re hallucinating or not.

If you are, and the children are too, it just means that you have to get them into fresh air as soon as possible. And if you’re not…

If this is real, if this is happening to you, then there truly are lives on the line, more than just your own.

And if this turns out to all be some incredibly vivid nightmare, well… you can nervously laugh about it once you’re awake. But for now…

“You dare address your betters, pest!?” the robot seethes, tilting its arm by a fraction, just enough to indicate that it’s aiming its missile point-blank at the girl. Behind you, there’s a mechanical whir, like a machine is being charged up.

Your stomach lurches. Somebody needs to do something….

….

………. Shit. Fine.

“Don’t!” you blurt out before you can put too much thought into your actions, taking a fumbling step forward and drawing the silver juggernaut’s furious glare, “Don’t point that at her! She’s just a kid!”

There are several intakes of breath from behind you, and one from somewhere high above your head, but your attention remains fixed steadfastly on the red-eyed robot, goosebumps springing up along your arms when it lets out a deriding chuckle and flashes you a glimpse of stark-white metal sitting just beyond its ‘lips,’ like a set of teeth.

“Oh? What have we here? Trying to play the hero,” it sneers the word with about as much sincerity as it might afford a dead fly, scoffing somehow through its gap for a mouth, “Pathetic. Ah-! Not so fast, Prime!” Quick as a flash, the robot lifts it gaze to the ones behind you, sharp red lights flashing dangerously, “Unless you want to be picking up the pieces of your little friend here for the next deca-cycle.”

You haven’t forgotten about the threats behind you, snatching a glance over your shoulder to see if the other robots are keeping their distance. To your horror, the green one is still subjecting you to its stare, blue lights brighter than ever as it observes you. The slab of grey metal stretching like a chin-guard across its face has fallen slightly to hang open, revealing a sliver of darkness behind it – its own mouth, you realise with a shudder.

Even more perturbingly, the tallest of the trio has definitely taken a step closer. You can see the indentation in the dust where its foot had rested only seconds ago, several metres back.

Your tongue sits like a lead weight in your mouth, dry as a bone.

At the silver robot’s words, it stills entirely, one of its gargantuan hands held up placatingly. Its compliance demonstrates that there must be some sort of hierarchy here. Despite the apparent size advantage, the taller robot had deferred to the one with red eyes.

That at least clues you in on which danger to prioritise, so you turn back to the first giant, your own hands unconsciously mirroring the same, appeasing gesture.

It’s an absolutely uncontested fact that you’re outmatched in size, numbers, speed, strength, and more than likely intelligence too.

So, what do you have in your arsenal?

What could you possibly have?

Think!

The toe of your boot slides forwards an inch, just an inch, just enough to bump gently into an obstruction that rolls slightly under the force.

A rapid glance down reveals the object; the torch you’d dropped earlier, sitting innocuously by your boot, dim and harmless…

… In a split second, you make a decision.

It could very well prove to be your last decision, but it’s better than staying paralyzed by indecision and fear. One option guarantees that you won’t be leaving here alive. The other… might at least buy you some time…

In one, darting motion, you dip down and swipe the torch off the ground, straightening back up just as hastily and holding it out in front of you with both hands, aiming the glass face up towards the scarlet ‘eyes’ leering down from above you.

“Back off!” is all you can think to yelp, arms and voice quaking, “O-or I’ll shoot!”

....

The silence that falls over the cavern couldn’t be any heavier.

It makes the rattling plastic of the torch that much louder in your ringing ears.

For several heartbeats, nobody moves, not the kids, not the robots, only you with your knocking knees and trembling, outstretched arms.

Then suddenly, sound floods back into the chamber, all in the form of a scratching, obnoxious cackle.

The silver robot peels the plating around its lips back and laughs at you, the missile jerking wildly with the effort to stay trained on you despite the wielder’s convulsing frame.

“Oh~! Oh, that is rich!” it chortles, smirking maniacally down at you from twenty-something feet, “You’ll shoot, will you? You’ll shoot me with that little toy of yours?” You can see the guard dropping, there’s more movement behind you. You have to act now, before the other two monstrosities get the chance to intervene.

“This toy-!” you blunder, cutting shakily through the mocking laughter, “I-is an… um, a military… tactical… laser! It’ll blind you from fifty feet!” You have no idea if robots can be blinded. You have no idea why you’re bluffing like a gambler losing at poker. The torch, if anything, is about as bog-standard as it could possibly get. You know that.

But you’re hoping the robot doesn’t.

Apparently though, it does, judging by the fresh peal of laughter tumbling out of it and ricocheting around the mine chamber.

There’s a nervous hum of uncertainty from one of the kids - Jack, if you had to guess.

“Do you really think, human, that I don’t know a bluff when I hear one?” it remarks snidely, sweeping a slender claw beneath one of the red lights in a mocking rendition of someone wiping away a tear.

“You… you don’t believe me?!” you shout up at it, wedging your thumb underneath the switch and bracing every muscle in your body, praying that this works.

Splaying its free hand across what serves as a chest, it retorts, “Do you take me for a fool? Of course I don’t believe you!”

“Good!” you exclaim as a fresh cascade of adrenaline surges through your blood, shoulders aching with the effort of keeping them aimed up at the robot’s face which contorts from a smirk to a frown at your unexpected turnaround. “Then you won’t try to defend yourself when I do this-!”

On the final word, your thumb jams the switch into position, and a stalwart beam of light flies straight and true, crashing into the robot’s pale face and dousing those ominous red lights faster than you can blink.

The effect is as immediate as it is melodramatic.

The relatively quiet air of the cavern is suddenly ripped asunder by the robot’s jarring and unexpected screech of alarm. Reeling backwards, it wrenches its gangly arms up and flings them over its face, shielding itself from the little beam of your torch.

“MY OPTICS!”

You don’t stick around to see what happens next, all too aware that the same bluff never works twice.

The very instant that missile’s trajectory changes, you’re moving, aggressively stamping down on the instinct screaming at you to haul yourself to the far passage as fast as your legs can carry you.

There are three people who need to reach it first.

The front of Jack’s shirt is the first thing your fingers latch onto when you spin around and make a wild grab for one of the kids. His eyes are on stalks, bugging out of their sockets when you unceremoniously hurl him out in front of you and shove his back for good measure, shrieking at the top of your lungs, “RUN!”

He’s still getting his feet under him properly by the time you’ve snatched up Rafael’s wrist in one hand and Miko’s in the other, all the while chaos erupts around you when several-hundred tonnes of metal begins to move.

You almost wrench the poor kids out of their shoes as you take off, haring at breakneck speed towards the tunnel you’d come down like a fire has been lit under your heels.

----

Optimus has to admit, it isn’t very often that he can be surprised anymore, though he has noticed that the instances seem to be occurring with more and more frequency of late. That they happen to correlate with his arrival upon Earth is hardly coincidental, he’s sure.

Humans, as it stands, are just about the most pleasant surprise he’s come across in his extensive travels throughout the Galaxy, and there’s always something so refreshing about their ability to deliver.

Refreshing, yes. But somehow at the same time, spark-wrenchingly, tank-churningly alarming.

Even the Prime couldn’t predict that you’d resort to bluffing with a Decepticon, let alone that the bluff had actually worked, however briefly.

The only blessing he can latch onto is ‘thank Primus Starscream has never taken an interest in human electrical devices.’

Optimus had been waiting on the tips of his pedes for the opportunity to put himself between you and the Seeker, all he needed was an opening where he could be sure that missile wouldn’t be going off anywhere near you and the children… Easier said than done, of course.

Then, in a matter of moments, as Starscream lurches away from your ‘blinding’ beam of light and throws his arms up to defend his optics, the Prime finds himself mirroring Bulkhead’s astonishment. The pair of them gawk down at you as you take their youngest charges by the hands, drive Jack ahead of you and bolt for a tunnel across the cavern whilst your weapon of choice flickers weakly in the dust you leave behind.

However, Optimus doesn’t linger for long to marvel over your quick-thinking.

“I’m BLIND!” Starscream is shrieking, tearing his servos away from his optics and blinking down at them, faceplates screwed up in anguish, “YOU’VE BLINDED ME! YOU-!...”

Just like that, he goes utterly still, giving another series of rapid blinks as he flips his very-much-still-visible servos back and forth, wings slumping at the realisation. “Oh.”

Whatever relief he might have felt, accompanied by the swelling fury that he’d been a victim of blatant skulduggery is short-lived.

Motion from the corner of his optic alerts him just in the nick of time to Optimus Prime’s fist, hurtling on a collision course with his helm. Letting out a squawk, the Seeker barely manages to duck the first strike, feeling the air rush past his faceplates as he launches himself backwards, vying for some much-needed distance between himself and his adversaries, only for his efforts to fall flat when an even more devastating force catches him unawares.

With all the driving power of a siege engine, the Wrecker’s signature weapon buries itself into Starscream’s tanks. Hard.

“ACK-!” The garbled sound jumps unwillingly off his glossa, and he doubles over at once, yet still forces his pedes to scramble backwards, curling one arm around his stomach plating while the other flies up to aim his missile at the Prime, sweeping it back and forth in wild motions to ward them back.

To his shock, both of them fall still at once, glaring murderously down at him with their own weapons raised and cocked, but otherwise motionless. And there they stand, side by side; two bridling Autobots planted stoutly between himself and their fleeing pets.

Starscream’s denta grind together audibly, and he lets out a strangled growl, tanks roiling from the force of the hit.

He’s lost the upper-hand. Without the human meat-shields, he’s only too aware that he’s just lost any and all chance at getting something out of this. And to think, he’d been mere milliseconds away from calling in Megatron to inform him that his loyal and devoted Second In Command was holding Prime at gunpoint.

Bullet quite literally dodged, he concedes. Minor blessings.

It doesn’t escape his notice how the Autobots’ optics are locked onto his raised weapon, nor how they’d turned rigid at his flaunting of it.

And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, he realises why.

It isn’t the notion of his weapon firing at them that’s paused their advance.

It’s his weapon firing at all.

‘Of course,’ he comprehends with building anticipation, his processor firing rapidly as ideas cluster around inside it, ‘The mine…’

Structurally, Decepticon scouts had deemed it sound for the finer precision of their mining drills… but the impact blast from an uncontrolled detonation that targets one of the fundamental tunnels….?

Oh-ho! Now who has the upper hand?

A flash of movement between the Prime’s legs catches his attention, and he dares a glance through them to see the little pests making their escape. And there, leading the pack is the duplicitous human who cost him his advantage.

Starscream’s optics narrow as he tracks the humans’ path, noting their trajectory.

Perfect.

Whilst the Prime and his loyal hound are bodily blocking Starscream from taking aim at their humans, neither of them have apparently thought to cover the entrance to the tunnel those humans are currently sprinting towards…

He’ll have to be quick, so it’s a good thing he already knows which tunnel will lead him out of this doomed mine, and a jet’s speed is leagues ahead of the ground-crawling Autobots and their vastly inferior vehicle modes.

“Give it up, Screamer,” Bulkhead grinds out, shifting his weight restlessly from one pede to the other, “We have you outnumbered. And outgunned."

"So I see," the Seeker wheezes, painstakingly drawing himself to his full height once again and fixing his sights on the Autobot leader, “And there’s something else you have that I don’t.”

The line is cast, and to his unmitigated delight, Bulkhead takes the bait.

“Oh yeah?” the Wrecker grunts warily, glaring down the length of his poised weapon, “And what’s that?”

With a smirk plastered across his faceplate, Starscream angles his missile to Bulkhead’s left, relishing the twin looks of shock and realisation that spark in his adversaries' optics.

He grins, a fever coursing through his wires.

“Collateral,” he says, and fires.

[j3lly-fish]

Ink Tides Tattoo 🌊🖤

Hi I haven't posted cc in a bit cause I'm actively deteriorating ANYWAYS-

I really like the way I draw those water reflections in some of my art so I decided to convert them to a tattoo... Shocker? Duck is back again because I can't afford getting swatted by Tumblr dot com.

Known issues: Not really but I was a bit tired/sleep deprived when making this so please tell me if there's anything wrong with the files, ill go ahead and fix them LOL

TOU: Do not steal or recolor (Personal recolors are okay though! I know I can't please everyone with colors/layout). If you want to use my tattoos to mash up with other tattoo cc, please message me for permission and give proper credit with a link to this post

✦ DOWNLOAD (SFS) ✦ | ✦ DOWNLOAD (PATREON) ✦

[playedcrowd5610]

10 of My 'Haunting the Nemesis' - Canon Headcanons

Because I am the author, and I have a lot of headcanons for this series that I never managed to bring to fruition or didn't seem very clear in the series, I'm posting a bunch of them here! I hope you like it.

Also, because I am the author, these HCs are all now 100% canon! But please share your own headcanons for this series as well. I would love to hear them. <3 (I might even end up making them canon as well.)

-

1.Knockout has Danny's phone number saved in his com-link contacts as "Scratch Magnet."

2. Danny, Knockout, and Breakdown go to a drive-in theatre every Friday night, and they each take turns picking the movie. (This was shown a little bit in the 'KO Drive-in' Chapter, but because that series is non-canon, I wanted to make it clear this movie night is, in fact, canon.)

3. Danny grabbing Jack's face to check on him in chapter 7 of 'Falling Stars' was Jack's Gay/Bi awakening. (I saw this as a few comments and could not stop laughing at the mental image. And I also got fan art of it. So sure, it's canon now. It won't have a part in the story, though, because it is not a ship, just an awakening. - Though if someone wants to make a work off of that, it's fine by me)

4. Danny can sense how old Cybertronians are in their maturity through their sparks. Which is why he calls Bumblebee "kid" in that one scene in 'Crushed Bug.' In comparison to Cybertronian age, Danny would be just older or the same age as Bee.

