#warnings and trigger warnings on each individual chapter

[sunflower567]

Callsign: Umbra Chapter 23: Highway to Hell

Masterlist

Word Count: 6,614

Edited: ✅

Published: June 21st, 2025

Last update/change: June 23rd, 2025

Previous Chapter

TRIGGER WARNING: Canon Level of Violence and Gory Imagery

Marine Raider Training Center, Camp Lejeune, North Carolina

“What the fuck just happend,” Kyle asked as everyone in the command center began scrambling to get the cameras back online.  

“Weren’t live explosives banned Wiley,” Kober asked as Aksel tried to desperately reach KorTac recruits still in the game area. 

“Not only banned, but all decoys were inspected to be sure they weren’t live,” Wiley answered. 

“Well, obviously not good enough,” Stiletto yelled. 

But as everyone else began to throw out accusations and try to get hold of the young recruits who were still relatively close to the blast zone, Price, Kyle, Johnny, and Simon all looked to one another in understanding. This wasn’t just something random. No one in their right mind would attack a U.S. base unless they had no other choice, unless they wanted to be leaving anytime soon. And they could take a $150 million guess at what they were after. 

‘Imani,’ they all thought as they all began to run out of the room, Alpha running beside them.

“PRICE THE HELL ARE YOU GOING,” Wiley exclaimed.

“I’m getting my sergeant,” Price answered. 

“WE NEED TO CONTAIN THIS! WE HAVE TO FIND THEIR TARGET-” 

“MY SERGEANT IS THE TARGET,” Price yelled back.

With that, Price and the rest of the squad ran down the stairs and out of the building.

As soon as they were out of the building, Simon took the lead and ran as fast as he could towards the smoke that began to rise from the game arena. 

“Ghost,” Price called out from behind him, “Head towards the armoury! We can cross through, get our weapons, get Alpha set up, and then get to Umbra!”

As much as Simon wanted to say otherwise, he knew Price was right. In this line of work, you have to make sure you're good before you can think to save anyone else. Because otherwise, you’d lose more than just one person. 

But as 141 were racing to the facility, the KorTac just observed from the command center, their minds were still thinking about Price's words.

“My sergeant,” Mace repeated Price’s as he, Calisto, Aksel, and Stelito looked to one another in confusion, “Does he mean-” 

Back in that building, away across, both König and Imani felt like they were put through the ringer. With their previous injuries, that explosion caused them to become even more delirious and caused an agonizing ringing to go off in their ears. 

Through the smoke, both soldiers saw four people with weapons drawn. They moved in a procession that gave the impression that they were either former military personnel or highly trained individuals. 

“Here’s our package,” one of the men called out as he pointed his gun at a struggling Imani. 

As König tried to get up to protect Imani, he’s hit with a butt of a gun and the feeling of someone’s feet holding his head down as the barrel of a rifle against his temple. 

“Don’t move,” a female voice said, “Or I’ll make a big old mess in here.”

König watched as Imani tried to get up but was held down by three other people. Two were holding each arm, and another was grabbing her hair that was now loose from her scrunchie. König watched as the one who had her hair jabbed a syringe in her neck. 

König watched as Imani’s eyes lost their fight and her body eventually went limp. 

“This is Navarro,” the one who jammed the syringe in Imani’s neck said in his walkie-talkie, “Package is secure, we’re RTB (Return to base) in 20 seconds.”

“Copy that, Navarro,” the voice on the other end said, “If I were you, though, I’d step it up. No telling when Price and those other dogs will show up.”

“Copy.”

‘They’re gonna take her,’ König thought as he watched who he assumed were the muscles of the group sit Imani up and put zip ties on her legs and hands as well as a fabric gag around her mouth. 

“Trent you ready,” the man named Navarro asked.

“Yeah,” the muscle man Trent said as he hiked Imani’s unconscious body on his shoulder, “Damn this bitch got a fat ass.”

“Gross,” the smaller man with a ski mask mumbled. 

“Don’t think I didn’t see you looking too Wagner,” Trent laughed at the man with disgust in his eyes.

“Navarro,” the woman who still held König down called out through the useless chatter, “What do we do with him?”

Looking towards König, Navarro knelt down and looked the Austrian man in the face with a curious look. But König knew the look in his eyes was nothing but hate and anger. That was what probably made the man laugh. 

“Leave him,” Navarro said, groaning as he stood up, “We have what we need.”

Right when König was about to protest, right before he was able to do anything, the woman who still had his face dug in the dirt released him but then kicked him so hard he damn near black out. 

“I said leave him alive, Rojas,” Navarro sighed as Trent and Wagner walked through the massive hole towards their Humvee.

“He is alive. Just....sleeping. Just to avoid complications,” Rojas answered, “Oh come on. The Last thing we need is for someone to give chase.”

“They are gonna chase us. If not him, someone else,” Navarro replied as they walked towards the Humvee. 

“But we don’t need to give them a head start,” she replied, giving the man a quick peck on the lips. 

With their package now secure, the team of contract killers speeds away from the scene of their crime.

But just as they sped away, 141 broke down the door, their weapons drawn as Alpha came in behind them, his teeth bared. The group of men and boys, still with the guns drawn, looked around the warehouse for any hostiles, but found none. But what they did see was anything but what they expected to see. 

There on the ground, König was even more beat up and bloodied. Small but controlled flames littered near the big hole in the concrete wall. The evidence of the explosive breach is scattered throughout the room, leaving debris everywhere. But what concerned them, especially Simon, was their missing sergeant.                 

“You broken,” Kyle asked as he and Johnny knelt down next to him while Price and Simon looked out the hole. 

“I feel like I was hit by a truck, then they put it in reverse,” König groaned, chuckling a bit in pain as Alpha licked him on his face. Understanding that the beast wanted to make him feel better. 

Before Johnny or Soap could say anything, Simon stepped in front of the man as the two other sergeants helped him up, “Where’s Umbra?”

“They took her,” König replied, “I tried to stop them, but we both couldn’t really do anything.”

“How many of them,” Price asked this time. 

“Four,” König answered, “Three males, one female.”

“Did you see where they were heading,” Price asked again. 

But before he could respond, the five men felt the ground beneath them shake, and they all knew North Carolina wasn’t a place to get earthquakes. 

“WE HAVE AN EXPLOSION AT THE WEST TARMAC! ALL UNITS PLEASE RESPOND,” Wiley yelled through their comms. 

“Explosion on the west side, but we’re on the east side,” Johnny pointed out. 

“That’s a distraction to make us think that they’re taking her west,” Simon said, “They’re gonna go east.” 

“How do you know,” König tried to yell, stopping as his ribs begged for him to stop, “How can you say that when they’re obviously-”

“Because it’s too obvious," Simon interrupted, “And based on these tire marks out here, they’re heading east.”

“Wiley, what’s the closet gate to our position,” Price called out over comms. 

“Wiley isn’t here. He left to go handle the incident near the west gate, so I have the comms,” Kobe answered instead, “The closest gate to your position is Piney Green Gate.”

“Isn’t that gate closest to Highway 24,” Kyle asked. 

“And the closest to Port Swan Point Marina,” Kobe mumbled over comms.

“Fuck they’re gonna take her out by boat,” Johnny exclaimed.

“Kobe we need a vehicle,” Price said. 

“Already on it.”

At that moment, two Humvees pulled up near the hole in the wall, and some KorTac soldiers jumped out of the Humvees. 

“The first vehicle’s for you. Our men will handle König.”

“Thanks mate,” Price said, gesturing for Johnny, Kyle, and Simon to follow him. 

“I’ll be on overwatch and look for any Humvee trackers heading that way. I'll also get state police to start setting traps and stopping civilians from getting on the highway.”

“Alright, thanks, Kobe,” Simon replied as they all hopped in. 

“No problem. And Captain?”

“Yes?”

“Bring back our girl.”

“Copy, 6 out,” Price answered. Without wasting any more time, Price slammed on the gas to get their sergeant back. 

Meanwhile

Clang, Clang, Clang

The sway of chains

Splat, Splat, Splat

The sound of dripping water 

Groaning awake, the young girl wakes up. Pain shooting throughout her body. She tries to stand, talk, and run, but she can’t. 

She looks around, her eyes never focusing. But what was really there to see? Everything she saw was the only thing she could see for what felt like forever. A dark place without light. 

But as her eyes scoured the area, she caught a figure standing at the entrance of her cell. A girl all too familiar. A girl whom she loved. And a girl gone too soon. 

“What are you doing," the girl asked, her voice echoing in the concrete cell, her body twitching in ways that could only be described as possession. 

“I don’t know,” the girl whispered, her voice trembling due to the cold and her own fear. 

“Get up,” her voice echoed. 

“I-,” the young girl cries, “Can’t.”

“You can and you will,” the voice echoed, “Have you forgotten what they said to us? What they did?”

“No, never,” the girl cried. 

“Then get on your feet and avenge me. Avenge us!”

“I-,” she cried again, bringing her legs to her chest, “I can’t!”

Feeling someone grabbing her hair, the figure brought her face from the ground. The girl saw the face of the echoing voice. Her face was covered in blood, her sunken eyes showed how little sleep or food she had, along with her hair that was brittle and showed a lack of care. But what drew the girl in wasn’t all that. What drew her in was her eyes. Eyes are the windows to the soul, and her eyes were completely black with no white in them. This girl had no soul anymore. And the bullet hole in her forehead showed that,

“AVENGE US IMANI!”

Breathing a bit heavy, Imani woke up with her eyes frantically looking around her. Based on the sound and her surroundings, Imani believes she is on the road in the back of what looks to be a Humvee. 

‘What the hell is going on,’ Imani wondered, her mind still foggy. When she tried to rub her itchy eyes, she realized her hands were tied behind her back, and so were her legs. Then she discovered the cloth that kept her quiet.

That was when the events of some time ago came back to her mind. 

‘Son of a bitch,’ Imani thought, struggling to get out the zip ties that kept her restraint. Looking up, she saw the back of the head of the one female and the muscles of the group sitting in the middle seat. 

Looking around at what was essentially the trunk of the Humvee, Imani realized she was in one of the specialized JTVs (Joint Tactical Vehicles). In Lejuene, there were only four, and each had something unique about it. 

‘This is the one with the ramp door,’ Imani thought, turning her body to see that said door, remembering seeing it back in basic and when she escorted both her brother and father, ‘But how the hell did they get their hands on this? The JTVs are more secure than our filing room. So how the hell did they manage this?’

But Imani shook her head. Now wasn’t the time to think about the how; it was time to think of her getting out of this mess.

Looking back, to ensure her captors weren’t watching her, Imani tried to see if she could break free from her zip ties. But no matter how much she pulled and struggled, she couldn’t break free. The only way she could bring her hands to the front was to use the zip tie snap method. But the problem lies in getting her hands to her front. 

Not seeing any other way to get out of her restraints, Imani sighed and decided to do something she hated more than anything. 

Back home, her parents had a rule. She and her siblings had to be in at least one sport or club. No expectations. So Imani wanted to be the overachiever her siblings called her. Imani was in two sports and three clubs. The most important one at the moment was gymnastics. 

And because of that sport, she broke a lot of bones. Two of them being her shoulders. So as quietly as she could, Imani leaned down on the ground and purposely dislocated her right shoulder, holding in her groan of pain. Now with ease, Imani brought the restraint to the front of her. 

‘I swear I’m gonna kill them,’ Imani thought in anger. Leaning back down on the ground, Imani popped her shoulder back in place. But she wasn’t able to hide the groan this time. That caught her captor's attention. 

“Is she up,” she heard the woman ask. 

Closing her eyes, slowing her breathing, and sleeping on her stomach, Imani pretended she was still unconscious. 

Hearing what sounded like the fabric of the seat in front of her moving, Imani felt someone violently shake her and pick her up from the ground before violently dropping her again. 

“No, she’s still out,” the muscles said, turning back around. 

‘If not the first, then you’re definitely next,’ Imani thought as she opened her eyes, now filled with even more malicious intent. 

Bringing her hands up, Imani put the zip tie towards her mouth and tightened the restraint even more. When tightened enough, Imani locked the little clip thing in her hands. With the loose end in her mouth and in between her teeth, Imani pulled her hands down in a forceful motion, her hands still locking that little clip. 

With a small pop, Imani finally broke through her hand restraints. 

‘Finally,’ she thought with a smirk, quickly working on her feet and taking the gag out of her mouth. 

‘Now the question now is, how the hell do I get out of this and make sure I keep one of them alive?’

When she looked down in between the seats, Imani saw the bigger guy's gun peeking through enough for her to grab out of his holster. 

As slowly and as carefully as she could, Imani wiggled the 9mm out of the man’s holster. Looking down at the gun and back up, Imani felt her resolve strengthening. 

‘If I’m gonna die, I’m gonna go down swinging.’ 

Not too far, another military Humvee carrying Imani’s team was barreling down the highway. Desperately trying to catch up. 

“This is Kobe, rodger up Price!”

“Copy, go for Price,” Price replied. 

“Alright, boys. I managed to track the Humvee and got drone eyes on now.”

“You work fast Kobe,” Kyle complimented. 

“I try man. I also got state troopers blocking off the highway entrances and exits ahead. No one is going in or out.”

“But what about the people already on,” Johnny asked as they passed through cars and trucks alike. 

“Nothing we can do about that now, all we can do is avoid putting them in danger as much as we can.”

“Copy that,” Simon answered simply, rechecking his gun as Alpha stood in the trunk over his shoulder.

“How far is Umbra from our current position,” Kyle asked. 

“According to the tracker installed in the JTV, she’s less than a klick away.” 

“Copy, no matter what happens Kobe, I don’t want a signal car getting off this highway,” Price said. 

“Copy that Price. Kobe out.”

“You boys ready,” Price asked, turning his gaze lightly to look at Simon, Johnny, and Kyle. 

“We’re ready sir,” Johnny affirmed, Kyle giving a solid nod. 

Turning his gaze to his Lieutenant, Price hesitated for a moment. He knew out of all of them, Simon was the closest to Imani, and the one who would take her getting taken much less hurt, possibly the hardest. Which could make him strong enough to protect her, or a liability, as he may make reckless decisions.

For Price, at least, this was a test.

“You ready Ghost?”

Looking at Price, Simon knew why he had asked him that question specifically. He knew behind that neutral expression, he was genuinely worried about Imani and the state she was in. But he knew to save her, he needed to be focused and be the man he needed to be. A ghost. 

“I’m ready Price.”

“Then let’s get our girl,” Price yelled.

Stepping on the gas, Price continued to maneuver through traffic. It didn’t help that it was towards the end of rush hour, so while there wasn’t a high volume of cars on the road, there was still enough to cause some complications. 

But those complications wouldn’t stop them. And it didn’t. Because not even two minutes later, the Humvee that had been identified as stolen came into sight. 

“Kobe. We’re eyes,” Price called out. 

“Copy. All stations, target confirmed. You’re free to engage when able.”

“Soap, Gaz, I want those mirrors out now!”

“Copy Price,” Johnny replied.

Leaning out of the car, Johnny and Kyle both took out their weapons and shot out both the driver's side and passenger side mirrors. 

Inside the JTV, the four counteract killers, Navarro, Rojas, Trent, and Wagner, all talked about what they’ll do with their cut of $150 million when they give the buyer the package, which was the unconscious girl in the back. All the while not knowing that their package was awake and planning on how she could ruin this little drive. 

But all chatter and laughter were cut short when Navarro and Wagner heard and saw the side mirrors being shot and taken off. 

“WHAT THE FUCK,” Navarro exclaimed.

“WHO THE HELL WAS THAT,” Rojas yelled. 

Turning around, Trent looked out the back window and saw two of the four men they were warned about. 

“SHIT IT’S THEM,” Trent yelled. 

“You two, I want you to cover us! Wagner I want you push this of shit!”

But right as Wagner was about to agree, he looked through the review mirror. Something told him to look. He didn’t know why until he saw the woman they abducted with a gun in her hand. The barrel aimed right at him. 

“HEY SHE’S-” Wagner tried to yell, tried to warn. But it was too late, Imani had already pulled the trigger and shot Wagner in the head. Killing him instantly as his head slumped against the steering wheel. 

Hearing that Simon and the others were close behind and were pursing, it gace Imani the courge to finally ste

“SHE’S FUCKING AWAKE,” Navarro yelled, reaching over to control the now out of control military grade vehicle. 

“HOW’D YOU TAKE MY GUN,” Trent yelled as he scrmable to get over the seat and into the trunk where Imani was. 

But unlike with König, Imani didn’t bother to give him an answer. Unlike with König, they were the enemy, and there was no ‘no kill’ rule with them. So as fast as she could, she drew the gun again and shot Trent in the leg, causing the man to cry out in pain as he clutched his leg. Jumping in to defend him, Rojas tries to aim her gun at the woman but is thwarted by Navarro's driving.

“KEEP IT STEADY DAMNIT,” Rojas yelled. 

“WELL DON’T KILL HER WE STILL NEED HER,” Navarro yelled, opening the driver's door and dumping Wagner’s body from the driver’s seat. Navarros took control of the car. 

“WATCH OUT PRICE,” Simon yelled as what looked to be a body came rolling towards them. 

Serving out of the way, Price just barely avoided the body. But turning around, Simon saw how a van behind them wasn’t so lucky and ran over the body and inevitably stopped as one of its tires popped. Stopping some traffic behind them.  

“That wasn’t you two was it,” Price yelled as he pushed it even further. 

“No,” Kyle answered, “That happened inside the Humvee.”

“They're turning on each other,” Johnny asked. 

“No, better,” Simon smiled, “It’s Imani.”

Back inside the Humvee, Imani was managing to hold her own. Even with her injuries, her adrenaline was working overtime to make her feel almost invincible. 

Especially since at the moment, she managed to knock the one girl named Rojas out and get Trent in a headlock. 

“You people gotta lot of fucking nerves coming after me,” Imani snarled as she held onto the man tight, her back against the rear door, “You thought that $150 million was something easy huh?”

“LET ME GO BITCH,” Trent try to yell, but chocked as Imani tighten her grip. 

“I’ll break your fucking neck you overgrown bettle,” Imani threatened. 

Seeing his control slip and half his crew dead or unconscious, Navarros thought to hell with the money. Imani Barnes would die today. 

So, swerving the car erratically and even having the car brake hard, Navarro not only made Imani hit her head against the rear door but also caused Trent to reach out to steady himself, mistakenly opening the rear door. 

Almost in slow motion, Imani felt herself falling backwards. She went from seeing the top of the Humvee, which was painted black, to the bright blue North Carolina sky. 

‘HOLY SHIT,’ Imani exclaimed in her mind. But her thoughts were taken when she landed hard on the rear door, the same door that was now scraping against the highway as cars and trucks alike moved out of the way. 

Horn blasts. A semi swerves. Some even end up on the side of the road in the grass to avoid them. 

But in the Humvee behind them, the boys were all on edge as they witnessed this scene. 

“Fucking hell! She’s on the bloody door,” Soap yelled over the raging winds. 

“Price, we gotta do something now, she’s gonna fall,” Kyle yelled as they watched 

“I’ll get us closer,” Price yelled, “Ghost, you ready?

“Always Price,” Simon said, his voice filled with conviction. 

The SUV veers between lanes, narrowing the gap. But just as Price finally managed to get somewhat close to the Humvee and to Imani, a huge 18-wheeler came into his sight. 

“OH GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK!”

Back to Imani, the woman was fighting for her life. At the moment, Trent had his hand around her neck and was choking her against the door that was scraping against the highway. She saw the sparks from the friction pop up and even felt some hit her face and exposed skin, as her clothes were somewhat torn.

But at this point, Trent was enraged. Even if Navarro said to stop, he doesn’t think he would be capable of it. That was when he decided to pull out a knife that he had created with his own hands. 

This knife he called crucifix. It had a tri-blade edge that was uneven and had a spiral effect, which would cause flesh and organs to be torn apart. It would first cause the one on the receiving end to be paralyzed in pain and agony as they feel everything being ripped to shreds. And then after about 5-10 minutes, they’ll die from internal bleeding. 

That’s why Trent uses this knife for those who truly pushed him over the edge, just like her. 

Imani saw the glint of the spiral blade from the corner of her eye. As he thrust the blade down towards her, Imani had to use both hands to stop it. 

“You’re stronger than I thought,” Trent groaned as he had to let the one hand on her throat go so he could use both hands. 

Imani knew when it came to a battle of strength, she’d always lose. She was never the strongest. That’s why she trained herself to be the quickest on her feet. 