5. Danny is the king of the dead, and even though he doesn't actively rule, he has the right to the throne. Also, because of this, he has the ability to learn any language very quickly because, as king of the infinite realms, he needs to be able to learn the languages of thousands of universes as new ghosts keep popping into the zone. (I have covered this in a previous response post, but I also wanted to put it here.)

6. Danny is, in fact, immortal. He is not sure of this fact yet, but it is true. He will age naturally until he reaches his peak, and then he will simply stop ageing. Whether that is by his human form dying and him becoming a full ghost or if his human form stays with him as well is still being decided. (It was touched on in the Jazz chapter, but it wasn't confirmed. But Danny gets to live with his Cybertronain friends for much longer now!)

7. Ghost cores and sparks are almost identical in how they work and feel. This makes it very easy for ghosts and Cybertronians to connect and feel each other's emotions just as they would for their own species.

8. Danny calls Laserbeak his brother and calls Soundwave dad jokingly often, especially when Laserbeak calls him out when he's hurt. "Oh, come on! You snitched on me to Dad! Not cool."

9. One day, Knockout dumped a bunch of energon on Danny just to "See what it would do," and Danny ended up glowing like a glowstick for 3 days afterward. - Now, Knockout believes this is how all humans react when exposed to energon. XD

10. Soundwave did originally have his other mini-cons at the beginning of the war (Rumble, Frenzy, and Ravage), but after the years of fighting and war, only Laserbeak is left. This is one of the reasons he has gotten so over-protective with Danny; he doesn't want to lose another baby.

-

These apply to Haunting the Nemesis only and not Adopticons.

Thanks for reading my headcanons! If you want more, I may make another post. Love you all! Let me know if you have any of your own. Have a good rest of your week. <3

Ao3: Haunting the Nemesis

[superpoorlifechoices]

On "smol bean McCarthyism"

I try to avoid politics discourse on my blog, but godDAMN, the latest wave of discourse makes me want to fucking puke. You know the one, where some shitlips liberal with zero(0) credible links to any major disabilities activism movement starts scolding and concern-trolling communists they've never actually met about how the big, mean, nawsty revolution will be soooooo unfair to disabled people, so you should just be quiet and not cause twouble uwu.

At least the OG McCarthy had the balls to admit what he stood for. When he stood up and said that white, Christian civilisation needed to be defended against the godless alien Bolshevik, you know he actually believed in it. Now all we get are some cynical, unprincipled glowie motherfuckers, posting on Tumblr dot com about "uwu, my Langley Handwer says that da wevolution is ableist ^~^. The only way to improve a disabled person's life is to buy them Amazon prime". This smol bean McCarthyism can suck the fucking week-old smegma off an unwashed donkey dick.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Pretty sure this wasn’t answered in your faq.

I’m very impressed with your knowledge and am vaguely aware you’re a professional in sex/body matters and thus may have access to things people don’t normally have access to/have some of this information memorized.

My question is: do you have any resources you can share to learn more about bodies and safe sex practices?

I tried looking on your blog but couldn’t find anything after a couple minutes of searching

Thank you very much and I hope you have a lovely day!

hi anon,

I'm not a professional in the sense that I do not carry any kind of license or degree. what I have is years of experience doing research to answer questions, leading workshops and presentations, and volunteering my time to do human development classes with 4th-6th graders. there's nothing I have access to that you can't get too as long as you have an internet connection and perhaps a library card.

some of the sources I draw from most frequently (and link to most often) are the websites such as Planned Parenthood, the Mayo Clinic, the Cleveland Clinic, and the Center for Disease Control. Scarleteen is also an invaluable resource, which has a website and is right here on tumblr dot com at @hellyeahscarleteen. one of my earliest inspirations was the youtube sexologist Lindsey Doe, who's still active and has a vast backlog of videos. I have a list of books that I've found interesting and influential here.

information is everywhere.

[silvermoon424]

So things might be worse than originally thought for Mangadex reddit[.]com/r/HobbyDrama/comments/1kq2my7/comment/mt7ygx9/ 😬

Gonna go ahead and copy-paste the entire post because it's a great writeup:

Manga drama that’s ongoing. For the past seven years, one of the bigger manga sites that people used is called MangaDex. Rosen from the ashes of Bato.to, another manga aggregation site where the author had enough handling the site and quit, MangaDex built itself up into a powerhouse of a manga site - scan translators would upload manga en masse, and while uploading official manga rips was banned, MD would allow links to the official release so people could support them there instead. While a pirate site, it was probably one of the more honorable piracy sites out there. On May 16, users suddenly found that many manga, from titles that had active translations to complete series, were pulled from the site after a DMCA was filed. These included series that have no official translation, or series whose licenses expired - there is no legal way to read those titles now. No numbers were formally mentioned, but updates showed that at least 1000 series were taken down - more than 60,000 chapters. People were begging the MangaDex owners to clarify what happened, and they responded. * The prior numbers were an underestimate - over 7000 titles were hit by the DMCA * The DMCA was joint-filed by the rights-holders of the manga (not a false flag operation from a scanslation team upset that MangaDex banned groups who post paywalled chapters, as some thought) * A tick box was added to the chapter upload page so that people uploading manga have to confirm that they are legally allowed to post the translation from the rights holders (basically users can still post scanslated chapters, but the responsibility if another DMCA is filed falls on them) * NamiComi, a webcomic publisher akin to Naver or Webtoon, has accepted to take management of the site and its domain because they have the legal framework needed to protect MangaDex from DMCAs. Many r/manga users are already mourning the trajectory the site is taking. Obviously piracy is a hydra and a new head will always pop up when one is cut off, but it still takes a ton of time and effort to grow that head. And of course MangaDex doesn’t have a way to export your follows, so whatever site becomes the norm, I will basically need to punch in all the series I’m reading one by one again and pray the official publishers don’t smite them down too.

Okay, this is fucking horrible and so much worse than I thought. But as I said before, the international anime/manga scene was literally built on piracy so I know new sites will come to replace the lost ones. But it still fucking sucks, man.

[daman19942]

TSR CC Recommendations: TS2 Lot Builders

Nobody asked for this but I have a little time on my hands and I said I might do it, so here is a list of some TSR lot builders who I recommend checking out. A few notes under the cut before we get started (all details under the cut, as well, in case you aren't interested in my preamble):

This is not meant to be paid promotion for TSR. I believe TSR asking users to pay for their CC is ridiculous, especially for a 19 year old game they haven't supported in 7 years. But I spent many years uploading there during the peak-TS2 / pre-TS3 era and know there is great CC in their archives that newer players may not know about. And unlike TheSims2.com, which has sadly shuffled off this mortal coil, TSR's content is still available to freely download (assuming you can stomach the pop-ups and wait times)

This post will only be about lot builders because that was what I was primarily uploading and downloading in this era. I was friendly with some of the creators I am about to list, but none of them are still active members of the TS2 community.

The preview pics might be a little rough and the architecture styles will likely feel very dated compared to the most popular styles these days, which are more colorful, cluttered, and use 3t2 and 4t2 conversions. Re: the previews: too many of us were using free trials of PaintShopPro back then, and TSR limited us to 2 previews, so we did our best. Re: the styles: unlike pre-2010's CAS CC, which was full of hand painted and "realistic" textures (LOL), these are the same objects you can find in the game today, just being used in different ways! Sometimes for the first time! And, yes, while some of these creators used CC, it was mostly Homecrafter walls and floors, as you'll see below.

This was also the hey-day of CFE lot building, which has certainly fallen out of favor to more traditional builds (in part because graphics cards have improved and these types of builds don't look as good in 2024, and also because the great CFE experimenters, builders, and tutorial writers are no longer part of the community and their original discoveries are gone as well - I am happy to go down a massive rabbit hole on this piece of TS2 history if anyone else cares, but trust me, you don't have to care).

Alright that is enough caveating, here are some recs! (Links are in the creator's names and they take you to their Lots, though many of them have other creations, too).

Lord Tiko Speaking of great CFE builders! Lord Tiko built spaceships, boats, pagodas, domes, windmills and bridges, oh so many bridges before retiring mid-TS2 because of health issues. He was one of the first builders to take Daihtnaoz7's single and double bridge tutorials and apply them to really big lots. I'm still not sure how he built the Venice Rialto Bridge, or his other European water lots. Overall, a massive inspiration to me when I was prioritizing CFE builds.

Hatshepsut My favorite "traditional" home builder, and someone I considered a friend. She specialized in English and American builds, and I had many of Hat's houses in my old saves and was impressed by her range and decorating style which was (for the time) more varied than many of her peers. Knew how to take great preview pics of her houses, too.

Tigerblue Another builder I corresponded with, Tigerblue was probably the least prolific uploader on this list for sheer number of uploads, but she also crossed a range of styles. Her builds leaned way into specific styles (see the previews, these were all part of consistent sets of 3,4, or even 10 lots), but this was also what happened when a new EP dropped and everyone raced to uploaded builds using as many of the new objects and styles as possible. Tigerblue just happened to be better at it than most of us.

Cyclonesue Do current TS2 players know Cyclonesue? Because it's hard to think of someone who had a bigger impact on building and decorating of the era, first with her English and Tudor builds and later with her extremely distinct grunge creations. Seriously, check out her Urban Renewal series and the corresponding objects. Iconic stuff that surely now feels frozen in time. I probably only played 20% of her lots that I downloaded, but they still make for great hood decor. Like Tiko, someone who happily experimented with CFE.

Illiana The creator who inspired me to make this list is, ironically, the one on it who I know the least about (she is a Featured Artist but not in the Hall of Fame, whatever that means). I just started playing her Tri-Annyas fraternity house and have a few other lots floating around my game. She built in a range of styles, from classical to modern to Twikki Island to grunge. Revisiting some of them in-game, the TSR previews do not do them justice.

*EXHALES* If you made it to this point, kudos to you. I'm sure there are creators I've forgotten, and houses I haven't linked to, but this is a good starting point for digging into some of the eclectic builds the TSR(chives) have to offer (I just coined that, is it clever? It is not). Maybe I'll do a Part 2 if people like this.

If you have any favorites of your own, let me know what I missed! And as I do with my old Exchange re-uploads, I am tagging @sims2packrat and @oldasscustomcontent for general TS2 history awareness!

[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.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Crack, Mentions of Drugs (Edibles), Unhinged Driving, Dubious Decision-Making, Nanami’s Ongoing Suffering. A/N: This chapter gave me so much procrastination that I posted 4-5 one-shots instead of finishing it, lol. You can see the effort in the chapter name itself. Attached links to help visualize things better, but honestly, just hallucinate them. Linkin Park has never performed in Ibiza, but in this story (and our collective delusions), they have. Also, Chester is alive because I said so. The song they’re screaming at Nanami is this: Faint – Linkin Park For my rap & metalhead babes, I highly recommend this unhinged track instead, but fair warning: Do not listen while driving unless you want to accidentally recreate the Jesko scene. Linkin Park/Slipknot/Eminem-Damage A little headcanon for this series(more at the bottom): Nanami and Reader are metalheads first, people second, while Gojo listens to literally anything, but they all agree on Linkin Park. Also, Gojo & Nanami are millennials in canon, so they probably fucked heavy with Linkin Park. Lastly, yes, I know the Jesko is a two-seater but is being used for plot reasons. You have two options: hallucinate it as a four-seater or imagine Nanami sitting in Gojo’s lap like an incredibly disgruntled boyfriend. Choose your fighter. Linkin Park Fans Rise Up!!!

Previous Chapter 14 (alt ending 2.5) - He's Eldritch (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 15 (alt ending 2.6) - Ibiza

Valentine’s Day,

Few Years Ago – Linkin Park Concert, Ibiza

Ibiza had been a mistake.

Not because you weren’t having fun, but because Nanami was here too—which meant Gojo and you were actively working to drive him insane.

"Put her down!"

"She literally just jumped on me like a goddamn gecko, Kento; at least let me enjoy it."

You were currently perched on Gojo’s broad shoulders, warm thighs wrapped around his neck, arms anchored in his soft hairs as he swung side to side to the live music.

The crowd was electric—Linkin Park’s heaviest guitar riffs were shaking the very air.

None of you could quite recall whose idea it was to choose Ibiza for your honeymoon, but since Nanami rarely got the chance to attend concerts back in Japan, he was exceptionally excited for this one.

Now, however, he was deeply regretting that decision, sighing heavily and pinching the bridge of his nose, half due to the sheer volume of your yelling and half because Gojo had decided to twirl in circles with you on his shoulders.

You weren’t even holding on properly, just tugging at his hair with blind faith (full Ratatouille), your head thrown back in laughter as Gojo stumbled dangerously close to knocking over someone’s beer.

"I’m getting drinks," Nanami grumbled, already walking away.

You and Gojo were screaming lyrics like lunatics.

Directly at him.

Loudly.

“DON’T TURN YOUR BACK ON ME—"

“I WON’T BE IGNORED—"

The babysitter returned twenty minutes later, with three beers, feeling marginally less irritated—until he saw you and Gojo standing in the middle of the crowd, staring blankly at nothing.

His stomach dropped.

Something was wrong.

You were way too still, eyes wide and unfocused, while Gojo was just smiling at absolutely nothing.

You both looked nothing short of zombies.

Then he noticed the small, half-empty bag in your hand.

Gummies.

Expensive imported ones.

The kind people only sold in dark corners and called ‘magic treats.’

“Oh no.”

At the sound of his voice, you and Gojo whipped your heads toward him in eerie synchronization.

“OH NO.”

Gojo blinked at him. Then at the bag in your hand. Then back at Nanami.