So when she tilted her head and noticed that 18-wheeler above her, she knew what she had to do.  

“Damn it Price, we got to get in front of this,” Ghost exclaimed. 

“I’m trying,” Price replied, “Kyle how’s she looking?”

“She’s not gonna last long Captian,” Kyle yelled, using his scope on his weapon to see Imani struggling against Trent. The knife itching closer to her neck.

“Soap, do you have a shot,” Ghost yelled. 

“I can’t get a clear shot, with this fucking truck in the way,” Soap said as the he saw the Truck driver panicking at the scene in front and next to him.  

But while they were all trying to find their options, Imani began to use hers. 

Because while her upper body strength was weaker, her lower body strength was always something for her to brag about. 

Bringing one of her knees up, Imani looked Trent in the eyes and yelled, “Let! Me! GO!” 

With a fury of kicks, Imani delivered blow after blow after blow to his guts with the goal not only to hurt him, but to also unsteady him. 

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU,” Trent yelled, removing one hand from the knife and wrapping it around her neck.

With a look of determination and anger, Imani looked Tret in the eye and yelled, “YOU FIRST ASSHOLE!”

With one last kick to the ribs, Imani managed to destabilize him and launch him from above her to the truck behind them. 

His body is almost immediately obliterated, slammed under the truck with a burst of red across its front grill and covering Imani’s face.

The truck screeches, and other cars veer in panic. Everyone from Navarro, a waking Rojas, and the boys all flinch at the impact and the blood-curdling scream he let out.

“Bloody fucking hell,” Johnny mumbled, lowering his gun.

Looking back, they all saw how Imani’s stunt stopped all traffic behind them. 

No longer seeing the truck as an obstacle, Price speeds forward and gets directly behind the JTV. 

“UMBRA JUMP,” Price yelled out over the roaring wind. 

“UHHHHHH,” Imani yelled as she looked down and still saw those intimidating sparks flying, “I DON’T KNOW ABOUT THAT CAP!”

Before Price could reply, Navarro swerved the car once again and almost knocked her off balance, getting Simon more riled up with worry.

“IMANI JUMP ON THE FUCKIN CAR,” Simon yelled, Alpha following behind with a series of barks. 

If Imani wasn’t in this situation right now, she would have checked Simon so quick because who the hell is he talking to? 

So the minute when the still swerving JTV finally lined up perfectly, Imani took a leap of faith and landed on the hood of the Humvee and hit the windshield so hard that it actually cracked it. 

“AH FUCK,” Imani screamed in pain as she laid herself flat against the windsheild. 

“IMANI HOLD ON,” Price yelled as he pushed the Humvee to its limit. 

Getting as close as he could to the now-fleeing Humvee, Price looked to Simon and gestured for him to make sure that Imani held on with everything she’s got.

As soon as Price got a little past the end of the JTV, Price clips the side of the Humvee in a perfect PIT maneuver. From her point of view, through her curly hair that was whipping in the wind, Imani saw Navarro's panicked face as he realized he was losing control, and saw how he desperately reached away from the driver's seat and towards Rojas. Protectively bringing her as close as he could as they lost control of the upgraded Humvee. 

Hitting the brakes, Price shouts for Imani to hold on as they watch the captain’s handy work. They watched as the back of the JTV swung out until it was sideways on the road. They watched as the vehicle flipped over and over and over again until it skidded into the median barrier. Resulting in smoke rising from the crash.

Stopping nearby, Price, Johnny, Kyle, and Alpha all leaped out of the car to secure it. 

Simon, on the other hand, helped Imani off the hood of the Humvee. Keeping his hands on her, Simon looked over her body for any serious injuries that she may have. 

“You broken,” Simon asked softly. 

“I don't know. I'll tell you when the adrenaline wears off,” Imani tried to joke as she tried to steady herself.

As much as Simon didn’t want to, he was worried. More worried than he should be. He didn’t even notice his thumb rubbing away some of the blood that still covered her face. 

Hearing something getting dragged, Imani and Simon both turned to see Johnny and Soap dragging the two remaining contractors out. Navarro and Rojas. 

“Are they-” Imani began to ask. 

“Dead? No,” Kyle answered. 

“Soap call it in,” Price ordered. 

Within minutes, local state and medical personnel were on the scene. Given the circumstances, both Navarro and Rojas were being transported back to Camp Lejuene, where they’ll receive treatment and be held in the meantime since they were both currently unconscious. 

Watching from afar in the back of an ambulance, Imani watched as they loaded the last two surviving killers into a military ambulance. Sitting in the back of the ambulance, Imani's face has been cleaned to ensure it was Trent’s blood and not her’s. Imani had bandages around her head and where her clothes were torn, and where her skin was exposed. Since she declined to go to the hospital, Imani would have to wait for a more extensive checkup back at base.

She was so focused on the two killers that she didn’t even notice Price coming up from behind the ambulance and standing next to her

“You did today Imani,” Price said, taking a seat next to her in the ambulance. 

“Really,” Imani asked with a smirk, “I felt like I got my ass whopped all day.” 

“Yeah, that too,” Price chuckled. 

Looking at Price, Imani smiled softly and said quietly, “Thanks for showing up, Captain.”

“Always.”

At that moment, Johnny, Kyle, and Simon all walked up. 

“Scene is all but cleared Price,” Simon replied. 

“Good,” Price answered, he and Imani standing up almost in unison, “What about the JTV?”

“Wiley is having that towed back to base sir,” Kyle answered. 

“Can’t do much with it now,” Imani mumbled as she looked towards the almost unrecognizable pile of metal.

“So what happens now,” Johnny asked. 

“Now,” Price began, gripping the side of his vest, “We get to the bottom of who sent them and how they were able to get into the base.”

Medical Center Camp Lejeune, North Carolina

After leaving the scene, Simon all but dragged Imani to the medical wing as she wanted to put it off as much as she could. 

Once there, she received a complete check-up. All the while, Simon waited for the ok to come back in. 

Once given, Simon stood behind Imani as she sat on the hospital bed looking at the head doctor of Camp Lejuene. 

“Alright, Sergeant Barnes,” he began, “You sure a miracle case. Minus quite a few scrapes, bruises, and a concussion, you're basically fine.”

“Told you,” Imani said as she looked up at Simon. 

“What about her tox screen,” Simon asked, ignoring Imani’s little cheer.

“Now, that's a different case,” the doctor replied as he flipped through notes, “We found traces of methohexital in your system.”

“The fuck is that,” Imani asked. 

“It’s a sedative,” the doctor explained, “It’s a fast-acting one. The duration of the drug is also short. Usually it lasts only for about 5-30 minutes.”

“Enough time to get to the port,” Imani said. 

“But why only keep you knock out for that and not for the whole trip,” Simon wondered. 

“Yeah, about that Lieutenant,” the doctor said as he put his arms down in front of him, “That’s actually what I want to talk to you about. I haven’t reported this to Colonel Wiley yet due to the…Unusual situation outside, but now looking at her tox screen, I feel the need to mention this. Every night, our pharmacist makes a certain amount of drugs that we may need for the next day. Last night, one of our pharmacists had to step out to help a new soldier move to our department. But when she came back, 1 out of the 10 vials she made went missing.”

The two 141 members had a feeling what it was, but Imani still asked, “What was in the vial?”           

“A healthy dose of methohexital,” the doctor responded. 

“Could it have been one of them,” Simon asked, the ‘them’ being the people who took Imani. 

“No,” the doctor replied confidently, “Outside of the administration building, vehicle hanger, and the countless weapon armouries, the medical wing is one of the most secure buildings in this entire base. Especially our pharmaceutical department.”

Looking at one another, Imani and Simon didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. Because with the doctor’s testimony, it could only mean one thing. An inside job. 

With the promise of resolving the issue, Imani was discharged, and the two soldiers made their way out. But as they passed by one of the other rooms, Imani noticed a few familiar faces. 

Without warning, Imani pivoted on her feet and opened the hospital room. 

“Hey Mani,” Simon exclaimed as he followed her into the hospital room.

When he looked up, he saw an unsuspecting sight. Not one, not two, but all five members of KorTac’s team were in a shared room. All in hospital gowns and in the beds, all the while Kobe stood nearby. 

“How the hell is the girl who got kidnapped moving right now,” Mace asked. 

“I don’t know, luck, I guess,” Imani answered as she moved closer to the group, "The question here is what the hell happened to you guys?” 

“We went with Wiley to the west tarmac,” Stiletto answered. 

“Damn, how many people did y’all fight,? It looks like y'all took on a small armada,” Imani asked. 

“10,” Aksel answered. 

“Only ten,” Simon asked in disbelief, kind of shocked how 10 guys managed to best the ‘best of the best’." 

“Don’t give us that shit Ghost,” Mace yelled, “These guys were crazy! No matter how many times we shot them, they kept getting back up!”

That caught their attention at that point as the two soldiers whipped their heads to Mace. Because what the fuck does that mean?

“Mind sharing with the class,” Imani asked, “Because you’re sounding a little out of your mind there, Mace.” 

“He’s telling the truth,” Calisto exclaimed from her bed, “Those men- No, those beasts weren’t human. They looked deranged! Animalistic! It was like they were on some type of drug or something! They tore through teams of soldiers, and no matter how many times we shot them, they just wouldn’t go down! Only with a shot to the head or an explosive did they go down.”

“How’d you kill them then,” Simon asked. 

“We didn’t,” Askel answered, “They just dropped dead out of nowhere.”

“But if you don’t believe us, look in the morgue. There are at least 50 bodies there that will agree with us,” Stiletto said. 

Imani and Simon looked to one another for a moment. What the hell was happening today? Nodding to them and wishing for all of them to get, they were about to leave when a familiar Austrian accent called out to Imani. 

Turning around, Imani saw a bare-faced König staring at her with a goofy grin, “Try not to get taken this time darling!”

“Try not to get your ass whopped again sweetie,” Imani replied without missing a beat, causing the Asutrain man to burst out laughing as Simon and Imani left the room.    

As they were walking away and towards the briefing room that Price told them to meet at after her checkup, Imani and Simon heard that familiar click of a cane walking up behind them. Looking back, their suspicion was confirmed when they saw Kobe trying to catch up to them as fast as he could. 

“Kobe,” Imani greeted as the two stopped for the man to catch up. 

“Thanks for waiting for a bit there,” Kobe thanked. 

“No problem mate,” Simon answered, “You coming with us?”

“Damn right I am,” Kobe replied as they continued their walk, “Since they attack my team back there, I need to know exactly what happened and how they managed to get in.”

“Then we’re all on the same page,” Imani replied. 

Not long after, the three arrived at the briefing room with Price, Kyle, Johnny, and Wiley. 

“The gangs all here,” Kyle said. 

“Alright then, let’s get this over with,” Wiley began, “Why were they after Sergeant Barnes?”

“Umbra here has a $150 million bounty on her head. Next,” Price answered in a neutral tone, like that’s something that has gone through at least once in their lives.

Even when Wiley tried to ask even further, Price interrupted and asked the critical question, “Who let them is the question we need to be asking right now, Colonel.” 

“Well, me and Umbra can confirm it was an inside job,” Simon said, “Someone snuck into the med wing last night, took the sedative that was found in Umbra’s system.”

“They drugged you,” Johnny asked. 

“Yeah, but I don’t think they knew exactly what they stole. They must have seen the word sedative on the vial and thought great,” Imani replied. 

“Wait a minute,” Wiley said, “There are only a few people who can access that part of the med wing. Especially outsiders."

“You,” Kobe called out, pointing to one of the soldiers Wiley keeps with him, “I want you to pull the log off the key lock. I want to see every key swipe to those doors. And get me the security footage too!”

“Yes sir!”

“We should also investigate how they got in,” Johnny added, “Whoever got them in is definitely the same person who stole that sedative.”

“How do you think they got in,” Kyle wondered. “Definitely not by jumping the fence,” Imani said, “Those gates are electrified. So they wouldn’t go that way.”

“Why not by the lake,” Johnny wondered, “Direct access right?”

“Yes, but it’s also the riskiest,” Wiley said, “There’s a patrol on the lake 24/7. And the personnel was increased due to Price and Laswell’s suggestions. And by air is out of the question, as everything is thoroughly inspected before it’s allowed to even take off. No one, and I mean no one, can get in that way.”

“So that leaves only one way in,” Imani began. 

“The gates,” Simon finished. 

“I want every guard and CCTV from this last week in my office in 15 minutes! NOW!” 

But as that one soldier goes out, another comes in, “Captain Price!”

“What is it son,” Price asked. 

“Those prisoners you want wanted us to keep an eye on,” he began, “They’re awake and they’re asking for Sergeant Imani Barnes.”           

Next: Chapter 24 (Coming Soon)

Arthur's Note:

ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER (Not as intense as last week's but hey)!!!!! I'm so sorry again for the delay, but I rewrote this chapter three times because I wasn't satisfied with the action in it. I've never been good at writing action scenes, but I really want to improve them! And I'm a perfectionist at heart, so that doesn't help (being a Virgo can be both a blessing and a curse, lol). And working 70 hours this week didn't help at all lol. But hey, I got bills to pay and until I find a new job, I gotta do what I gotta do.

But with Imani now safe and sound, what will happen next? What will Navarros and Rajos say to Imani? How will they react to Davis being the traitor, and what will happen next? Well, I know, but you all have to wait until next Friday!

Well, that's it for this chapter! Thank you so much for your time and patience, and I hope you all have a great weekend!

[gukcnt]

SCARS OF SURVIVAL ⭒ M. LIST

in a brutal zombie apocalypse, you are hardened by trauma, the scars of your past and you clash into jungkook, an ex-military loner who hides his pain behind a stone heart. Forced together to survive, your frequent fights and chemistry spark a dangerous connection. In the middle of battles and raw emotion, will their forbidden love survive in this broken world or will it lead to their ultimate downfall?

pairing — dom!jungkook x sub!femreader

genre — zombie apocalypse au, dystopian world, survival, ex-military officer!jungkook, confident badass!reader, dark romance, forbidden attraction, enemies to lovers, friends with benefits, pining, slowburn, one sided love, emotional unavailability, thriller, action and adventure, crime, smut, angst, fluff

warnings — 18+, several explicit sex scenes, mature themes, dark content, graphic violence, detailed gore scenes (zombie attacks, blood), physical and emotional abuse, PTSD, character death (major and minor), betrayal and deception, grief, abandonment, details of injury and pain, smoking and drinking alcohol, mental health themes, each chapter contains their individual warnings (reader discretion is advised due to the intense, dark and potentially triggering content)

taglist — [open]

m. list

────୨ৎ────

⤷ teaser

⤷ 01 : to be released.

[thewritingfairy]

જ⁀➴Nobody's child

Inspired by @acid-ixx (undoing fate) (again & again), @rizzanon (undoing fate), @nikovraskol (crack baby)

main m.list bad ending m.list

↪ READER NOTES

-> disabled reader, reader's non-binary but hasn't come out yet, due to this pronouns she/they will be used.

↪ TRIGGER WARNINGS

-> emotional + physical + medical neglect, kidnapping, explosive anger, misgendering, grieve, mentions of murder, there will be individual trigger warnings on each chapter, more might be added

↪ SUMMARY

Sometimes pain can be an ephipany and bring perspective in someone's life.

In your case it finally made you stop chasing your family's love. It changed you, yes. But it did so for the better.

Just too bad that you needed to change before your 'father' and 'siblings' noticed what was wrong, and for that wrong to finally teach them you were always deserving of love and now you'll make your own story line.

↪ CHAPTERS

00. A plan to live

01. A job to pay the bills

02. A job interview gone right

03. To the ones that love you fully

04. Distraction is the best medication

05. Tim doesn't understand you

06. Your first day at work

07. An explosion of emotions

08. A state of dreams

09. Oh no!

10. Duke is done

11. Something is wrong

12. Confrontation gone wrong!

13. Damian attempts self-reflection

14. Chaos and Bruce's guilt

15. The beginning of the end

16. Anger is powerful

17. A deck of cards

↪ SIDE STORIES

Jason's crime

Duke and (Name)

↪ DRABBLES, ONESHOTS

au: Poetic justice

Tim's debt

pride month special; gender dysphoria

Bruce's biggest mistake

A long day

Slade Wilson is petty

↪ ASKS

🪷anon 1 2 3 4 5

😶‍🌫️ anon 1 2 3

Realization and forgiveness

Tim cares (😶‍🌫️ anon)

Massive ick

Reader working with the villains

heirlooms

Will your friends be yandere?

Romance?

Counting days (😶‍🌫️ anon)

Tim 1 2

Incorrect quotes

They'll get worse

The worst yandere

Alfred's title

Abusive

Close parental figure

↪ TAGLIST

@prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

TAGLIST CLOSED

[kingofbodyrolls]

Friendcation masterlist | myg

*this is a re-upload since I deleted my old account 🫣

Going camping with your best friends seemed like a brilliant idea when you initially made the plans. But when you harbor secret feelings for one of them, what will become of you being close confined for three months? Trouble, that’s what.

→ Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female) → AUs: camping!au, roadtrip!au, non idol!au, mechanic!yoongi → Genre(s): humor/comedy, slight angst, smut and fluff → Trope(s): friends to lovers → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count (total): 147.7k  → Status: completed!  → warnings + triggers: will be tagged on each individual chapter! → Author’s note: this is a re-upload! The story hasn’t changed one bit, it’s the same one. But I wanted to thank all of you who read it before, and loved it. I hope you’ll welcome this one back into your arms 🥹 → Read on AO3? [link]

The Main story

→ Chapter 1: The Getaway → Word count: 11.9k

→ Chapter 2: Unlucky → Word count: 12.7k

→ Chapter 3: Friendzone → Word count: 11.9k

→ Chapter 4: Forest Adventure → Word count: 17.7k

→ Chapter 5: Restroom → Word count: 23k

→ Chapter 6: Uncertainty → Word count: 11.3k

→ Chapter 7: The Garage → Word count: 11.3k

The Extras (in chronological order)

→ Extra #1: Wedding special → Word count: 12.2k

→ Extra #2: Honeymoon special → Word count: 8.8k

→ Extra #3: Pregnancy special → Word count: 7.5k

→ Extra #4: Winter special → Word count: 10.3k

→ Extra #5: Baby special → Word count: 3.5k

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex @rapmonjoon94 @parkitrighthere

→ Series taglist: @idkjustlovingbts @constancelayon @wobblewobble822 @ktownshizzle @moonchild1 @ultimatefangirl0 @baechugff @jimintaemin @parapiop7 @fckkntired @iluvfndms @citypop-princess @tarahardcore @bergandysam @massivelyfullenthusiast @tatyhend @gimeow

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2023 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

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

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

Trigger Warnings: Workplace harassment, pregnancy complications, verbal abuse, grief, and loss. Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Redemption Arc, Workplace Dynamics, Gamer Culture, Mystery Identity, Mild Violence, Pregnancy Complications, Emotional Hurt, Disassociation, Depression.

A/N: Before you start reading— 1. Man, after finalizing this chapter, I was the Ben Affleck meme outside, chain-smoking my sanity away. 2. Minors, DNI. It’s not spicy, but seriously, don’t ruin your innocence here. 3. Our reader is tough as nails, but damn, even I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. 4. I’ve sprinkled some links, a playlist, and a meme to lighten the vibe, but customize the vibe however you need. 5. Fair warning: the ending’s gonna hurt. If you’re not in the headspace for that, skip the parts marked with { }. Take care of yourself, okay? Let’s get wrecked together.

Previous Chapter 5 - Something Soft, Something Sharp (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 6 (alt ending 1.2) - Veiled Realities

The gaming convention hall pulsed with energy—screens flashing with gameplay demos from various companies, creative souls showcasing their cosplays, excited chatter bouncing off the high ceilings, and the occasional triumphant shout from someone winning a round. You kept your barely see-through-only for you-hood low, blending seamlessly with the crowd as you moved toward your company’s booth. The email from your employee still sat in your inbox, her words playing on a loop in your mind:

“I wanted to bring to your attention a concerning issue that has been occurring within our team. Certain male employees have been engaging in inappropriate behavior towards their female colleagues, making comments that suggest women do not belong in the gaming industry.

Despite providing multiple rounds of workplace etiquette training, these individuals continue to make such remarks, often doing so after the training sessions have concluded. While we have attempted to address the situation discreetly, the behavior has persisted and is becoming increasingly problematic.