“…Did we just drug ourselves?”

Nanami took one deep, suffering breath. “How many did you eat?”

You squinted at the bag. “…How many come in a pack?”

“FIFTEEN?!”

You and Gojo stared at each other.

Gojo: “…Oh.”

You: “…Shit.”

And then it hit.

Thirty minutes later, you both were Ibiza’s Most Wanted.

Gojo was hanging upside down from a railing, laughing at nothing.

You were clinging to Nanami’s back, crying about people wasting glitter.

Nanami was holding both of you by your collars like two feral turkeys.

“THIS IS WHY I DON’T DO THIS SHIT,” Nanami yelled, muffled by the concert noise, physically restraining Gojo from attempting to climb a speaker.

Meanwhile, you started giggling at your phone, trying to take a video for your Instagram story.

“Ken~” you sang.

“NO.”

“I wuve you.”

“NO.”

“Please?”

“…NO—”

Gojo suddenly grabbed Nanami’s face with both hands, his pupils the size of dinner plates.

“I THINK THE GROUND IS MOVING.”

Nanami physically winced, praying to whoever was listening to end him now.

But then—you gasped.

“Ken, I have an idea.”

He already hated it. “NO.”

Gojo gasped. “SHE’S RIGHT, KENTO!” He turned to you, planting a kiss on your head while spinning you around. “You’re a genius, babe,” he exclaimed.

No one knew what the idea was or how Gojo knew (if he even knew at all).

“That’s it. I’ve had it with you two. Give me that!” Nanami snatched the bag of gummies from your hand, reached into the cursed, demon-infested bag, shoved all five remaining gummies into his mouth, and chewed aggressively before swallowing.

He looked up at you and Gojo, smiling maniacally.

It was then that he realized.

You and Gojo had manipulated him into joining you with a disturbing level of unity.

His face paled. You both clung to either side of him. “You look so cute when you’re jealous, Ken,” you cooed.

He sighed.

One hour later, no one was okay.

Gojo was leaning against a palm tree, staring at the sky, mumbling something about the universe. Every few seconds, he’d point at a random star and whisper, “That one’s judging me.”

You, on the other hand, were fully convinced you were Batman. You’d fashioned a makeshift cape out of a cardigan and were crouched on top of a table, growling at anyone who came near. “I am vengeance,” you hissed, pointing at a wild goat. “I am the night.” The goat, unimpressed, stole your entire plate of food and ran off. “Well, well, looks like we have a new villain in Gotham: The Caprine!” you shouted, ready to chase it before concert security glared you down.

And Nanami?

Nanami was standing perfectly still, staring at his hands as if he’d just discovered they existed, realizing for the first time that he was made of matter and atoms. He poked his own arm experimentally, as if expecting it to collapse into a pile of stardust. “This is… unsettling.”

The night was ruined.

Somewhere between Gojo’s existential crisis, your vigilante delusions, and Nanami’s sudden realization that he was, in fact, a physical being, things had spiraled so far out of control that the only logical next step was to start making out.

Which—well.

That’s exactly what happened.

It started with Gojo, because of course it did. He stumbled over to you, still muttering about the universe, and declared, “If we’re all just atoms, then we’re basically the same person. So this isn’t weird.” Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed your face and planted a sloppy kiss on your lips. You, still in full Batman mode, responded by dramatically declaring, “This city needs me,” before kissing him back.

Nanami, still staring at his hands, didn’t even notice at first. But when he finally looked up and saw the two of you, he froze. “What… are you doing?”

“We’re atoms,” Gojo replied, as if that explained everything. “Join us, Kento. Become one with the cosmos.”

Nanami blinked. Then, in a move that shocked even himself, he walked over, grabbed both of your faces, and kissed each of you.

The only silver lining in this entire disaster was that everyone around you was just as messed up as you were. A guy in a banana costume was trying to serenade a palm tree, a group of tourists were arguing with a vending machine, and someone had set up a slip-and-slide using whiskey as lubricant. No one batted an eye at the three of you making out in the middle of it all.

Ibiza had been a mistake. A colossal, unhinged, gummy-fueled mistake.

Around one a.m., you three were doing the walk of shame, except it wasn’t shame, just weed.

The streets of Ibiza were alive—a blur of neon lights, pulsing music, and the three most ridiculous human beings to ever exist, stumbling their way back to the hotel.

Well, it should’ve been a normal walk back, but you all looked like a trio of escaped lunatics.

“Okay, okay—” you wheezed, giggling uncontrollably, “—but imagine... imagine if we were actually in a video game.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest. “OH MY GOD. WHAT IF WE’RE JUST NPCS?!”

Nanami blinked slowly, his expression so serious it made it funnier. “I think I can hear colors.”

“See?!” you threw your hands up, nearly smacking Gojo in the face. “He’s the protagonist right now.”

“Not fair,” Gojo pouted. “I wanna be the protagonist.”

“You always act like the protagonist,” Nanami grumbled.

Gojo gasped louder, clutching Nanami’s shoulders. “WHAT IF I’M THE LOVE INTEREST?!”

You burst out laughing so hard that you had to lean on him for support, while Nanami just groaned, rubbing his temples like he was seconds away from throwing himself into the ocean.

Gojo squinted at you suddenly. “You’re way too pretty. You’re definitely the rich main character who has a tragic backstory.”

You gasped, playing along. “Am I an heiress?”

You and Gojo collapsed into laughter.

You weren’t just high—no, that would’ve been fine.

You were also drunk off your asses, giggling like idiots, barely keeping it together.

Gojo insisted on carrying you, except his definition of carrying was throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Nanami, who had officially entered his existential crisis era, was dragging a hand down his face. “I hate both of you.”

Gojo patted your backside. “Lies. You married us. No takesies backsies.”

Nanami deadpanned, his eyes bloodshot and full of regret. “That was a mistake.”

“Oh?” You gasped, hanging upside down off Gojo’s back. “Nanami Kento. Are you saying you regret our marriage?”

“Yes.”

Gojo nearly choked on his laughter, stumbling sideways and almost sending all three of you crashing into a streetlamp.

“You’re so mean,” you huffed, kicking your feet like an upset toddler as Gojo adjusted his grip on you.

“He’s lying,” Gojo whispered loudly against your thigh, as if Nanami wasn’t standing right there.

Nanami deadpanned again. “I married a clown and his assistant.”

At some point, you insisted on walking, so now all three of you were stumbling side by side, giggling at absolutely nothing.

Gojo was elbow-deep in your bag, rifling through it like a raccoon with opposable thumbs. "Where are they?" he whined, tossing out a mascara, a pack of gum, and what looked like a card from some male investor (he discreetly threw that one away). "YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO HAVE SNACKS! This is inhumane!"

Nanami, meanwhile, was squinting at a street sign like it was written in hieroglyphics. "Is this… Spanish?" he muttered, tilting his head as if that would help. "Or did they just make this up?" He frowned. “Why are there so many Z’s? What does ‘chiringuito’ even mean? Is that a place or a disease?”

And you? You were deeply, existentially concerned about your shoes.

"Why do they sound like that?" you suddenly demanded, stopping dead in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes locked onto your heels as if they had betrayed you. You took a step. Click-clack. Another. Click-clack.

"They’re heels," Nanami deadpanned, like a man who had long given up on understanding you. "That’s what they do."

“No, but like—why do they click?” you insisted, bending down to poke at them.

Gojo snorted, pointing at you. “I told you she’s high as fuck.”

“I know. We all are,” Nanami sighed, grabbing your arm before you could walk straight into traffic. “Can we please keep moving?”

"My feet hurt," you whined, pouting so aggressively that it looked like you might actually cry. "I hate them."

Nanami removed his own shoes, then knelt to take off your heels. “Here,” he said, handing you his loafers. “Wear these. I’ll carry your heels.”

You beamed, slipping into his loafers like some kind of victorious little ogre. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, you grabbed Nanami’s face and kissed him on the lips before skipping ahead like nothing had happened.

Gojo, still rifling through your bag while looking for candies you kept in it, yelled, “I’m dying of hunger! Why is there nothing to eat in here?!”

“It’s not Doraemon’s pouch!” you shot back. “You ate everything, and now I’m starving too. Ugh, give it back before you tear it apart, you savage.”

Nanami pointed to a nearby food stall. “There’s food over there, but I lost my wallet. Gojo, did you bring yours?”

“I never bring my wallet. I don’t need to when I have you two treating me like the resident passenger princess.” Gojo grinned, unapologetic, as if this were a reasonable statement.

“Where are my cards?!” you suddenly shrieked, dumping the contents of your bag onto the sidewalk. “And why is there only lip gloss in here?!”

Gojo went completely still. "…It’s so small. Where was I supposed to put it?"

You inhaled sharply. "IN YOUR POCKET OR, BETTER YET, UP YOUR ASS?"

“Kinky.” Gojo smirked.

Nanami, exhausted, muttered, "I am so close to leaving you both here—"

"And to fit ONE lip gloss, you threw away ALL my cards?!" You continued, now physically shaking.

Gojo did what Gojo does best: he ran.

You lunged after him, but Nanami caught you around the waist like a seasoned babysitter. "Enough," he muttered, dragging you toward a nearby food stall. "They probably take online payments. Let’s just eat before I strangle both of you."

At the mere mention of food, Gojo, who had been halfway to a full sprint, immediately turned back, appearing at Nanami’s side as if he had never left.

The three of you stumbled toward the food stall, drawn by the siren call of greasy, late-night sustenance. The stall was a colorful mess of neon lights and handwritten signs, most of which were in Spanish. A stout old woman with a no-nonsense expression stood behind the counter, arms crossed, watching you approach with the kind of skepticism usually reserved for people who try to haggle over the price of a kebab.

Gojo boldly stepped up first. “Hello, madam!” he said, flashing his most charming smile. “We would like to order some food, please!” He never missed a chance to practice his English, still trying to impress you despite being married now.

The woman stared at him blankly, then grunted something in Spanish that sounded vaguely like a question.

“Uh,” Gojo said, his smile faltering. “Food? Comida? You know, like… eat?” He mimed shoving food into his mouth, complete with exaggerated chewing sounds.

The woman raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. She pointed at the menu board behind her, which was covered in words none of you could fully understand. “Elige,” she said gruffly.

Nanami stepped forward, squinting at the menu. “I think... this says ‘patatas bravas’?” he said, pointing at one item. “And this is... pan con tomate?”

You and Gojo collectively swooned over Mr. Worldwide Nanami Kento, who adjusted his glasses smugly.

The woman grunted again, nodding slightly. She pointed at Nanami, then at the menu, and made a gesture that seemed to mean, Hurry up and order.

“I’ll have the pan con tomate, please. And a bottle of water.” Nanami finished, pointing at the water bottles.

The woman nodded, scribbling something on a notepad. Then she turned to you, her expression somehow even more impatient.

“Uh, patatas bravas?” you said, pointing at the menu. “Please?”

She grunted again, jotting it down. Then she looked at Gojo, who was already leaning over the counter, trying to peer into the trays of food.

“Churros!” he declared, pointing at the tray. “All.”

The woman stared at him, then said something in Spanish that sounded like a warning. When Gojo didn’t react, she sighed and grabbed a plate, piling it high with churros. She shoved it toward him, then soon enough handed over the food to you and Nanami and turned away, clearly done with the three of you.

You grabbed your plate of patatas bravas and immediately shoved a forkful into your mouth. The crispy potatoes, smothered in spicy tomato sauce and aioli, were a revelation. “I think I’m in love with potatoes,” you moaned, your voice thick with pure, unfiltered emotion.

Nanami handed you a bottle of water. “We need to hydrate,” he said, his tone practical but slightly amused. “And maybe sober up.”

Gojo, meanwhile, was already on his third churro, powdered sugar dusted across his face like war paint. “Food tastes so much better when high.”

“Oh my god, I agree!” you exclaimed, nodding enthusiastically. Turning to Nanami, you brought some of the food to his mouth, and he ate it instinctively. “It’s good, darling,” he said, nodding in agreement.

You would have offered some to Gojo, but since he wasn’t sharing his, you felt a bit petty.

The three of you found a spot on the curb, sitting down to enjoy your 2 a.m. feast. Around you, Ibiza was alive with the sounds of laughter, music, and the occasional drunken shout. A group of tourists stumbled past, arguing over directions. A guy in a banana costume was trying to climb a lamppost. Someone had set up a makeshift dance floor in the middle of the street, and a crowd was gathering to watch.

You took another bite of your patatas bravas, savoring the flavors. “I could eat this every day,” you said, leaning against Nanami. “Like, seriously. I would marry these potatoes.”

Nanami sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. “Please don’t propose to food in public.”

Gojo, his mouth full of churro, chimed in. “Too late. I already married this churro. We’re very happy together.”

You laughed, leaning back to look at the sky. The stars were bright, the air was warm, and you felt a strange sense of peace.

Once you three were done eating, you, Nanami, and Gojo stood at the food stall, drunk and high as hell, staring blankly at the old shopkeeper, who was now looking at you like she had already called the cops in her head.

"You scammers." She grunted, arms crossed over her chest.

"Excuse me?!" you sputtered, patting down your pockets as if money would magically appear.

Nanami diplomatically sighed. "We’re not scammers. We just... don’t have any cash."

The old lady squinted. "Scammers."

Gojo, absolutely no help at all, was still licking sugar off his fingers like some kind of degenerate. "Damn, these churros were worth the fraud."

"WE ARE NOT FRAUDS!" You turned on him, ready to strangle him.

The last sober neuron in Nanami’s brain was barely hanging on. "Look, we can pay online. Apple Pay, Google Pay, whatever you—"

"NO ONLINE!"The woman barked, shaking her head furiously. "No scammer money! Only cash! Or—" she paused, eyes narrowing at Nanami like she was assessing premium livestock. "Or you leave the Givenchy."