I felt it was important to make you aware of this issue, even if no immediate action is taken, as you are committed to fostering an inclusive and respectful work environment.”

You weren’t about to let it slide.

Your gaze landed on your company’s booth, where a small group had gathered. Two men—mid-forties, loud with unwarranted confidence—were smirking as they leaned toward a younger woman who stood stiffly, her arms crossed.

“Come on,” one of them said, his voice dripping with condescension. “You can’t even finish a round without dying. How are you going to tell us what to do?”

“Yeah,” the other chimed in, his laugh grating. “We're not sexist or anything, but gaming’s just not your thing. Stick to HR or something.”

You gritted your teeth, the instinct to step in bubbling beneath the surface. But you held back, watching as the woman squared her shoulders and prepared to fire back. Before she could, you pulled out your phone. With a few quick taps, an email was swiftly dispatched to the CHRO, with the COO, CSO, CMO, and the event coordinator all included in the loop for informational purposes.

The response from the CHRO came immediately: "We’ll start the off-boarding right away."

Within minutes, the two men’s phones buzzed simultaneously. They frowned, pulling them out, only for their faces to pale.

“What the—”

“Fucking hell!”

They stared at their screens, then at each other, and finally back at the woman they’d been harassing. “It’s you—”

Before they could finish, your voice cut through, calm. “You have five minutes to vacate the premises, or security will escort you if needed.”

The woman blinked at you, her surprise quickly replaced by a smirk as the men stammered and shuffled off grumbling to gather their things. You turned away before she could say anything, your hood still obscuring your face.

Then a loud voice rang out. “No, no, NO! Game broken! Is not me! Me loyal fan!”

Heads turned, including yours, to a really tall man with bright white hair and pale skin standing at the demo station, gesturing wildly at the screen. His coat hung loosely around his shoulders, and he wore dark sunglasses indoors. With his striking appearance, he could easily model for Giorgio Armani.

“Mechanics! Broken! No strong! Me? Strongest!” he declared, his English so fractured and accented that it took you a moment to piece together what he was trying to say.

One of your employees—a nervous-looking junior—stammered, “Uh… sir, maybe you just need more practice?”

The man looked personally offended. “Me beat curse! Me GOAT!” He paused, frowned, and then switched to rapid Japanese, clearly too frustrated to stick with English.

The junior blinked, helplessly lost. “Uh… what?”

The woman who had been dealing with the earlier bullying snorted. “Looks like you’ve got competition, Steve,” she muttered, glaring at her now ex-coworker as they left before turning to the man. “Sir, maybe try again? Second round’s free.”

“Free?” His face lit up like a Christmas town. “Yay! Free! Strongest WIN!”

“Stop embarrassing yourself,” came a calm, deep voice from behind him.

You tilted your neck to see another man—a tall figure, though not quite as towering as his counterpart—impeccably dressed in black. Neatly styled blond hair framed his face. With his striking looks, he would make a perfect brand ambassador for Tom Ford or Bironi; he resembled a male Victoria's Secret model. Beneath his green-tinted glasses, his eyes flicked to the white-haired chaos generator with the resigned air of a pet parent.

The white-haired man turned to glare at him. “No embarrassing! Winning!”

“Winning,” the blond deadpanned, glancing at the screen where the white-haired one’s character had just been obliterated.

He pouted, muttering something in Japanese that sounded suspiciously like an insult, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

The blond man sighed heavily and said something in Japanese. “Sore wa gēmudesu. Kojin-tekina fukushūde wa arimasen.” (“It’s a game. Not a personal vendetta.”)

The white-haired one said something that the blond pointedly ignored. “Sō, fukushūda! Noroi o uchiyabutta. Subete o uchiyabutta, daga kono bakageta... Mekanikku dake wa!” (“Yes, it is vendetta! I beat curses; I beat everything, but this stupid... mechanics!”)

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but find the men’s voices incredibly attractive, even though they were completely different from each other—or was it the fact that they were speaking Japanese? Anyone with half a brain cell knew how undeniably masculine the language sounded.

“Anata to issho ni kurubekide wa nakatta to wakatte imashita.” The blond said, his tone clipped as he hovered by a different station, playing an older game in your company’s lineup—one that hadn’t done well financially but had won multiple awards and had a loyal following. (“I knew I shouldn’t have come with you.”)

You weren’t usually one to ogle men, but damn, the blond one’s biceps looked very chewable. Underneath his overcoat, you could imagine them flexing as he moved his fingers on the keyboard.

You immediately cringed at your own thoughts and made a mental note to stop spending so much time with your unhinged employees.

The white-haired one ignored him. “More round!” he yelled at the junior, who sighed and let him.

The man launched into another round, biting his lower lip in concentration like a child. Was that lip gloss?!

He was really close to perfecting the strike when the in-game AI learned his moves and took him down. He looked like he was about to cry, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at how adorable he was.

The blond’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes narrowing slightly in recognition—or perhaps suspicion. “You’re enjoying yourself?” he asked, his English perfect, despite the accent.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The white-haired one suddenly perked up, finally noticing you. His eyes widened, and he jabbed a finger in your direction. “You! Pretty hoodie lady! Play?”

Caught off guard, you blinked, face still obscured by the hood. “Play what?”

“Game!” He gestured wildly at the screen. “Strongest win! You lose!”

The blond groaned softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Gojo, stop harassing strangers.”

“Me no harass! Me... invite!” The Gojo declared, beaming at you.

Against your better judgment, you stepped closer, curiosity outweighing caution.

The woman from earlier smirked, stepping up to the console. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

“Think you better?” He grinned, clearly convinced he was about to crush you, then pointed at the blond. “Nanamin, see me!”

“Don’t call me that!” The blond spat at him, making you think—was ‘Nanamin’ a derogatory word in their language?

The blond furrowed his brow, his gaze flicking over you. Something about the way you carried yourself seemed… off. Not in a bad way, but something didn’t fit in his mind.

You slid into the seat across from Gojo, the monitors facing the opposite way. “Alright, fine. Let’s see what the ‘strongest’ has got.”

The first round was a blur of offensive movements and insults—Gojo threw out broken English mixed with Japanese, your focus entirely on the screen.

To your dismay, he was… good. Annoyingly good. You’d come up with the idea and then tested this game for over 5,000 hours. You were basically omniscient in it—knew every trick and exploit, but Gojo’s reflexes and instincts were ridiculous.

So you cheated.

Subtly, of course.

A quick input enabled God Mode, giving you just enough of an edge to win the round.

Within minutes, Gojo’s smug grin crumbled as you utterly demolished him in-game, your hands moving with muscle memory.

The blond, who had been watching silently, let out a low chuckle. “Looks like you’ve met your match, Gojo.”

Gojo froze, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the screen. “You cheat!”

You grinned, leaning back. “No, I’m just better,” you said smoothly, your voice calm. Inside, you panicked a little; he couldn’t have possibly known; your screen wasn’t facing him.

“Yes! CHEAT! Me see!” He tapped his temple. “Muttsu no me! Me see!” Then he made a gesture that encompassed the whole planet with his long, troll-like arms. (“Six eyes.”)

You smirked, but before you could respond, the blond interjected. “Gojo, you’re imagining things.”

“Sōzō janai yo! Kanojo wa hontōni zuru o shita nda! Anata mo mitadesho. Eigo de itte!” Gojo gestured wildly at Nanami, who barely glanced at him. (“I’m NOT imagining! She literally just cheated! You saw it too. Say it in English!”)

“You’re hallucinating,” the blond said flatly.

“I am NOT!”

“Yes, you are. You’re tired. No more video games; go sit down over there.” The blond had seen you cheat, but he wasn’t letting the opportunity to embarrass Gojo pass.

Gojo sputtered, clearly betrayed, while you fought to keep a straight face.

“Impossible!” Gojo huffed at you, but there was no malice in his tone, only a kind of begrudging admiration. “You… strong.”

You shrugged, pulling your hood up just enough to smile. “Told you.”

Gojo’s throat made a strangled sound that suspiciously resembled a mewl; he seemed like a nerd. “Me ahh Gojo Satoru. He Nanami Kento.” He pointed at the blond without looking away from you.

Nanami’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, his expression unreadable.

“So, Gojo and Nanami are your names? I believe Japan has a different naming convention, right?” You asked, steering the conversation away to avoid revealing your own name. Surrounded by a crowd, you felt uneasy about receiving random CVs and taking selfies with men whose hands seemed to wander a bit too freely.

Nanami was caught off guard by your knowledge. “You are correct. No, those are our surnames. He doesn’t know much English.”

He continued eyeing you with a poker face. “I don’t suppose you’d tell us your name?”

You scrambled to respond, giving them your gamer tag, which sounded surprisingly like a real name.

Gojo laughed, while Nanami’s gaze remained fixed on you. “Pardon my English, but I meant your real name.” He looked a bit smug as if saying, I-didn’t-stutter.

Damn! They were too perceptive. “Maybe next time,” you said, already rising to your feet, turning on your heel, and slipping into the crowd before they could press further.

You could feel their eyes on you, with Nanami’s gaze lingering the longest, as if he were piecing together a puzzle.

Later, after you walked out of the convention hall and made your way toward the food stalls, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. You’d come to check on your team and ended up with a story you’d never forget.

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo was still at the booth, raving about the “mysterious hoodie lady” who was, in his words, “gaming goddess.” Nanami simply shook his head, filing away the memory of your smile for reasons he didn’t fully understand.

Nanami commented, “We never got her name.”

Gojo, beaming, muttered, “Me find her. Strongest reserves rematch.”

Nanami rubbed his temple. “It’s ‘deserves.’”

Gojo waved him off. “Ya ya that!”

//

Hours later, you stepped outside to go home.

The alley was dimly lit, the faint glow of a flickering streetlamp casting long shadows against the brick walls. You tugged your hood tighter, the weight of the day settling heavily on your shoulders as you made your way through. Just as you reached the halfway point, angry voices broke the quiet, followed by the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps closing in.

“You think you can fire us just like that?” One of the men sneered, his face twisted with rage as he stepped into view. His friend loomed beside him, cracking his knuckles with an air of smugness.

You stopped, turning slowly to face them. Your pulse quickened, but you kept your tone cold. “I don’t think,” you replied, as you shifted into a defensive stance. “I know.”

The first man lunged, and you dodged, pivoting on your heel to avoid his clumsy attack. Your brain kicked into overdrive, calculating angles and weaknesses as you landed a solid kick to his shin, your heels digging in. He stumbled, cursing, but his friend was already charging at you.

You ducked, your fists up, but you weren’t trained for this. They were bigger, stronger, and clearly fueled by rage. Damn it, you thought bitterly, wishing you’d waited for Megumi—or at least brought your security detail in regular clothes.

“HEY!”

The voice boomed down the alley, startling everyone. You froze mid-dodge, turning toward the source of the voice.

Gojo stood at the entrance, his white hair glowing faintly under the streetlamp. His grin feral, hands shoved casually into his pockets. “What this? Fight? Without me?” His English was awful, the words garbled but unmistakably confident.

Behind him, Nanami appeared with the air of someone ready to ruin someone’s day. His eyes locked on the men, his expression grim. “Let’s divide and conquer.”

What followed was a masterclass in contrasts, a scene you’d replay in your mind for days.

Gojo’s opponent barely had time to process the incoming whirlwind before Gojo sidestepped his first punch with an exaggerated lean, one hand cupping his chin as if bored. “Loser shit,” he said.

The man swung again, and Gojo ducked low, popping up behind him like a magician revealing his latest trick. “Try harder! Or you go home?” His English faltered, and he switched to Japanese mid-sentence, gesturing at the alley’s exit.

Frustrated, the man lunged, but Gojo pivoted effortlessly, his movements mocking. “Ah-ah!” he teased, flicking the man’s forehead with enough force to send him faltering back. He could have actually flicked him through the wall, but he was trying to impress you, not terrify you. Then, with a theatrical spin, he delivered a sharp kick to the back of the man’s knees, sending him crashing to the ground.

“Strongest wins!” Gojo declared triumphantly as the man groaned in pain.

Meanwhile, Nanami was a study in calm brutality. His opponent came at him swinging, fists wild and uncoordinated. Nanami stepped to the side, his movements smooth, allowing the man’s momentum to carry him forward.

The attacker stumbled, and Nanami seized the opportunity. A precise jab to the spine sent the man gasping, doubling over in pain. Without missing a beat, Nanami delivered a swift knee to the stomach, his face utterly impassive as his opponent crumpled to the ground.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, adjusting his collar with indifference.

Within moments, both men were on the ground, groaning and defeated as the security—who’d arrived mid-fight—dragged them away.

Gojo glanced over at Nanami. “Why so serious, Nanamin?!”

Nanami shot him a flat look. That was the only phrase Gojo knew properly.

Gojo turned to you, his grin impossibly wide. “Hoodie lady! You okay?”

You adjusted your hood, making sure your face stayed hidden, though a faint smile tugged at your lips. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

Nanami stepped closer, his gaze lingering on you with quiet intensity. “You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said, his tone edged with concern.

“I can handle myself,” you replied, though your voice softened.

“Clearly,” Nanami said, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out to see a notification from your ride. “Well, thanks again for saving me.”

You turned to leave, but Gojo moved faster than you could anticipate, stepping into your space with a speed that made your heart skip. He leaned in, his face far too close as he tilted his head, his eyes still obscured by the ridiculous sunglasses. “Name,” he demanded, his tone expectant.

“Gojo,” Nanami barked, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking him back. “Control yourself.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, still obscured by your barely see-through hood.

Well, they did save you, and no one was around right now, but they could be stalkers. So you only told them your nickname, essentially half your first name.

Gojo repeated it, his accent thick as he rolled the syllables around in his mouth like a taste he wanted to savor. Nanami echoed it under his breath, committing it to memory with far more subtlety. You had never loved your name more.

Gojo clapped his hands together, his grin as bright as the streetlamp above. “Okaaay, now us food! You come us!”

You blinked at him, bewildered.

Nanami immediately choked, “My apologies, my colleague means, would you like to join us for dinner?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Maybe next time. My grumpy ride is here.”

Before they could argue, you slipped past them as the soft hum of a sleek black Maserati cut through the alley’s quiet. The car glided to a stop, the sharp lines of its body catching the faint light from the streetlamp. The door opened smoothly, revealing a young Japanese man with sea urchin spiky black hair and a scowl sharp enough to rival Nanami’s deadliest glare.

He stepped out, his tailored suit pristine despite the late hour. His deep blue eyes swept over the scene, narrowing slightly as they landed on Gojo and Nanami. There was no mistaking the barely contained irritation in his expression as he glared daggers at the two men.

You smiled faintly as you approached and side-hugged him; his gaze softened, though the crease in his brow remained.

“You’re late,” he muttered, holding the door open for you. His English and accent perfectly matched yours, so Gojo deduced he definitely hadn’t lived in Japan much.

“You’re crabby,” you replied, sliding into the passenger seat.

“I wouldn’t be if you didn’t insist on wandering into alleys like this,” he said, his tone exasperated but tinged with familiarity. He cast one last glance at Gojo and Nanami, his lips curling slightly in what could only be described as a warning.

“Wait... you sent the security?” You asked, tone surprised.

“Yes.” He clipped, tone not revealing much. You’d later learn that the men who’d tried to hit you disappeared under mysterious circumstances after tonight. When you asked Megumi, he’d just glare at you and mutter about not having time to look into freeloaders.

Gojo tilted his head, his six eyes narrowing as he watched the interaction with growing curiosity. Nanami too had his gaze locked on the Maserati as the young man slipped back into the driver’s seat. The way his hand lingered on the steering wheel, his face scanning you for injuries. His head tilted slightly toward you as you spoke, suggesting something closer than casual acquaintance.

Nanami thought of looking you or the young man up on LinkedIn only to realize he never actually saw your face or knew the man’s name.

As the car pulled away, the faint glow of the interior lights illuminated your face behind the dark-tinted windows for just a moment. Gojo’s grin widened as he caught a glimpse of your smile, and Nanami’s eyes narrowed as he committed the fleeting image to memory for some reason he still didn’t understand.

Gojo’s eyes remained fixed on you as the guy driving whisked you away, scolding you for not waiting for him.

Nanami was also watching your retreating car in the distance. His thoughts lingered on the brief glimpse of your smile—the only part of you they’d truly seen. “Boyfriend?” He asked.

Gojo smirked, “You are awfully curious today, Nanamin.” Switching back to Japanese.

“Just answer the question.”

“I’m actually not sure. But the boy is a Zen'in; interestingly enough, the one’s father I killed before Suguru ran away.”

Gojo’s smile widened as you removed the hood from your face a few meters away. He had never been more grateful for his six eyes.

Good. He had a face now.

He clapped Nanami on the back. “Hoodie lady is full of surprises.”

Nanami’s expression remained unreadable. “You don’t even know her full name.”

Gojo’s grin only widened. “I’ll find her.”

Little did you know you had just met your future husbands.

//

After ensuring a safe distance between you and the men he’d encountered, your best friend turned to you, his expression serious. “Stay away from those two; they are sorcerers.”

"But aren't you?"

He immediately cut you off, "I only share the bloodline nothing else. You know what sorcerers did to my father. Besides, I think it was one of them."

You understood the weight of Megumi’s words, but you also knew why his father had been killed. It wasn’t because sorcerers were inherently dangerous, but because he had been too much of a thrill-seeker. “You do realize I’m not your child, right? I’m older than you.”

“Well, that’s too damn bad, Grandma.”

“Heyy!”

He chuckled to himself, but the laughter quickly faded as he asked, “What did they want with you anyway?” He was trying hard not to let you know he was probing.

“Nothing. They just wanted to know my name, and I kept dodging it with pseudonyms. Then they asked me to dinner, and I told them next time. But you don’t have to worry about it. I don’t think I’d ever see them again.” You said this absentmindedly, focused on ordering takeout on your phone before you arrived home.

“Good. Keep it that way. Don’t entertain them again.”

“Italian?” you asked, trying to shift the conversation.

“Get that Spinach and Broccoli Alfredo from that small place. Put it on my card.” He liked the dish, but it wasn’t his go-to for special occasions; it was yours.

“Aww, what’s the occasion?”

“You almost getting beaten up.”

You scowled at him.

“Relax. I’m just making sure you’re okay, or my father will resurrect himself and beat my ass.” He laughed, but there was an edge to his humor.

You thought of the men for a few days, their faces lingering in your mind, but you quickly moved on with your hectic life. You were determined not to let Megumi down. He didn’t have many friends besides you that he’d hang out with, let alone have around with his mom, and with his dad gone, he’d never recover from the betrayal if something happened to you.

But when had you ever listened to Megumi?

Today, you wished you had.

--

After they’d left you alone, the days bled together in a haze of exhaustion and dread. You busied yourself with the mundane tasks of preparing for the twins, folding impossibly tiny clothes, and arranging bottles on the counter like talismans against the pain threatening to consume you. Sukuna had been true to his word, filling the gaps with his presence and resources, but even his towering strength couldn’t shield you from the memories.

Each kick, each flutter, was a visceral reminder of the life growing inside you—a life you were determined to protect. Yet, every movement felt like a betrayal, a reminder of the faces you couldn’t erase. Gojo’s sharp grin, dulled now by sorrow. Nanami’s stoicism, cracking under the weight of his regret. They haunted you, their voices whispering in the silence of your nights, their hands ghosting over your skin in dreams that turned to nightmares.

One evening, Sukuna returned, his silhouette framed by the doorway. He carried bags of groceries, the muscles in his arms flexing as he set them down with more care than you thought him capable of. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by something foreign: concern.

“You’re wearing yourself thin,” he said, his voice rough but quiet. His crimson eyes swept over you, lingering on the trembling in your hands as you folded a onesie.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, though the lie sat heavy in your chest.

“Princess,” he said again, softer now, and the nickname cracked something inside you. “You’re not fine.”

Your hands froze mid-fold, the fabric slipping from your fingers. The room seemed to tilt, the walls closing in. “I don’t know how to do this,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Sukuna crossed the room in three strides, his arms encircling you. His touch was firm, grounding, and you let yourself lean into him. “You’re doing it,” he murmured against your hair. “And you’re not alone.”

But the words couldn’t reach the hollow ache inside you.

//

The next day, the soft knock at the door was more polite than usual, almost hesitant. Sukuna didn’t wait for you to answer—he never did; he never even knocked—but this time, he lingered in the doorway, his hulking frame lit by the warm glow of the sunlight filtering in through the window. His expression was unreadable, though the faintest flicker of something nervous passed through his crimson eyes.