Your eyes snapped to Nanami’s expensive Givenchy dress shirt.

Gojo dropped a churro in slow motion.

Nanami just... exhaled, reaching for the top button of his shirt.

"Gakuganji’s bald head, Kento, NO," Gojo yelped.

You grabbed Nanami’s hands. "That shirt costs more than my liver; she’s scamming us!"

“I will scare her!” Gojo yelled, ready.

Nanami shrugged, already handing it over as payment. "It’s just a shirt."

The old lady grinned, practically vibrating with excitement. "Sí, sí! Is just a shirt!"

"LIKE HELL IT IS!" You were about to climb over the damn counter when she sniffed it like she had just inhaled the cure to all her problems.

Gojo lost it at that and cackled. "Babygirl, please," he wheezed, physically restraining you as you tried to murder the old woman with your bare hands.

"I AM NOT YOUR BABYGIRL!" you screamed, struggling against his grip. "MA’AM, GIVE ME THE SHIRT BACK BEFORE I—"

"No take-backs!" The woman grinned, hugging the shirt to her chest like it was her newborn child. "Good quality. Nice smell."

Gojo was losing his mind. "Babe, please, just let the old lady have it—"

"SHE IS HOLDING NANAMI’S CLOTHES HOSTAGE LIKE A WAR PRIZE, SATORU!"

Nanami placed a hand on your head like you were a particularly rabid kitten. "It’s fine," he said soothingly, his voice deep and warm in a way that had you temporarily forgetting your rage. "I’ll buy another one."

Gojo smirked. "And now you’re half-naked in Ibiza, Kento."

Nanami sighed. "Regrettably, yes."

And that’s how the three of you escaped the debt of a late-night food stall—at the great cost of Nanami’s designer shirt.

The walk back to the hotel was chaotic as hell.

Nanami, drunk and high, was relaxed in just his pants.

And that?

That was a problem.

Because apparently, Ibiza at night was full of thirsty women, and every single one of them was looking at your husband like he was a full-course meal.

You noticed it immediately.

The whispers. The stares. The not-so-subtle glances at Nanami’s broad, muscular frame, the way his exposed collarbone practically shimmered in the streetlights.

You scowled.

Then, without hesitation, you climbed him.

Not fully, obviously—you weren’t a damn spider monkey. But you threw yourself at his side, trying (and failing) to use your tiny body to block out literally six-plus feet of blond muscle.

Gojo doubled over laughing. "Baby, please, you look like a Chihuahua trying to guard a steak—"

"SHUT THE HELL UP, SATORU!"

Nanami just blinked at you. "Are you… okay?"

"No, I am NOT okay, Ken," you hissed, glaring at yet another woman who was eyefucking him. "They’re looking at you."

Nanami blinked. "And?"

"AND?" You almost screamed. "I AND SATORU ARE THE ONLY ONES ALLOWED TO LOOK AT YOU LIKE THAT."

Gojo wheezed. "Holy shit, you’re insane—"

You hissed at him.

Nanami, utterly unfazed, just patted your head again like a kindergarten teacher calming a feral child. "I belong to you. You know that."

That... shouldn’t have done anything to you.

But it did.

Gojo noticed immediately. His grin turned evil.

"Damn, sweetheart," he purred, slinging an arm around Nanami’s very exposed shoulders. "You’re acting like you don’t have two husbands."

"I AM AWARE," you snapped, before grabbing Nanami’s arm and glaring at every woman in a five-mile radius.

Nanami looked at the sky as if begging the universe for patience. "Are we almost back to the hotel?"

"Not fast enough," you grumbled.

Gojo just smirked, winking at one of the women eyeing Nanami. "Hey girl, you can look all you want, but only we get to touch."

"SATORU!"

And just like that, you had a new mission.

Protect Nanami. At all costs.

Even if that meant literally body-blocking him from the general public.

For the next ten minutes, you were practically shoving your loose top at Nanami, determined to restore his dignity.

"Just take it!" you huffed, trying to push it into his hands. "Let me—"

Nanami shoved it back at you. "I am not letting you walk through Ibiza at night in just a bra."

"Why not?!"

"Because it’s inappropriate."

"But it’s fine for you to be half-naked?!"

"That’s different."

"HOW?!" You narrowed your eyes and waited for him to dig himself into a hole because just now, Nanami Kento had walked into a trap all husbands detested—being proven sexist or weak.

Gojo was still laughing. "Sweetheart, let him be. He’s embracing his primal state."

"I WILL NOT LET HIM BE!" You yanked his arm like a stubborn child. "Take. The. Shirt."

Nanami just sighed harder, like he was already calculating his therapy bill. "I would rather die than let you walk around a strange country at night in nothing but a bra."

You narrowed your eyes further. "I thought you were my dark romance husband who says, ‘wear whatever you want, I can fight.’"

Gojo immediately wheezed. "Shit, Kento, R.I.P."

But before Nanami could kick him off, Gojo grabbed his own t-shirt and just yeeted it off in the middle of the street.

"Solidarity, Kento!" Gojo declared, now also bare-chested.

Now you were just standing there, sandwiched between two unfairly ripped men, blinking.

You turned to see everyone staring at what was supposed to be only yours. You could not fight this many people anytime soon.

Nanami, barely reacting, turned to Gojo with the deepest sigh of his life. "Why are you like this?"

Gojo grinned. "Look who’s talking, Mr. Eight-Pack Abs."

Nanami pinched his nose, his last brain cell disintegrating into dust. "Fine." He exhaled sharply and snatched your shirt from your grip, finally putting it on.

You, now finally winning, smirked.

Now, only Gojo was shirtless, twirling his discarded tee like a stripper on payday. "So, are we just walking back like this? ‘Cause I feel chilly."

Nanami didn’t even look at him. "Put your shirt back on, Satoru."

"Make me."

You rolled your eyes, grabbed Gojo’s shirt, and made him wear it like a mom. "I swear to God, if you both walk around practically naked, I will commit murder."

Gojo grinned, winking at you. "Oh? Kinda hot."

Nanami physically dragged him the rest of the way.

After a while of Gojo carrying you on his back, with Nanami walking behind to guard you, the three of you navigated through the crowds enveloped in Gojo’s infinity. Ahead, the 7Pines Resort loomed like a beacon of hope.

Except—

As soon as you reached the gates—

“Oh my God.” Gojo gasped, and you climbed down.

You and Nanami blinked at him in confusion.

“What?”

Gojo turned to you both, dead serious.

“This is a stealth mission.”

By all accounts, you should’ve just walked into your luxury hotel like normal people.

Instead—

“Wait,” Gojo whispered, pressing a hand to his earpiece (which did not exist).

“We’re undercover,” you nodded, eyes dead serious.

Nanami—who was 100% done with both of you—just sighed and rubbed his face. “We’re going to get arrested.”

Gojo shushed him aggressively. “Not with that attitude, Nami.”

Then, without any warning, Gojo flattened himself against a tree, moving slowly, eyes shifting left and right like he was some kind of secret agent.

You immediately followed suit, sliding up beside him.

Nanami stood there, staring at the two of you like he was seriously contemplating whether he could pretend not to know you.

You grabbed his wrist, dragging him into the nonsense.

“You’re Bond,” you whispered dead serious. “We’re your sexy sidekicks.”

“If I’m doing this, then I’m a respected businessman,” Nanami muttered, surprisingly complying.

"Fine,” Gojo hissed. “Now move before they spot us.”

The second you stepped inside the gorgeous, luxurious, marble-floored lobby—all three of you immediately dropped into a squat.

A rich, powerful trillionaire, a stoic ex-salaryman, and a 6’3” menace—all crouching like idiots behind a plant that was not nearly big enough to hide the three of you.

“This is so stupid,” Nanami muttered.

Gojo shushed him aggressively. “You’re ruining the mission.”

You squinted. “Where’s our target?”

Gojo was suddenly the kind of serious the higher-ups wished he was in meetings. “The elevator.”

Nanami whispered, "Follow me.”

Then—like a trio of highly trained spies (read: three unhinged drunk people)—you moved in sync.

Crouch-walking.

Stalking behind ridiculously expensive furniture.

Ducking behind a giant vase (which Gojo nearly knocked over).

Your Nanami’s loafers clicked against the marble, completely ruining the stealth, all because your foot size was not the same as his, making it feel like a child cosplaying an adult.

Nanami sighed in agony, watching his dignity disintegrate as he followed you barefoot.

At one point, Gojo cartwheeled behind a couch. (It was not a cartwheel; he almost got a concussion.)

You rolled behind a decorative plant.

Nanami simply walked normally, hands in his pockets.

You giggled into your hand, clinging onto their sleeves.

It didn’t help that the staff already knew you were high as a kite and actively ignored you.

And then—miraculously—you made it to the elevator without getting kicked out.

Somehow, despite the absolute circus you all just pulled, you reached the penthouse suite without being thrown out.

And that’s when the real problem started.

The second the door clicked shut, Gojo pressed you against the wall, caging you in with his arms.

His lips curled into a grin, but his eyes—God, those electric blue eyes—were dangerous.

“So, uh,” his voice dropped. “What do spies do after a mission?”

You grinned back.

“Celebratory sex,” Nanami deadpanned from behind you.

Gojo snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”

“You know,” he murmured, voice low, “I think we deserve a reward.”

Nanami, putting away your heels, exhaled slowly behind him. “We need water first.”

Gojo ignored him, and the heat in the room shifted instantly. He dipped down to press his forehead against yours.

“You look so fucking beautiful right now,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over your lips.

You shivered.

Gojo chuckled, his voice thick with amusement.

“She’s still high,” Nanami pointed out, taking off your t-shirt.

Gojo leaned closer, his lips ghosting against yours. “So am I.”

And then—

Nanami’s hand slid to your waist, warm and solid against your skin.

Your heart pounded.

Your back arched.

Then Gojo missed your mouth completely and kissed your cheek.

And then your nose.

And then somehow your eyebrow.

You snorted so hard it broke the mood entirely.

Gojo pulled back, blinking in confusion. "Did you just—are you laughing?"

"You kissed my eyebrow."

Gojo’s eyes widened in betrayal. "No, I didn’t."

Nanami, tired of your combined antics, sighed. "You did."

Then the second Gojo kissed you, it was over.

Your high-ass brain forgot everything—your name, your life, why you were even standing up—because all you could feel was warmth.

Nanami’s hands moved to your breast, kneading, drawing out a deep gasp while he bit your shoulder.

The high made everything—every touch—ten times more intense.

Gojo’s lips brushed against yours, teasing, grinning against your mouth.

And then—

Your legs gave out.

“Oh—shit—” Gojo yelped, grabbing you like a sack of potatoes.

“Are you okay?” Nanami immediately snapped to concern, but his shirtless self looked so serious that it just—

It just made you laugh.

Like really laugh.

And Gojo, the idiot, caught your giggles like a contagious disease.

“What—why are you laughing?” Nanami asked flatly, but Gojo was already bent over, wheezing, dragging you down with him.

You were giggling uncontrollably in Gojo’s arms, tears in your eyes, because none of this made sense, but it was so funny.

Nanami sighed, rubbing his temples.

The next few moments were a blur of—

Gojo kissing you like a starved man, hands greedy, palm pressed flat against the small of your back.

Nanami tilted your chin up, kissing you slow and deep, fingers dragging up your spine as Gojo pressed against your back.

All three of you collapsed onto the giant bed, a tangle of limbs and heat.

Gojo cursed under his breath when you pulled his t-shirt off, fingers dragging over his abs.

Nanami groaned when you got impatient and yanked his trousers loose.

Then—

“Wait.”

Silence.

Gojo paused mid-kiss, blinking.

You and Nanami looked up, waiting.

Gojo squinted, frowning. “Are we—” he paused. “Is this high making us extra horny?”

You blinked. “Has he never had an edible before?”

Nanami answered you both. “Yes.”

Gojo nodded. “Cool.”

Then he immediately went back to kissing you.

Nanami just shook his head and returned to leaving hickeys on your décolletage.

After some time, Gojo was grinning like a fool, straddling your waist and pressing kisses all over.

“You’re so fucking hot, baby, holy shit.”

Nanami was pressed against your back, his hot breath on your ear sending shivers down your spine.

“Are you even taking this seriously?” he muttered, but he was smirking against your skin.

Gojo smiled like an overexcited puppy. “We’re high, Kento!”

Nanami sighed, but his hand was already sliding up your thigh.

And then AGAIN—

Gojo gasped. “Oh my God—I’m in a threesome!”

Nanami froze.

You froze.

And then, like the traitor you were, you burst out laughing.

“WE’RE MARRIED, SATORU.” Nanami groaned, burying his face in your shoulder, hiding his laughter.

Gojo was giggling like an idiot, collapsing onto you.

And somehow—somehow—that giggling turned into kisses.

Soft.

Warm.

Lazy, slow, sweet.

You were all a mess, breathless and tangled, forgetting the world outside this moment.

In the soft haze of high and heat, all you could think was—

God, you loved them.

Ibiza had been a mistake.

But, holy hell, what a delightful one.

And the real honeymoon finally began.

---

Present Day, Japan

Warmth surrounded you.

Soft. Safe. Home.

You burrowed in deeper, letting yourself drift again, somewhere between sleep and waking, your mind blissfully blank. A slow, steady heartbeat thumped against your ear, and you sighed, nuzzling closer into the familiar, comfortable warmth of a fireplace.

Then something hard pressed against your lower back.

Your hazy brain barely registered it before all the pregnancy hormones you had been suppressing for months suddenly kicked the door down. A slow heat bloomed deep in your stomach, and before you could stop yourself, your hips rolled back, instinctively seeking friction.