In his hands, he held a large box, haphazardly wrapped in crinkled newspaper and secured with what looked like electrical tape.

“What is that?” You asked, narrowing your eyes.

He grunted, stepping inside and setting the box down on the coffee table with a thud. “It’s for them,” he said, jerking his chin toward your stomach.

You blinked, thrown off by the unexpected gesture. “You got them… a gift?”

He shot you a glare, defensive already. “Don’t make it weird. It’s not a big deal.”

Your curiosity got the better of you, and you shuffled over to the box, careful to lower yourself onto the couch. Sukuna watched, his arms crossed over his chest, as you peeled back the layers of tape and newspaper.

Inside was chaos.

A mishmash of items tumbled out—two tiny leather jackets, complete with spikes on the shoulders; a set of Blobfish plushies; and what could only be described as baby-sized combat boots, polished to a mirror shine.

Your jaw dropped. “Sukuna… what the hell is this?”

He shrugged, his smirk returning, though it was softer than usual. “Gear. For when they’re old enough to not embarrass me.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up, loud and uncontrollable. It startled even you, breaking through the thick fog of grief and exhaustion that had clung to you for days. “Spiked leather jackets? Combat boots? What are they, tiny bikers?”

“They’re going to be strong,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact as he dropped onto the armchair across from you. “Might as well dress the part.”

You shook your head, still laughing as you held up one of the jackets. It was absurdly small, the spikes dulled for safety. “This is so extra.”

“You’re welcome,” he shot back, though the faint twitch of his lips betrayed his satisfaction at your reaction.

You set the jacket down, your laughter fading into a softer smile. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Sukuna leaned back, his gaze locking onto yours with a rare intensity. “I know,” he said simply.

For a moment, the room was quiet, the air between you charged with something unspoken. He broke the silence first, waving a hand toward the mess of items on the table. “I’m not saying they’ll ever use this crap. Just… figured it might make you laugh.”

Your chest tightened, the ache of loss mingling with something warmer, something unfamiliar. “It did,” you admitted, your voice softer now.

“Good.” He stood abruptly, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “I’ll pick up something more normal next time. Maybe. Only if you drink enough water.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Please don’t. This is perfect.”

Sukuna’s smirk widened as he swaggered toward the door. Just before he left, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder, and said, “I’m not going anywhere, Princess.”

In a moment that could only be described as peak Sukuna, he turned to make his grand exit, only for his nose to collide with the door frame with a resounding thud.

“Stupid... who put this here?” He grumbled, rubbing his nose furiously as if it were the door’s fault for existing. You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, the sound echoing in the room like a cackling hyena.

“Maybe it’s a sign you should start ducking!” You teased, and he shot you a look that was half annoyed, half amused, like a cat that had just been splashed with water, but it was warm.

“I’ll just buy a bigger door!” He retorted, throwing his hands up in exaggerated exasperation.

With that, he turned to leave again, but not before bumping his head against the door frame once more, muttering, “This door is clearly out to get me.” You couldn’t help but laugh even harder.

And then he was gone, leaving you surrounded by the absurdity he’d brought with him. You looked down at the tiny jackets and boots, your hand resting on your stomach as the twins stirred softly. Maybe your laughing did calm them.

//

Same night, your bedroom was cold, the soft glow of a nightlight casting shadows that seemed to shift with your every movement. You slept in the center of the room, one hand resting on your swollen belly. The twins kicked softly, their presence grounding and tormenting you in equal measure.

The guilt was a living thing, coiled tight around your chest. Sukuna had done everything—more than you could have asked for—but the lie you’d spun had fangs. Each day, it bit deeper, carving wounds you couldn’t heal.

You woke screaming, clutching your stomach as panic clawed at your throat. Sukuna was there in an instant, his hands steady on your shoulders, his voice sharp and commanding. “What is it?”

“They’re going to take them,” your voice raw and broken. “They’ll find a way.”

“No one’s taking anything,” his crimson eyes blazing with an intensity that should have comforted you. But the storm inside you raged on.

“You don’t know them,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “They’ll stop at nothing.”

Sukuna cupped your face, his touch surprisingly gentle in his large hands. “They won’t get near you. Not while I’m here.”

But his words were like whispers against a hurricane. You turned away, your gaze falling to the crib, its bars a reminder of the prison you’d built around your heart.

“I’ll protect you,” you murmured to the twins, your hands trembling as you traced the curve of your stomach. “Even if it kills me.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the silence heavy and oppressive.

“I won’t let you die.” Sukuna whispered. You turned to look at him only to be kissed by him on your temple. It wasn’t anything passionate; it was as if he was sealing a promise.

//

The next morning, you shuffled into the living room, your back aching from another restless night. The twins had been unusually active, their cursed energy—or at least what you deduced was cursed energy—pressing against your insides like waves crashing against fragile glass. You’d woken up drenched in sweat, the faint outline of one of their hands or feet briefly visible under your skin before retreating into the shadows of your body. It was horrifying and beautiful, and you hated that you didn’t know how to feel about it.

Sukuna was already in the living room, sitting on the floor, a cup of coffee in his hand. He glanced up as you entered, his crimson eyes scanning you like he could read every thought you were trying to suppress.

“You look worse than usual,” he said, his voice cutting but not cruel.

“Thanks,” you muttered, dropping onto the couch with a wince.

He didn’t respond right away, just set his cup down, straightened and stretched, his maroon hoodie riding up, revealing markings on his stomach. He watched you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. Despite being on the floor, he was somehow on eye level with you.

After a moment, he stood and disappeared into the kitchen. You didn’t have the energy to ask what he was doing.

When he returned, he was holding a glass of water and a small bowl filled with neatly peeled and cut fruit. He handed them to you without a word, his hand lingering for a moment as you took the bowl.

“Eat,” he said simply, sitting back down on the floor in front of you.

You stared at the fruit. “You didn’t have to—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “Just eat.”

You did, the sweet and sourness of the fruits grounding you. Sukuna watched, his gaze flicking between your face and your stomach.

After a while, he spoke again, his voice softer. “You hate looking at yourself, don’t you?”

Your breath caught; you definitely had a type. Type that kept seeing through your lies!

You didn’t answer, but the way you looked away was answer enough.

Sukuna shifted closer, resting his forearms on his knees. “Can I?”

You frowned, unsure. “Why?”

“Just trust me, Princess,” he said, his smirk faint but not unkind.

Reluctantly, you let him. His hands moved to your baby balloon, his touch firm but careful, soothing you as he pressed his palms against the curve.

“Feel that?” he murmured as one of the twins shifted beneath his hand, the movement almost shy.

You nodded, your throat tight.

“They’re strong,” he said, his voice steady. “They know you’re protecting them.”

Another flutter beneath your skin, this one softer, more deliberate. Sukuna’s hands didn’t move, his warmth radiating through you like a shield against the chill that had settled in your bones.

“You’re not broken,” he said after a moment, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “And you’re not alone in this.”

“You sure are comfortable touching them now.” You teased.

He snorted. “And here I thought I was helping you feel better.”

You laughed and closed your eyes as the twins settled, their energy calming under the weight of his words. The war inside you felt a little less unbearable.

//

A few days later, the apartment was warm, sunlight streaming through the half-open blinds and landing in soft streaks across the living room floor. You sat on the couch, one hand absently resting on your stomach while the other scrolled through your phone. You weren’t looking at anything in particular, just trying to distract yourself from the relentless ache in your lower back and the twins’ ongoing UFC match in your uterus.

Sukuna walked in, carrying a bag of groceries like it was filled with feathers as usual. His broad shoulders filled the doorway as he kicked it shut behind him. He looked at you, then at the untouched snack bowl on the coffee table, then back at you.

“You didn’t eat the strawberries I cut,” he said flatly, setting the bag down.

“I wasn’t hungry,” you replied without looking up.

“You’re always hungry,” he shot back, folding his arms.

You finally glanced up at him, raising a brow. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

He snorted, dropping onto the armchair across from you. “Yeah, into a cranky gargoyle. What’s up with you today?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, your tone too breezy.

His eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. “Bullshit.”

You sighed, setting your phone down. “I’m fine, Sukuna. Can’t a woman just sit in peace without being interrogated?”

“Not when that woman’s got two cursed powerhouses doing cartwheels inside her,” he replied, his smirk faint but pointed.

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against the couch. “I’m just tired, okay?”

He stared at you for a long moment, his crimson eyes flicking to your stomach, then back to your face.

“You’re not tired,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “You feel weird. About your body.”

Your head snapped up, your mouth opening to protest, but he cut you off with a raised hand.

“Don’t even try to deny it,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You’re confident, sure. You’re also human. You’re carrying their demon spawns, and it’s messing with your head. I’d feel weird too.”

You blinked, thrown off by the bluntness of his words. “That’s… not exactly how I’d put it.”

“Whatever,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Point is, you’re not as slick as you think you are, Princess.”

You stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or be offended. “And what, you’re here to be my body image coach now?”

“Very perceptive of you,” he said, standing abruptly. He grabbed the bag of groceries and pulled out a tub of chocolate ice cream and a loaf of bread. Even your cravings weren’t original from your husbands.

“What are you doing?” you asked, watching in bemusement as he started slathering jam on a slice of bread.

“Making you a snack,” he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Pickle and peanut butter sandwich. Ice cream chaser. Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“That’s disgusting,” you said, wrinkling your nose.

“Yeah, well, so’s the idea of that white-haired one being someone’s dad, but here we are,” he quipped, tossing the sandwich onto a plate and handing it to you.

You stared at the monstrosity, then at him. “This is your solution to my body issues? Weird snacks?”

“No,” he said, sitting back down and gesturing at you with a flourish. “My solution is this: you’re hot, you’re badass, and if anyone says otherwise, I’ll break their spine. But you’re also you, which means you’re allowed to feel weird about turning into a walking incubator for two special-grade cursed-energy gremlins. Doesn’t mean you’re less of anything.”

You blinked. “That’s… oddly sweet.”

“I aim to please,” he grumbled, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV. “Now eat the sandwich before I change my mind.”

You laughed, taking a tentative bite of the pickle-peanut butter monstrosity. It was terrible, but for some reason, it made you feel a little better.