Behind you, a slow, sharp inhale was taken against your hair. The arms around your waist tightened.

Encouraged by the response, you shifted again, pressing closer, rubbing against the firm heat.

It felt good.

Right.

Your body felt alive, sensitive in a way it hadn’t been in forever.

And then—oh. Oh.

A low, gravelly groan rumbled behind you, vibrations running down your spine.

The weight around your waist shifted, and suddenly, you were pulled flush against someone’s broad, solid chest. A large hand splayed over your belly, possessive yet reverent, while the unmistakable pressure of him aligned perfectly against the curve of your ass.

A hot exhale ghosted over your ear. "Fuck."

Your fingers clenched into the fabric you had been clutching in front of you, only to realize—

You were holding onto Nanami.

Face pressed into his neck, drooling onto his sweater.

Your body went rigid.

You wondered who Gojo was thinking of right now. Was it Nanami? Of course, it must be.

Another slow, gritted groan came from behind you. “Don’t go. I’m so sorry, baby. You’re my sun, and I won’t survive this void without you.”

Gojo’s hands moved and tightened over your sore, heavier-than-normal breasts, his face tucking against your neck as he ground against you once, just once, as if his asleep body was responding to yours on instinct.

Your stomach flipped—but not with affection.

Carefully, you started untangling yourself.

Nanami shifted first, a small frown pulling at his brows as he reached out for you in his sleep. You grabbed a pillow and shoved it in your place.

Like an idiot, he took it, pulling it to his chest with a small sigh.

A laugh tried to escape you, but you smothered it.

No. Focus.

Gojo was next. His breathing was steady—still asleep. Good.

You tried to sit up.

His arms, already firm around you, suddenly locked.

Tighter.

Jail-tight.

You sighed, pausing to wait for an opening. But he was clinging, his grip protective, securing you as if you were something precious that could slip away.

Seconds turned into minutes.

His warmth. Their warmth. Their familiar scent surrounded you.

Your eyelids grew heavy again.

And against your better judgment, you fell asleep again.

A few minutes later, you woke up to find Gojo nowhere to be seen and Nanami on the floor.

It wasn’t a surprise; how the hell were two massive men and your submarine-sized self even fitting on a couch?

By all logic, Nanami should’ve been on the floor long ago—he had been on the outside edge, after all.

Now, he was bundled up under a ridiculously heavy blanket, curled around a pillow like a koala—the one you’d shoved toward him. He must have fallen along with it. Thank God, or he would have taken you with him into the abyss.

His face was completely buried in it, soft blond strands spilling over the fabric, rising and falling with his slow, even breathing. He looked so peaceful, like a sun hidden behind storm clouds.

Like he wasn’t currently competing for the title of Captain Clueless McGee against Gojo these days.

“Don’t wake him up yet; his cursed energy needs a bit more to recharge,” came a voice from somewhere.

Yeah, like you were going to anyway.

You sighed, sitting up—luckily, no morning sickness today—and rubbed your eyes.

“Here,” a coffee mug with ‘The Strongest Pussy Eater’ and Gojo’s face was shoved close to your face.

You blinked at it, then up at Gojo, who was holding his own cup—which was yours, reading ‘Boobs Make Me Smile.’

You took your mug and placed it on the side table.

Gojo plopped himself down next to you, stretching his long limbs in a spidery way.

You stared blankly at nothing in particular, waiting for your brain cells to clock in for work.

Minutes passed.

Eventually, you picked up the coffee and took a sip.

…Butterscotch?

You frowned and took another sip to confirm.

Lo and behold.

Suspicion crept in. You peeked over the rim of your cup at Gojo, who was very obviously trying to hide his stupidly wide grin behind his own mug.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

In a voice low enough not to wake Nanami, you finally asked, “Are they yours?”

Gojo blinked, confused at first.

Then—like watching one single brain cell connect two dots—his expression slowly shifted.

Hesitantly, he replied, “He should be part of this conversation, right?”

He pointed toward Nanami, who was now halfway under the coffee table like a giant, well-insulated cockroach.

"Yeah, like you two kept me in the loop while che—" Your brain stalled.

Damn it, why did he look so cute?

Oh.

Right.

Hormones.

Definitely hormones.

Gojo was watching you, pretending he wasn’t, but his poorly hidden grin gave him away.

You cleared your throat, trying to reset your focus.

Before you could say anything, a deep, groggy voice came from the floor.

“You’re awake.”

Nanami’s voice was rough with sleep, his arms loosening on the pillow as he blinked at you, sleepily gauging your expression.

Gojo mock-stirred, rubbing his eyes like a spoiled prince. “Mmm, morning, pretty boy.”

Nanami immediately pulled his blanket over his head, obscuring his entire being, and groaned, “It’s too early for your shit.”

Gojo wasn’t deterred. “Our wife wants to know if they’re mine.”

Silence.

Nanami’s blanket lowered slightly. “…What?”

You took another sip of your butterscotch and sugar-overload disaster that should be declared a Turkish delight at this point and let out a small, unintentional hum of satisfaction. Fuck.

Gojo caught it.

His eyes gleamed as he leaned in, his voice way too smug for the morning. “Sugar cravings, huh?”

You tried to burrow into your blanket to escape the judgment.

Like a damn professor, Gojo took a very serious sip of his own coffee before announcing, “Sugar helps replenish energy and glucose levels faster.”

You glared. “I’m not gonna repeat myself. I know you can tell. From the cursed energy or whatever.”

Nanami, still half-dead on the floor, finally muttered, “Both ours.”

“Like spiritually or genetically?”

“Genetically.” He didn’t elaborate further.

You nodded, then your gaze snapped back to him. “Wait, that’s possible?”

Nanami looked caught off guard.

Gojo interjected, "Yeah, very rare. We are very lucky, baby.” He added a small chuckle, but underneath, he was sweating.

Then, folding his arm under his head, Nanami studied you carefully.

You poker-faced it.

Internally, though?

Something in your chest squeezed—a feeling you refused to name.

At least you wouldn’t have two Gojo clones harassing you for the rest of your life.

You simply hummed, grabbed your phone, and started texting people to take over arrangements at work. No way in hell were you going in today.

Nanami, satisfied with your reaction (or lack thereof), simply turned over and went back to sleep.

Gojo’s hand ghosted over your belly—a touch he didn’t complete.

You said nothing.

Instead, you stood up, stretching out the stiffness in your limbs. Gojo’s stupid grin faltered, softening into something smaller, something quieter, something so gut-wrenchingly fond it made his chest ache.

You ignored it and glanced at your phone, which was vibrating with a new text.

Yu 🐒: Hark, fair maiden! Prithee, unbar thy portal and grant us entry, for we hath arrived bearing the most fearsome of beasts—a creature of untamed spirit and claws sharper than the wit of your court jesters! Behold, the feral cat, a beast both noble and wild, hath graced us with its presence. Open thy doors, lest we be forced to parley with this tiny, hissing dragon upon thy stoop!

Yu 🐒: Pray, do not mention the scratches upon mine armor. 'Tis but a badge of honor.

Right on cue, a loud, impatient knock rattled the door. You perked up immediately.

“I got it,” you announced, already on your way.

The moment you opened the door, Haibara strolled in like he owned the place, several bags in hand, showing zero regard for personal space or the sanctity of your home.

Megumi, right behind him, handed you a tiny, squirming baby raccoon. It stretched its tiny arms toward you, and you gingerly cradled it against your chest.

“Wait—it’s albino?” You blinked, peering down at the little baby’s clean, impossibly soft fur.

Megumi wandered in. “He. And yes, at this point, you have a knack for collecting albino men.”

“I’m not albino. It’s the amount of my cursed energy you can’t even imagine that makes my hair white!” Gojo bellowed from the kitchen, slamming pancakes onto the griddle with the force of a man trying to prove he wasn’t eavesdropping. He was very invested in breakfast—or at least he wanted you to think so. But every few seconds, his eyes darted toward you, betraying his true focus: the raccoon.

Oh, the raccoon.

Because for Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer, the man who could level cities with a flick of his wrist, had one singular dream: to become the Raccoon King. Or, more accurately, Raccoon Dad. He wanted to hold it, become best friends with it. He wanted to whisper sweet nothings into its tiny, masked ears and maybe teach it to steal Nanami’s ugly glasses just so he could watch Nanami searching for them, grumbling. (Little did he know that within one night, Haibara had already one-upped him on that.)

But no—there you were, cradling the raccoon like it was the most precious thing in the world. Your arms wrapped around it instinctively, protectively, swaying just slightly as you soothed it.

And that’s when Gojo’s brain short-circuited.

Because if you could hold a raccoon like that—like it was a fragile, beloved treasure—would you hold his babies like that? Would you let him hold his kids? Would you—?

Gojo’s thoughts descended into chaos.

And then, like a lead balloon, he sank.

Right into the pit of his own existential despair.

So he pouted. Hard. Stirring the pancake batter with the intensity of a man questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment. The whisk clinked against the bowl like a funeral bell, and Gojo wondered if raccoons could sense emotional turmoil.

He glanced at you again. You were still holding the raccoon.

Still swaying.

Still looking like the kind of person who could effortlessly raise a family of tiny, chaotic beings.

Gojo sighed, stirring harder.

This was fine. Everything was fine.

It was not fine.

Meanwhile, Megumi had already moved on, fully ignoring Gojo's spiral. He eyed you with thinly veiled judgment. “Why are you not dressed yet?”

You, now completely wrapped up in coddling the raccoon, hummed, “I’m taking maternity leave starting today.”

At that, Megumi stilled while Gojo internally fist-pumped.

Haibara, however, was too busy bullying Nanami.

He had just discovered Nanami sleeping halfway under the table and was now poking at his ear like a child tormenting a bear.

Nanami grunted and batted at it a few times like a mosquito before suddenly startling awake, immediately two seconds away from committing murder. “Why are you poking me?”

You stifled a giggle.

Haibara, unfazed, just grinned at him smugly as if this were the greatest joy of his life. “I dunno. Feels right.”

Nanami, who had only just woken up from his half-under-the-table depression nap, sat up, dead-eyed and exhausted, then stood and dragged himself toward the kitchen to begrudgingly help Gojo.

Haibara, satisfied, collapsed onto the couch beside you.

You started, grinning like you were about to ask for his last bite of cake. “I need a huge favor.”

Megumi sighed, already knowing where this was going. “What?”

You glanced between him and Haibara. “So,” you began, shifting slightly to accommodate your ever-growing twin-infested belly, “in my absence, since there are jackals—” You spoke louder, glaring at the two traitors in the kitchen, “—who would just love to take over the company I built from scratch given my unusual circumstances—”

Both Gojo and Nanami visibly flinched.

“—I need you and Haibara to take over in my absence.”

Megumi just stared. Haibara, thrilled, looked ready to commit war crimes.

You continued, already prepared to argue. “You don’t have to do anything major. My execs will handle the details and keep me updated, but sometimes things might require your attention. And Megumi, I know you already have your own company, and Haibara, I know you’re technically retired but still somehow more dangerous than an entire intelligence agency, but you two are the only ones I trust right now.”

You paused to let that sink in.

Megumi, without hesitation, said, “I’ll do it. Don’t worry about it.”

“Not so fast,” Haibara said, his tone dripping with that unnervingly cheerful negotiation energy.

Your stomach dropped. If Haibara was feeling negotiation-core, you were doomed. You were already out of options—ideally, you’d have gone to Nanami, but handing him such power felt like signing your own death certificate. He’d probably screw you over in the name of “love” or some other nonsense.

You turned to him, already dreading whatever ridiculous request was about to come out of his mouth.

“What’s the car privilege like, and can I have my own jet?” Haibara asked, very serious.

You exhaled, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You will have access to all executive privileges I have. And you will be compensated at my salary level.”

Megumi’s eyebrow twitched. He looked like he wanted to strangle Haibara with his bare hands.

Haibara, unfazed, asked, “How much do you make?”

“You have no shame.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “And you have even less survival instinct to ask a woman that question.”

Megumi, still seething, muttered, “She’s a trillionaire.”

Haibara shrugged. “Exactly. You were thinking it too.”

Before you could throw hands, Haibara swung an arm over Megumi’s shoulder and turned slightly, as if you weren’t right there. “I would like a minute to discuss this with my associate.”

Then, in a very serious, very confidential whisper, Haibara asked, “What’s your favorite Pokémon?”

Megumi stared at him. “How many times did you hit your head in MI6?”

Haibara smirked. “Too many to count, but you should see the others.”

Then he turned back to you, completely deadpan. “I have discussed it with my associate, and we’d like to consider your preposterous proposal.”

You rolled your eyes because, one, you had heard every word, and two, they had not discussed anything. “Great. I’ll call my CHRO and get the paperwork started.”

Haibara opened his mouth immediately, but you cut him off. “No, you cannot throw parties. Yes, you can use the AR/VR hall.”

Haibara beamed. “Pleasure doing business with you. I’ve always wanted to be a CEO. Never got to cosplay that in MI6.”

He turned to high-five Megumi, but Megumi didn’t raise his hand, so Haibara high-fived Megumi’s face instead.

As Megumi pushed Haibara off the couch, you laughed while texting your CHRO, who lived just a few floors down and would be arriving in a few minutes.

---

A few minutes later, the scent of breakfast filled the air, but you weren’t impressed.

Instead, you sat on the couch, wrapped in your rage like a blanket, one hand absentmindedly stroking the tiny albino raccoon curled up against your swollen belly. It purred, content.

Meanwhile, you?

Not content.

Your husbands—traitors, both of them—were in the kitchen, pretending they weren’t the prime targets of your wrath.

Across from you, Megumi casually sipped his coffee, every bit the Corporate Toji Hybrid he was: effortlessly powerful, composed, and completely indifferent to the tension in the room. Next to him, Haibara lounged like a cat that had just knocked over a vase on purpose, his shit-eating grin locked directly on Nanami.

Megumi had already moved on, focused entirely on the tiny albino raccoon baby sleeping against your belly.

“I left his medical notes and care instructions in there,” Megumi murmured, gesturing to the bags he’d brought. He gently petted the baby raccoon’s tiny head, his voice soft. “He’s already fed, so you don’t need to worry about that. Next feeding is at 12 PM. A few more days, then he’ll be three months old, and we can move him to other food. Call me if you need anything or want me to babysit him.”

You nodded as the CHRO finished taking pictures of the baby. “He’s so smoll and adorable.”

Then she switched back to her regular demeanor, adjusting her blazer and perking up as she took her seat just as the housekeeping staff arrived with freshly brewed coffee and a plate of neatly arranged breakfast. She nodded in thanks before turning to you with a level-headed, professional tone.

“You can’t go on leave immediately,” she stated, glancing over her tablet. “As per Japanese labor laws, maternity leave must be announced at least six to eight weeks in advance. However—” she took a sip of her coffee, narrowing her eyes at Gojo and Nanami, “—we can work something out if you can provide a doctor’s note.”

You, already prepared, slid Shoko’s note across the table. “I figured as much. This should do.”

She skimmed the document, nodding in approval. “It’s solid. Given your condition, we can argue medical necessity.” She added it to her folder, then added, “Now the real problem is the board of directors. Those idiots won’t easily turn over. Pardon my language; it’s too early.” She took another long sip of her coffee, clearly needing it.

Gojo and Nanami pretended not to hear, their focus on the breakfast spread.

You chuckled, “I know. But considering they’ve been crying for me to step down, I think they’ll be more than happy to approve my leave.”

“Not with your candidates.” She lifted her gaze, deadpan, as she gestured toward Megumi and Haibara. “No offense.”

Haibara, utterly unbothered, waved a hand dismissively, leaning back into the couch with a relaxed posture. Megumi didn’t even look up from his phone, his expression unreadable as he took another sip of his coffee, unfazed by the conversation.

Your CHRO tapped a manicured nail against the table, deep in thought. “However… I believe we could expedite things by bringing in a certain classy lawyer. Someone who can bury them in so much legal jargon about the Child Care and Family Care Leave Act that they’d have no choice but to comply.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Classy, huh? Want me to stage a little run-in?”

She glanced up from her coffee, her smirk mirroring yours. “No need. He’ll come to me. We’ve got history.”

You couldn’t help but grin. This—this—was why she was one of your most trusted allies. She wasn’t just competent; she had a knack for understanding people. She knew exactly how to pull the right strings, when to push, and when to sit back and let them walk right into her hands.

Unbeknownst to both of you, the four men in the room were watching like spectators at a tennis match, their faces a mix of horror and disbelief. Gojo and Nanami, in particular, looked like they’d just been handed a life sentence. Nanami had been quietly spiraling since Hiromi saved them on your request from going to jail again, his mind racing with the unbearable thought that you might leave them for Higuruma—calm, competent, and painfully similar to him. Meanwhile, Gojo had been one wrong word away from flinging himself off the nearest rooftop, convinced that his charm and good looks were no match for Higuruma’s “mature lawyer vibes.”

It was tragic, really. Two grown men, utterly defeated by the mere possibility of being replaced by someone who probably ironed his socks.

“Don’t worry about the board; call a meeting. I’ll take care of it,” Megumi interjected.

What board was left anyway? He and Haibara had removed all the prickly members, not that they were going to share that with the class.

“Great!” Your CHRO glanced at her watch. “Alright, it’s getting late. Once everything is finalized, we’ll move forward with the announcement. We’ll need to notify the Tokyo Stock Exchange and the Financial Services Agency, given your company’s listing.”

Then she turned to you, finishing the last sip of her coffee. “A word in private?”

“Sure.”

Your brows furrowed as you pushed yourself off the couch, but you immediately froze—the baby raccoon was determined to crawl inside your t-shirt.

You sighed, reaching out blindly to shove the fluffy menace into Gojo’s arms as he passed by.

Gojo, mid-bite into a stolen biscuit, blinked in surprise before cradling the raccoon as if it were your firstborn. The little creature immediately latched onto his shirt, climbing it like a tree.

“Traitor,” you muttered under your breath before nodding at your CHRO. “Let’s go.”

Little did you know, that was the best day of Gojo’s life as he cradled the baby in his arms.

The morning air was crisp as you stepped onto the rooftop, the city skyline buzzing below. People rushed to work or school. Your CHRO leaned against the railing, her expression unreadable.

“An investor has contacted me,” she said, her tone measured.

You crossed your arms, frowning, still unsure why she was bringing it up. “Let Megumi handle it from now.”

“That’s the problem,” she countered, watching your reaction. “They insist on meeting you personally. No exceptions.”

You exhaled sharply. Of course, they did.

“That’s not creepy at all,” you deadpanned, not at her, but at the entire concept of this mystery investor.

Your CHRO continued, unfazed. “The money is substantial. More than enough to drown out the sharks circling us right now. And…” she hesitated, then added, “He’s got a remarkable PR track record. Think ‘Bendgate’—turning PR disasters into status symbols. He’s suggesting that instead of fighting the backlash, we own it. He even thinks we frame your maternity leave as a power move rather than a retreat.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Looks like he wants to do more than just invest.”

Her lips curled slightly, impressed as always by how quickly you saw through things.

“He said—and I quote—‘I protect my assets.’”

She studied your reaction. “So, if nothing else, he’s definitely planning to keep his investment safe. And if that means getting us out of negative publicity, we might as well let him.”

Your fingers drummed against your arm as you mulled over the idea. It was a good move—maybe even an excellent one. But the way this investor was approaching it—insisting on you, personally—set off more alarms than you’d like.

Still, you were never one to dismiss a game just because the opponent seemed strong.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally said, then shot her a sharp glance. “Now go.”

Your CHRO grinned knowingly but didn’t push further. She nodded and followed you back inside.

Back in the living room, Haibara immediately pulled you into a suffocating hug, taking your leave with enthusiasm.

Megumi, standing beside him, simply reached out and ruffled your hair. You glared up at him, swatting his hand away, but he just smirked in response.

And then just as they were about to leave, Haibara turned back with a-too bright for morning-grin.

“Oh, by the way—say hello to your new neighbors.”

Your entire body tensed.

“What?”

But before you could demand answers, Haibara and Megumi were already gone.

Nanami and Gojo were visibly frozen.

Gojo’s jaw hung slightly open, as if he were processing the worst possible outcome.

Nanami, on the other hand, looked like he was seriously debating throwing himself off the balcony.

After a beat of silence, you closed the door.

You didn’t say a word.

You simply went straight to the shower.

Meanwhile, in the background, Nanami was already deep into an argument with the housekeeping staff about something probably insignificant—because, as had been established long ago, you were not socially extroverted enough to ask them for anything, and Gojo sure as hell wasn’t responsible enough to handle it.

So, by default, it was Nanami’s job.

And judging by the increasing frustration in his tone, he was acutely aware of this injustice.

---

By the time you finally lowered yourself into a chair at the dining table, breakfast was already waiting—your favorite meal, prepared with precision, the portions adjusted to what your body could currently tolerate.

The scent hit first: warm, familiar, comforting.

And yet, your stomach twisted.

Gojo slid a glass of milk beside your plate, his voice deliberately light. “Gotta keep those bones strong, mama.”

You stared at the glass.

Your face remained blank, but deep inside, you were already dry-heaving in spirit.

Milk. Plain, disgusting, childhood-trauma-inducing milk.

The sheer audacity of this man.

In all the years of your relationship, not once had you willingly consumed a glass of milk. Not once.

Nanami, oblivious to your mental betrayal arc, set a peeled orange next to your plate—a habit he’d developed after his Ph.D.-level pregnancy research phase. “Eat slowly,” he advised, watching you carefully as he took a seat across from you.

You stabbed your fork into your food. The tension was suffocating.

You chewed quietly, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words. They were waiting for you to say something—anything—but you didn’t. You just kept staring at the glass of milk, trying not to grimace. Honestly, you didn’t care if anyone called you a toddler; you absolutely hated plain milk. It tasted so disgusting that you felt like throwing up every time, and it brought back memories of your mom trying to force-feed it to you.

Everything felt awkward, and the housekeepers were eyeing you with sympathy, like a zoo animal under observation.

Gojo, who had never handled prolonged silence well, fidgeted. “Do you... feel okay today?”

You looked at him, then at Nanami, and finally back at your plate.

“Fine,” you muttered.

It was a lie.

But it was also a functional answer.

The relief on their faces was immediate—like you had just spared them from the gallows.

They had no idea.

Because inside you, the twins were awake.

And they were moving.

Your hand subtly pressed against your stomach as you felt a now-familiar pressure beneath your ribs.

Like a second heartbeat thrumming beneath your skin.

You swallowed thickly.

Neither Nanami nor Gojo noticed. They were too focused on watching you eat, too distracted by their own guilt.

But then a tiny whine sounded from beneath the table.

You blinked, looking down to find the baby raccoon furiously trying to climb your leg.

Your heart cracked open.

You had read somewhere that baby raccoons did this specifically to get their mother’s attention.

But you couldn’t bend over under the table, not with the ever-expanding horror that was your current body. So Gojo, sensing your dilemma, reached down and scooped up the tiny menace.

The raccoon, immediately noticing Nanami, turned full feral.

Before anyone could react, he launched himself onto Nanami’s sweater, claws sinking in as he scrambled up like a tiny, aggressive mountaineer.

Nanami jerked, startled.

The raccoon kit, small but packed with the kind of raw, chaotic energy that only an orphaned, two-month-old menace could wield, had reached his final destination—Nanami’s head.

Perched like a crown atop the golden locks, the little beast surveyed his kingdom with an air of unearned confidence. Then, with the audacity of someone who had never known consequences, he latched onto Nanami’s hair and pulled.

Hard.

A sharp inhale. A barely restrained flinch. A flash of sheer suffering crossed Nanami’s face before it was promptly buried under his usual look of long-suffering exhaustion.

"…Get him off, Satoru," he said, his voice calm but teetering on the edge of homicide. "It hurts."

Gojo, who had been waiting for this moment his entire life, was nearly vibrating with glee.

"Why would I do that when he’s clearly bonded with you?" Gojo cooed, shaking a plastic container of raccoon-safe treats like he was summoning a beast. "Come here, little guy. Look, I got the good stuff~!"

The raccoon did not come.

Instead, the raccoon opened his mouth and started chewing on Nanami’s hair.

You, composed as ever, lifted your cup to your lips, the picture of grace despite the absolute clownery unfolding right in front of you. Your hands trembled with the effort of keeping a straight face, but you held firm, fighting for your life not to laugh (that would not be very nonchalant of you).

Very nonchalant. Unbothered. Above it all.

Nanami was none of these things.

With the measured patience of a man who had seen death and returned more disappointed than scared, he reached up, pried the raccoon from his scalp, and held him out like an HR complaint. The kit, dangling from his firm grip, wiggled his tiny limbs in protest.

"He needs a name,” he mused, just as Gojo immediately snatched the baby from Nanami’s grasp and cradled him like a long-lost son.

"Say less," Gojo grinned, his eyes sparkling with the raw, unchecked power of a man who had never been stopped from making bad decisions. He grasped your shoulder, deadly serious. "Feral Slay."

A beat of silence followed.

"You’re never naming anything. Ever," Nanami stated with the firm finality of a judge handing down a life sentence.

"Okay, okay, fine," you said, waving a hand before Gojo could start rattling off worse options. You turned to the raccoon, tilting your head. "He kinda looks like a... Bean. No, wait—Clout Save."

Gojo stared at you, horrified. "Clout Save?"

"Clout Save."

"Clout Save."

"CS for short," you added helpfully.

Gojo dragged a hand down his face. "You can’t just name him like he’s some little meow meow—"

"His name is Takahashi the ETA."

Both you and Gojo turned slowly to look at Nanami.

Nanami, straightening his sweater cuffs, exuded an air of absolute finality. "Takahashi is respectable. It suits him. ETA stands for Executive Trash Associate."

The raccoon, now named Takahashi-Clout Save-Feral Slay (depending on who you asked), chirped happily and shoved his tiny face into Gojo’s chest, burrowing close.

Except he was not actually burrowing; he was looking for skin.

Once he found it, he bit Gojo, who yelped and put him back on the table, rubbing his neck.

The baby immediately ran toward you.

And that’s when you realized he was in love with you.

Oh, not in a pet way. No, no. The baby raccoon, for reasons known only to himself and whatever god oversaw creatures of chaos, had decided that you were his one true love.

Your fate was sealed the moment you fed him milk.

"You’re his mom now," Gojo declared, delighted.

Nanami was hiding a smile behind his mug.

The raccoon, completely serious, squeaked and nuzzled closer to you, heart and soul dedicated to his cause.

Except for the fact that, beneath your ribs, your unborn child shifted again.

This time, it hurt, and your face twitched.

Nanami saw.

Gojo saw.

Their amusement faded instantly.

But you, determined to keep your composure, simply reached for the glass of milk—

And slid it across the table.

Towards Gojo.

Without a word.

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to protest. But he didn’t.

Instead, he just took the glass.

And drank.

Because if there was one unspoken rule in this house—

It was that they would have to do anything for your forgiveness, and you wanted to test that theory.

You spent most of the day curled up on the couch, flipping through a book, deliberately ignoring how they hovered like ghosts of their own making.

Nanami busied himself in the kitchen, reorganizing the medicine cabinet so that your prenatal vitamins sat front and center—impossible to miss, impossible to ignore.

Gojo, restlessly, moved in and out of the room, each time bringing something new—first, a blanket. Then, pillows. Then, a heating pad, which he placed beside you with careful hands, his voice soft.

"For your back," he murmured, stepping away as soon as he saw the distinct lack of response.

You did not acknowledge him.

You did not acknowledge any of them.

Except, at one point, you finally shifted—moving toward the new-looking foot massager sitting in the corner.

And like a cursed spirit sensing weak prey, Gojo materialized.

"Let me help," he said, already fiddling with the controls.

You narrowed your eyes.

This was your favorite part.

Gadgets were your thing. You were the tech CEO.

Was he mansplaining?

A slow inhale.

A calculated exhale.

You were two seconds from walking away when something caught your eye. Something... off.

Your gaze narrowed at his head. "Why is this video call enabled?"

Silence.

Gojo’s hand froze mid-button press.

Nanami, standing by the counter with Takahashi in his arms, went perfectly still—then, very deliberately, took a step back, adjusting his grip on the raccoon as if he were getting comfortable to watch something catastrophic unfold. Something he’d warned Gojo about.

Gojo, caught like a rat in a cage, let out a nervous laugh. "Ahh... well... you know, in case of emergencies—"

You stared at him.

He sweated.

Then, you looked at the camera angle.

It was positioned near your foot.

If you ever used this thing, all your fifty double chins and ginormous stomach would make a guest appearance on whatever poor sap you graced with your face.

You blinked.

Gojo took a step back.

Nanami—who had stayed silent this entire time—took Takahashi’s tiny paw and slowly high-fived it, as if they were both watching history in the making.

You ignored him and sighed in relief when the machine began working on your swollen feet.

---

You didn’t realize what day it was until Gojo set a small box in front of you at lunch.

You stared at it.

His fingers drummed against the table, uncharacteristically nervous. "Just… something we got a while ago. For today."

Nanami exhaled. "It’s Valentine’s Day."

And you—

You laughed.

Before you even fully processed the words, before your mind could catch up to your mouth, your body rejected the notion so violently that it left you breathless, doubled over in sheer, uncontrollable mirth.

"Who gives a shit?"

Valentine’s Day? Valentine’s Day?

You had lost track of dates entirely. You had spent months alone, unheard, unseen. A single holiday didn’t matter.

Your laughter twisted into something raw, something ugly, something just shy of manic.

Then your eyes flicked to them.

And they looked...

Genuinely hurt??

A moment of disbelief cracked through your amusement. Since when did men start caring about things like this? Especially after ignoring you on your anniversary—a day you had actually built with them.

Your laugh pitched higher, bubbling over again.

Confused? Disbelieving? Maybe just psychologically broken? Unhinged? Who the hell knew anymore?

Gojo leaned forward, blue eyes searching yours. "We know we messed up. We know you don’t forgive us yet. And we’re not expecting you to."

Nanami’s voice, steady as always, followed. "But we want to do better. Every day. Whether you believe us or not, we’ll prove it."

Your chest tightened.

Your fingers twitched, but you didn’t reach for the box.

You didn’t push it away, either.

Gojo took that as permission and nudged it closer, his fingers brushing against yours. "Come on, open it."

A sigh slipped through your lips—quiet, almost reluctant. And then, finally, you lifted the lid.

Your breath caught.

A Canon EOS R1, the latest mirrorless DSLR. Pristine build. Four lenses—RF 100-500mm f/4.5-7.1L IS USM, RF 24-70mm f/2.8L IS USM, TS-E 50mm F2.8 L Macro. High-end, thoughtful, expensive as hell.

This wasn’t just an apology gift—this was specific.

They had remembered. Somehow, through all their fuck-ups and negligence, they had still managed to retain one crucial piece of information—your preferred camera brand.

Your fingers grazed the smooth body, and something stirred in your chest.

It had been so long.

Too long.

And—before you could stop yourself—you started word vomiting.

"First of all, this lens is unnecessary." You pointed at one. "I only take portraits. Most of the time, the subject is close to me, and if it’s a stray cat, then—okay, fine, I’d use a zoom lens. But even then, the cat would run away before I could switch the damn thing, so I used to walk around with a zoom lens anyway. Then again, this new model is way faster, sharper—and it also has better pet eye focus, so Clout can be in his element without me having to hold him down and still end up with shaky photos—”

You looked up and stopped.

They were smiling.

Like fools.

Like absolute, pathetic fools.

Your frown deepened. Why?

Gojo snapped out of his daze and scratched the back of his head, grinning. "We, uh—"

"We don’t really know much about this stuff," he admitted, shrugging. "But we know you love it. And we thought maybe, y’know..." He gestured vaguely. He was getting flustered because it was the most you’d spoken to him after months, and you hadn’t berated him.

Nanami, always the one to articulate better, leaned forward. "We thought you could take maternity photos. If you wanted. Takahashi’s too."

You hadn’t even thought about that.

You wanted to.

You really, really did.

Your grip on the camera tightened, but you fought the warmth creeping into your chest, resisting the ridiculous impulse to let them see that they had done something right.

You glanced between them. "But you don’t even know how to use this, do you?"

Gojo, pleased as hell, grinned wider. "Nope."

Nanami sighed, patient. "No, but we can learn if… you’re willing to teach..."

Your lips twitched.

You didn’t outright accept their gift, but you didn’t reject it either.

And they saw it.

The way you lingered over the camera. The way your fingers drifted to adjust the settings, the way your expression softened—just a fraction—as you tested the weight in your hands.

They took it as a win.

---

Thirty minutes later, your laptop sat open in your home office, Behance boards filling the screen—soft, dreamy maternity shoots, golden hour lighting, flowy dresses—

And then, a sharp left turn into gothic drama.

Dark veils. Heavy shadows. The Morticia Addams aesthetic. For some reason, your mind went there. The twins kicked softly, and you took that as agreement.

Your fingers moved with purpose—envisioning details.

Clout Save blissfully chewed the corner of your screen. You didn’t even bother stopping him. You had given up on that battle long ago.

Nanami noticed first.

He set a plate of cut fruit beside you, silent for a moment. Then he asked, "Need anything for the shoot?"

He was trying hard not to remember how he used to sit in this very room, hands shaking, drowning in thoughts he refused to name. How, after you had disappeared, he had spent hours here, alone—desperate, unraveling, harming himself, dangerously close to doing something irreversible.

But you were here now.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t still terrified you’d disappear again.

You hesitated, then barely mumbled, "A few things."

Nanami exhaled, slow and careful, keeping his voice light. "Prepare a list. Let’s leave in an hour. Do you want clothes or other things too? Like something for Takahashi or..." He paused, and then—softly, deliberately—he dropped the N-word.

"The nursery."

Your hands froze over your keyboard.

Your entire body stilled.

You squinted at your screen, refusing to make eye contact with him.

The nursery.

That plague you had been actively avoiding.

Your teeth clenched.

Fine. Fine.

Megumi hadn’t called, which meant things on his end were fine. You had nothing else to do anyway.

"Fine," you said, your tone final. "But I will drive."

---

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo, pacing in the other room, had his phone pressed to his ear.

"Is mania common in pregnancy?" he demanded, his voice serious. "We told her it was Valentine’s Day, and she just started laughing—like, actually losing her mind, saying ‘who gives a shit.’"

A pause.

"She never reacted like this before. She used to be busy with work, but she still planned dinner dates, even went overboard with gifts sometimes—"

Shoko, on the other end, giggled.

"I’d laugh too, bro."

Then the line cut.

Gojo stood there, scowling.

---

Forty-five minutes later, nothing fit your six-months-pregnant-with-twins body.

The rest of your clothes were too formal for the amount of walking you’d have to do.

So—without a word—you stole Gojo’s sweatshirt and Nanami’s overcoat.

The fit was loose, but you looked good. Expensive. Like some hot tomboy off-duty CEO.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

Smirked.

Then grabbed your keys and left the house, leaving the housekeeping staff to stay until you returned.

---

The Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut purred to life as you slid into the driver’s seat. There was a reason you hadn’t driven your favorite car since you got pregnant, and the men were about to learn it the hard way.

Gojo got in next to you, pouting. He had wanted to drive.

The fucker had always had his eyes on your cars, but you were no longer letting him touch them.

You’d usually just give in and let him drive, even though driving was something that soothed you. It gave you a small feeling of being in control and provided that little adrenaline hit in your otherwise overbooked, responsibility-packed life.

And Nanami, in the back, was even more annoying. The dude was obsessed with playing chauffeur, insisting on picking you up and dropping you off everywhere like some kind of overprotective GPS. Meanwhile, your cars were just chilling at home, collecting dust and probably crying from neglect.

The only ‘action’ they got was either when they were being maintained or when Gojo got Ijichi to drive him to his missions in your sweet babies while he lounged in the back like some prince.

Not today.

Clout Save was left at home, much to his dismay. You still didn’t have a seatbelt for him.

Then, without warning—

You shifted gears and slammed the gas pedal.

The car shot forward like a goddamn rocket.

It wasn’t just a car; it was the fastest production car in the world. A machine designed to dominate, to devour pavement, to leave everything in the dust—including common sense and self-preservation.

And you were behind the wheel.

Six months pregnant. With horror twins.

Gojo’s entire soul left his body.

Nanami, who had been reaching for his seatbelt, yanked it as if it were the only thing standing between him and a fiery death.

"Okay—okay—SLOW DOWN—"

You ignored him.

The engine roared, the car sliced through the streets, and the world blurred into streaks of color as you weaved—flawlessly, effortlessly, elegantly—through traffic.

Wind whipped through the open windows, tangling your hair, teasing at the loose collar of Gojo’s sweatshirt.

And Gojo was staring.

It wasn’t just the speed—it was the way you drove.

One hand steady on the wheel, the other shifting gears with Formula One ease. Your foot pressed down on the accelerator like you were testing fate itself, and you smirked—eyes bright, adrenaline humming in your veins, completely, utterly in your element.

Gojo swallowed.

Nanami gripped the door handle, jaw tight, knuckles white.

Gojo leaned sideways, his voice barely above a choked whisper.

"I hate that I find this hot."

Nanami was thinking the same thing.

Unfortunately, terror outweighed attraction.

"Slow down," Nanami snapped, his tone edged with something dangerously close to panic. "You. Are. Pregnant."

You increased speed.

The car growled beneath you, the road stretching open like a runway to insanity.

"WHO TAUGHT YOU HOW TO DRIVE?!" Gojo shouted, his voice cracking as you narrowly dodged a car, slipping through a gap that shouldn’t have existed.

You smirked.

Shifted gears.

Glanced at him through half-lidded eyes, as if this was the most natural conversation in the world.

"Toji."

Gojo turned ashen.

Nanami let out the longest, slowest sigh of his life.

"Of course he did."

---

Everything was almost fine.

Until an oncoming truck.

A massive, hulking beast of steel and certain death.

Nanami and Gojo braced themselves, hearts hammering in their ribs, the realization sinking in like cold, hard gravity.

This is it.

She’s going to crash.

They were both yelling now, overlapping, frantic—

"SLOW DOWN—"

"ARE YOU EVEN SEEING THAT—"

You smiled, innocently.

As if you held a secret—like you were dancing on the edge of something dangerous and laughing about it.

Then—

In one smooth, impossible motion, you twisted the wheel, shifted gears seamlessly, and threaded the car through the narrow gap—slipping past the truck by mere centimeters.

Gojo and Nanami felt their lives flash before their eyes.

They narrowly escaped the truck, with only centimeters to spare.

The pinnacle of modern machinery stabilized.

The only sound in the car was the steady hum of the engine.

The men were panting.

Shaken.

Physically unharmed, but spiritually wrecked.

—finally—

Nanami snapped.

"What the hell was that?!"

You didn’t even blink.

Instead, you smiled.

"You both wanted to bring me back."

Your voice was smooth, effortless, razor-sharp with something dangerously crazy.

"So this is what you’ve brought back."

They stared at you, still too stunned to speak.

Then—casually, effortlessly, unbothered—you leaned back against the seat, adjusting the loose sleeves of Gojo’s sweatshirt, shifting your grip on the wheel as if you were born in this car.

And added—

"Besides, didn’t you promise you’d protect me and shit?"

The smirk widened.

"So protect."

Then, as if nothing had happened at all, you parked inside the mall.

Effortless. Precise. Clean.

Like you hadn’t just defied death at 500 km/h (310 mph).

Gojo and Nanami didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t dare look at each other.

You got out of the car.

Tossed the keys in your palm.

Stretched—unbothered, untouchable, glowing with that reckless, intoxicating fire in your eyes.

Then you turned, taking them in.

Pale. Silent. Processing their survival.

"Are you two coming or not? I might need some ‘protecting’ from the salespeople. And just so you know, I didn’t bring any money or have a phone, so you both will be paying for everything."

Nanami exhaled slowly, forcing composure back into his bones.

Gojo ran a shaky hand through his disheveled hair.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them could.

Wordlessly—like men who had seen God and Death shake hands—they got out of the car.

And followed you inside.

---

Bonus

In your old bedroom later that evening,

"You have to accept that I’m the bigger menace," Gojo said, watching as the raccoon kit attempted to wrestle a sock off of Nanami’s foot with the tenacity of a gremlin.

Nanami glanced up from his book. "He tried to suffocate you in your sleep."

"Okay, rude; I think he just likes climbing on my handsome face," Gojo shot back, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You, who had walked into the room just in time to hear this, exhaled sharply and turned around, leaving the room in a huff.

Gojo called after you, "Oh my God, you’re jealous—"

You slammed the door behind you.

ETA Takahashi-Mochi Blanc-Sir Snowdrop the Pale-Clout Save-Feral Slay chirped happily, victorious.

---

Memes Haibara bombarded you with about your mentally insane albino criminal.

Raccoon Headcanons, (I know one of these isn't one)

A/N: So. The raccoon needs a name. Since y’all are unhinged, I’m leaving it up to you.

Bonus 🔥 Poll: What would you do if Gojo installed a video call-enabled foot massager in your house? A) Use it for evil. B) Yeet it out the window. C) Let Gojo suffer. D) Accept that privacy is a myth. What’s your theory on the investor? Business move or secret villain?? Also, a lil headcanon: Did Banana Man (Haibara) see Reader in Ibiza, or was it a parallel mission? Discuss. Share your own headcanons about this story with me please, I beg.

Another Alt Universe for this story - Glass House (Tumblr/Ao3)

Next chapter 16 (alt ending 2.7) - Placeholder: This Should Have Been Love (Tumblr/Ao3) :P

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

Taglist Open.

[basementnoodles]

That katara take is not only incredibly silly, it misses the point of her relationship with aang by a mile. People really wanna see 'problematic' where there isn't any - god forbid some people date young and actually stay together, lmao

I want to start this off by saying that this isn't about bashing Kataang, or Aang for the matter.It's about acknowledging how Katara as a character gets sidelined the moment she and Aang become canon.

For context, I reblogged this post from @southslates

" I always feel bad for katara in the context of her life after atla because like, she's fourteen when this twelve year old avatar decides that she's his forever girl. and the whole world knows it and even if she'd eventually left aang, she would always have somewhat been the avatar's girl. maybe it looked like she had a choice but she didn't, not really. even if she eventually would have chosen aang that choice was taken away from her. that stings. "

That moment in the finale where Aang kisses her isn't just a romantic resolution—it’s a narrative full-stop on Katara's autonomy. From that point on, her development is flattened.Lets start with the comics, the direct sequel to the series.In the spirit of keeping things brief, I will not unpack every single interaction between her and Aang in all the comics but ill highlight the ones that stuck out to me the most, but if youre interested in a more throuought unpacking ill link @araeph's series, Katara : Consumed by destiny.I highly recommend checking it out, its a really interesting read.At this point in the timeline, Katara and Aang are officially together, and as such the nature of their relationship has changed..but to the detriment of her charather.

In the promise, Katara's role is diminished primarily to that of Aang’s emotional support. Her feelings and actions revolve entirely around him, and she never voices independent opinions or challenges him, even when she arguably should—such as when Aang is debating over killing Zuko.In s3, we see Aang's internal conflict about having to kill ozai and how he overcame it.Here we are a year later with a rehash of this problem--Aang, a 13 year old non-violent, peaceful monk anguishing whether or not to kill a tyrannical firelord. Not only does Katara offer no real emotional insight on this, but actively encourages him to not only go against his values but dosen't reflect how that might affect him, her and the rest of the gaang on an emotional level.Isn't Zuko supposed to be her friend ? Broski took a literal lightning bolt to the chest for her.

This pattern continues throuought the rest of the comics--In The Search, she essentially acts as Aang's body guard and she and Sokka are Zuko's role model for the Ideal sibling dynamic.We don't see her motivation for going on this trip at all--Its almost like the only reason she's there is because Aang is, or because she's a member of the gaang--so she needs to be there.If so, where are Toph and Suki ? Hell, It makes more sense for Suki to be there instead of her, since her job is centered around protecting the Firelord ! We also never get to see her feelings on the situation, or especially Azula ---Katara literally witnessed the Fire Princess try to kill two of her loved ones TWICE.You would think that the authors would delve into Katara's feelings on the matter.The last time Katara saw Azula was during the last agni kai and Azula was chained to a metal gurder and crying hysterically.You would think that Katara would have some strong emotions about the Fire princess.Anger at her for all the times that she tried to kill her loved ones ? Guilt for being partially the reason that she got sent to the asylumn,Pity because her current condition ?

On a similar note, why hasn't Katara helped her ?Since Katara's has been established as the emotional support member of the friend group, you would think that because of her caring nature, she would at least attempt to help Azula with her mental troubles, despite her complicated feelings towards the princess.This is the same girl who tried to help a starving village from a nation that she hated, the same girl who tried to heal Zuko's scar when they were technically still enemies, the same girl who was the first to reach out to Zuko and catch him from falling to a painful death despite actively hating him.

I don't have much to say about smoke and shadow except for the fact that there was no reason for Katara and her brother to not be there for the majority of the comic---The Gaang knows that the Fire Nation isn't a big fan of Zuko at the moment and I don't understand why she and Sokka couldn't have been there to help defend Ursa and Co as a show of support for their friend.And their help would have been invaluable during the Kemurikage crisis--showcasing Sokka's skills as a strategist and engineer and Katara's leadership skills during a search and rescue of the kidnapped kids as well as her waterbending .Show!Katara, defendor of the defenseless would NOT have left the fire nation if she knew kids were involved imo.The Rift tries to set up an arc for her to go down, but just as quickly she is pushed aside in favor of Toph and Aang's respective plotlines.

The comics do not provide Katara with opportunities to showcase her strengths, wisdom, or leadership qualities.By relegating her to the background and not making her an active participant in the plot, she becomes little more than Aang's arm candy.

This becomes more apparent in LOK.There are no statues of her while everyone else in the gaang ( except for Suki, because the writers completely forgot of her existence post comics-) gets at least one.We know nothing of what she did during her time in republic city.We know that she moved to the United Republic to start a life with Aang, but what did she do during that time period ? We know that she ( allegedly, since it isn't acknowleged in the court scene ) led the efforts to outlaw blood-bending, which is in charather for her to do and the most logical since out of everyone in her friend group, she was the most affected by the effects of blood-bending because of what happened with Hama in The Puppeteer. Yakone abused his powers to terrorize Republic City for years. Katara, famously known for her activism in the face of injustice should naturally have been front and center on that trial, as a founding member of republic city and representative of the SWT. But no.Sokka lead Yakone's trial and delivered the crime lord's sentence.Sokka, who although was also affected by bloodbending, should have been in the SWT, leading or at least preparing to take over as Chieftain of the tribe.

So what did she do during her time in republic city ? Become a stay at home and raise the kids on Air Temple island while Aang flew all over the world, settling disputes and building bonds ? While Republic City ran rampant with crime and discrimination ? Becoming a stay at home mother is completely fine, but it clashes who we know Katara is as a person.We know that she would not sit idly by and do nothing as injustice was happening right in front of her.As we speak of injustice...

Katara sat idly by as Aang blatantly neglected his two eldest in favor for their youngest, Tenzin.

Im not expecting Kataang to be the perfect parents.Katara lost her mom early on in her life and her father was absent when she and sokka needed him the most and Aang is also the Avatar but is also the last person of his kind--a group of people who had a different take on raising children then the other three nations.The very notion of a " Nuclear Family ", hell even marriage is one he didn't grow up with.However, Katara values family deeply, and as a mature emotionally in-tune woman would have seen the effects of Aangs ( unintentional ?) neglect on his other children.She would have known how they and been able to empatize with them, especially since she experienced the same neglect due to Hakoda anbandoning her and Sokka when they were younger.The Katara we know would have not idly stood by and let her children suffer--she would have talked to aang and ensured that all their kids got the love that they deserved. But she didn't.And Bumi,Kya and Tenzin suffered for it.In Korra's time, Katara's relationship with her family is superficial.Her grandchildren don't see her often, to the point that her youngest grand-child dosen't even recognize her.She sits idly by as her family and friends are targeted and attacked by their enemies ( Amon, the red lotus, Kuvira) while Zuko and Toph--charathers are moving earth and sky to protect their respective families.

Katara isn't even present at their successes--not joining them when they were in the SWT, not joining them family trips, and she certainly wasn't there for her Jinora's air mastery ceremony, even though what was left of the Gaang and Korra who was wheelchair bound at the time, attended.

Furthermore, Katara is the last member of the gaang who is narratively the closest to Korra.Despite possesing the spirit of her ex-husband, Korra is a fellow member of the SWT and her student.Katara personally helped oversee the young avatar's training--by that logic they should have been very close.Yet Korra rarely, if ever seeks her council, and when she does need her assistance, Katara is always unable to help her.Katara, who we are constantly told is the worlds best healer.

Katara, who post show was made to only focus on her children and her healing abilities, failed at even just that.

Katara always stood for agency, for compassion with conviction. But the franchise reduced her to caretaker and emotional backbone for the Gaang—noble, sure, but not a full reflection of who she is.

Katara never got the space to evolve as an individual after the war, and this lack of narrative focus reinforces the idea that once she became "Aang’s girl," her story was finished. A core part of Katara's character arc was her refusal to be defined by anyone—especially a man—but in the end, she was overshadowed by one. What’s truly painful is that it never felt like Katara had the freedom to make that choice for herself. That’s what truly stings.

In the end, this isn’t just about romance or ships—it’s about the integrity of a character who meant so much to so many. Katara deserved a future shaped by her own choices, filled with growth, struggle, triumph, and identity beyond just being someone’s partner or mother. The narrative didn’t give her that. It reduced a vibrant, driven, compassionate, and complex girl into a symbol of domesticity and emotional support, without ever exploring the cost of that transition. Katara was never just “the girl.” She was the heart of the Gaang, a master waterbender, a revolutionary, a sister, a friend, and a fighter. And it's heartbreaking that the legacy of such a dynamic character was ultimately treated as an afterthought. She deserved more—and so did we.

[8figurehustler]

Affiliate Programs That Aren’t A Scam | 💰💰💰

below are affiliate programs that i’ve tried. rated from 1-10 and why

ShareASale - rated a 10 because it’s the only affiliate company that ive tried and that actually brought me good passive income. not only that, since they are a company, they have multiple businesses that you can choose from depending on what your niche is. a lot of affiliate programs im in right now ive registered through shareasale. link : www.shareasale.com

Shein Affiliate Program - rated at a 9 because it would be a 10 if shareasale wasn’t so good. if you’re into fashion & beauty and your niche revolves around these, go for it. i would suggest only applying if you have purchased from shein before and have bought the products that you’ll be promoting. Currently they only accept you if you’re active on Instagram, YouTube, TikTok & Twitter although you can apply your links elsewhere, these platforms are just needed to application process & for them to view your social media presence. link : www.sheinaffiliate.com ( if you can’t find the affiliate program, type in affiliate directly in the search bar on the app and it will take you straight to the page itself )

Amazon Associates - rated at a 4, it’s not a bad program to be in but to really make bank on there you’d need to have a really wide social media presence, a constant trending niche and you’d have to post multiple links from different products to make a decent amount. i was active on it for about a year and only made around $50 in the end because majority of the brand are quite stingy and pay a very low commission percentage, im talking like 2% -10% so im the end, id really get a few cents from commissions but then again, i do faceless digital marketing and i was just a beginner so my social media presence wasn’t as big as it is now. maybe in the future i would give it another go but for now, nah. tip: if you have you own blog site with you own domain and receive a lot of traffic this might do good for you. link : www.amazonassociates.com

Digistore24 - rated at a 3. there’s not much to say about this affiliate program, i think the rating says enough. maybe others have had good experiences with it but me? nah. from the get go, i knew they were bad. first of all, the thousands of emails i got already put me off & the worst part is, it wasn’t even related to anything i was involved in & no unsubscribing doesn’t work, as long as you have an account with them, trust you’ll be getting all those emails. then, majority of their programs also have the same commission rates as amazon associates, on top of that, the businesses they have aren’t really lucrative & flexible. it really only revolves around a few select niches. i used it for about a few months and i made $0, not even a cent. ive also done research and quite a few users have issues with payouts, they have a very few select payout processes and if you live outside of the us, you may have trouble setting up your payout information. that being said, just because it didn’t work out for me, does not mean it will have the same end result for you. link : www.digistore24.com

so far these are majority of affiliate programs i’ve tried out, excluding small individual programs ive personally joined through my own weight & how they’ve done for me. i will continue to browse and experiment, of course keeping you in the loop, so follow me to stay updated !

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Read Why I Would Choose Faceless Digital Marketing Over Becoming An Influencer

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[polyamships]

We're recruiting!

Given that now our blog runs 3 major recurrent events -two of them month-long events that require us to reblog many works in a very short time- and we're also organizing Holly Poly, we’re currently looking to expand our tumblr moderation team.

We're looking for more tumblr mods who can help us:

reblogging content we are tagged on following - our tagging guidelines (expect extra activity on March and October)

adding works to the queue to keep it running

crossposting other event posts as needed

We’re looking for someone with the following:

a tumblr account for moderation

a Discord account to communicate with the mod team on our server

18+ years old and comfortable reviewing content of all ratings

good familiarity with tumblr

experience working in a team

attention to detail e.g. for ensuring tags are standardized

ability to use html formatting, making graphics, or willingness to help run any AO3 collections/exchanges we do would be a bonus (This is 100% optional. We want our new mods to focus on tumblr specifically)

Do you want to see your fandom(s) in our blog more often?

Additionally, we're looking for Fandom Experts who can find new polyam works in their fandoms to help us expand our content and represent its diversity better.

We’re looking for someone with the following:

a tumblr account to mention us in posts

a Discord account to communicate with the mod team on our server

18+ years old and comfortable reviewing content of all ratings

familiarity with tumblr

experience working in a team

attention to detail e.g. informing us the right characters for tagging purposes

If you are interested, please contact our admins on discord by opening a ticket [SERVER LINK] or on our email - polyamships at gmail dot com