//

The next day, the air was crisp, the kind of weather that made the leaves crunch underfoot and the sunlight feel softer. Sukuna strolled beside you, a reusable shopping bag slung over his shoulder like a fashion statement, his other hand steadying you as you waddled along the cobblestone path of the farmer’s market, your face obscured by a large mask. The twins had been kicking non-stop since breakfast, and your back felt like it was holding the weight of the world.

“I don’t know why you dragged me here,” you muttered, squinting at a stall of overpriced honey jars.

“Because you’ve been sulking for days,” Sukuna replied, smirking. “And I’m tired of watching you fold tiny clothes and cry about it.”

Before you could retort, he veered off toward a stall selling baby onesies, grabbing one with a print of a cartoon goat that read Mommy’s Little Terror. He held it up, raising a brow. “This fits their vibe.”

You snorted despite yourself. “They’re not even born yet, and you’re assigning them a vibe?”

“Yeah,” he said, tossing it into the bag. “And this.” He grabbed another onesie, this one pink and emblazoned with Future World Domination Leader.

You laughed, leaning on his arm for support as the twins shifted again. Sukuna noticed immediately, crouching slightly to meet your eyes. “Tired?”

“A little,” you admitted, though your body screamed a lot.

Without a word, he scooped you up effortlessly, one arm under your knees and the other supporting your back. “What are you—put me down!”

“Shut up, Princess,” he said, grinning as heads turned to stare at the giant man carrying a visibly and heavily—maybe too heavily—pregnant woman like she weighed nothing. “You’ll thank me later.”

An older woman at a nearby stall clasped her hands together, her face lighting up. “Oh, isn’t he just wonderful? So attentive!”

Sukuna didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he said, flashing her a cocky grin. “My wife’s a champ, though. Carrying our twins and still managing to look this bewitching.”

You groaned, burying your face in his shoulder. “Stoppp.”

He ignored you, turning his attention to the woman. “I’m so proud of her. She’s going to be an amazing birthgiver.”

The woman beamed, clearly swooning. “You’re both so lucky!”

“Yeah,” Sukuna said, his voice softening just enough for only you to hear. “I am.”

//

Later that week, Sukuna insisted on taking you grocery shopping. You protested, but he ignored you as usual, guiding you through the aisles with a hand on your lower back.

“Pickles?” he asked, holding up a jar with a raised brow.

You nodded, reaching for it, but he pulled it back. “What’s the magic word?”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “Please.”

He handed it over with a smug grin. “See? Was that so hard?”

At the checkout, the cashier—a young woman with doe eyes—couldn’t stop glancing at Sukuna, her cheeks pink as she scanned the items.

“These pickles,” she started, clearly searching for a conversation starter. “A craving?”

Sukuna nodded solemnly. “Yeah. She’s eating for three, and I’m eating for stress.”

You choked on a laugh, swatting his arm. “Don’t listen to him.”

The cashier giggled nervously, her eyes lingering on Sukuna a moment too long. He didn’t even notice, too busy helping you into your coat and carrying all the bags in one hand like they weighed air.

Outside, you leaned against him, your feet aching. “You didn’t have to do all of that.”

He smirked, draping an arm around your shoulders. “Sure I did. It’s my job to keep you entertained.”

//

A couple of days later, at the park, Sukuna insisted on renting a swan paddle boat “for the twins.” The boat was comically small for his frame, his knees practically up to his chest as he paddled with exaggerated effort and heavy breaths.

“Why are we doing this?” you asked, trying not to laugh.

“Because I like suffering,” he said, glaring at the water like it had personally offended him.

He was doing it for you, to make you laugh as much as possible.

Then when you finally broke into giggles, he grinned, satisfied.

//

That night, when you struggled to sleep, Sukuna sat by your bed, massaging pain-relieving oils into your swollen ankles with surprising care. His hands were rough but gentle, his expression focused.

“You don’t have to do this,” you murmured, your voice thick with exhaustion.

He glanced up, his crimson eyes softer than you’d ever seen. “I know,” he said simply, his hands never faltering.

You fell asleep to the sound of his low, rumbling voice, humming an off-key lullaby he’d probably made up on the spot. His humming seemed to soothe the twins into no-cartwheeling sleep, which helped you relax for the night.

Sukuna never thought he could be perfect, but in those moments, he was everything you needed.

//

The next day, the yoga studio smelled faintly of lavender and freshly cleaned mats. Sukuna walked in beside you, his presence as imposing as ever. His crimson eyes swept over the room, narrowing slightly at the women who turned to gawk. He helped you settle onto your mat with the kind of careful attention that seemed absurd coming from someone like him, crouching to adjust the pillow beneath your knees before straightening to his full, towering height.

The murmurs started immediately. Low at first, barely audible, but growing louder with every second. You could feel the weight of their stares pressing against your skin, even through the mask you wore to keep a low profile.

Sukuna noticed too. His gaze darkened, his smirk vanishing as his eyes darted across the room. “What’s their problem?” he muttered under his breath.

You tried to ignore it, focusing on your breathing as the instructor began leading the class through stretches. But the whispers didn’t stop.

“She’s the one,” someone hissed, loud enough to reach your ears.

“Carrying twins,” another added, voice dripping with disdain.

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms. Sukuna’s head snapped toward the source of the voices, his expression hardening.

And then, of course, Karen appeared.

She strode across the room, her leggings pulled so high they might as well have been a second ribcage. Her smirk was cruel as she stopped in front of you.

The room went quiet. She loomed over you—as you were sitting on the floor—her arms crossed, her expression smug. “What’s it like being the talk of the internet? The woman who couldn’t keep her men in line?”

You felt Sukuna tense beside you, his hand twitching at his side. You placed a hand on his arm, silently telling him to hold back. “I’m here to practice yoga, not entertain you.”

Karen’s smirk widened, her gaze flicking over you like you were something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. “Practice yoga? That’s rich. You mean parading around with your ‘fake husband’ after your other two clowns beat people up? Gave people permanent injuries?”

Then she turned to Sukuna and continued, “Oh, I knew for a fact you were a chum who got stuck with her. I was right, and you lied.”

You kept your grip on Sukuna’s arm firm. You spoke calmly but firm. “Watch your mouth! First of all, don’t bring Sukuna into this. Second, I was the one holding them back. I didn’t incite it. I kept my employees alive that day.”

Karen’s gaze swept over you, landing on your stomach, clearly not ready to back off. “Honestly, it’s impressive,” she continued, her tone dripping with mockery. “First, you marry two men, and then you end up with him?”

Sukuna’s growl was low and guttural, his towering frame eclipsing hers. “Watch it.”

“Karen,” you yelled, “you don’t know anything about my life. You don’t know what I’ve been through, what I’ve survived.”

“Survived?” Karen scoffed. “You mean you survived your ‘unnatural ways’ coming out in front of the entire world? Or is it surviving the fact that no one takes you seriously anymore?”

“Sukuna,” you said, your voice lowering. “Let’s just go.”

Your stomach was churning, the weight of her words sinking in like lead. Sukuna’s hand rested lightly on you, grounding you, but even his presence couldn’t shield you from the growing stares around the room.

Karen stepped closer, looming over you, invading your personal space. It felt as though she might resort to physical violence with you at any moment. Her voice dropped, but the venom in her tone remained unmistakable. “People are calling you a sex addict, you know. Can’t say I blame them. Married to two men, pregnant with God knows who’s kids, and now cozying up to him?” She sneered. “You’re not just a scandal—you’re a disgrace. You can’t live without dick can you! What now? You’ll add him to your harem too, you whore! If I were in your place, I would have killed myself!”

The words hit like daggers, each one twisting deeper. Your breath caught, but before you could respond, Sukuna moved.

It happened in an instant.

You gasped, “Ryo!”

The slap cracked through the studio like a thunderclap, silencing the room. Karen stumbled, clutching her cheek, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

Sukuna loomed over her, his towering frame casting a shadow that swallowed her whole. His voice was low, a growl that rumbled through the silence. “Say one more word, and I’ll make sure you never speak again.”

Karen’s confidence crumbled instantly, her wide-eyed shock betraying the venom she’d spewed moments ago. She glanced around the room, searching for someone—anyone—to come to her defense, but the silence was deafening. The other mothers avoided her gaze, their expressions a mix of discomfort and quiet satisfaction.

Her husband wasn’t there, of course. He’d finally had enough of her tirades, her endless need to dominate every room she walked into. The divorce papers had already been filed, and his absence spoke louder than any words ever could. Karen, with her toxic cocktail of insecurity and unchecked cruelty, had been left with nothing but her bitterness.

She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t pregnant and had no intention of ever being so. For years, she’d come to these classes not to bond or prepare for motherhood but to belittle and bully anyone she deemed weaker. She was a relic of high school, clinging to the power she once wielded over others, desperate to make someone else feel smaller to distract from her own failures.

Today, you had been her target. Her divorce had clearly left her hellbent on tearing someone else down, and she might’ve succeeded—she might’ve even turned to violence—if Sukuna hadn’t intervened. You were glad Sukuna didn’t see gender while serving people their karma.

Your heart pounded, but you forced yourself to stand—or try to. A sharp cramp shot through your side, stealing your breath. You stumbled, clutching your stomach as the twins shifted violently.

Sukuna caught you before you could fall, his hands steadying you as he glared at Karen.

His growl cut through the silence. “We’re leaving,” he said, his voice cold and final.

He didn’t move at first, his glare fixed on Karen like a wolf deciding whether the hunt was worth it, like debating whether she deserved another hit.

Finally, he relented, his muscles relaxing as he focused on you. “I’ll get you a private instructor,” he added, his tone softening as he looked at you.

The twins stirred. Pain shot through your abdomen, and you gasped, clutching at Sukuna’s shirt.

“Hang on,” he muttered, his voice softening as he carried you out of the studio.

Behind you, Karen stood frozen, her face pale and her cheek still burning red. No one moved to comfort her. No one even looked at her. The only sound in the room was the quiet creak of the door as it closed behind you.

//

Once in the car, you buried your face in his chest, your breathing erratic. He held you close, his large hand stroking your hair awkwardly but gently.

“Don’t listen to them,” he said, his voice firm but uncharacteristically tender. “Only you know the truth. Only you know what you went through and how you survived.”

//

The ride home was quiet. Sukuna carried you inside, settling you on the couch with the kind of gentleness that made your chest ache.

But the silence stretched on, and the weight of Karen’s words pressed down on you like a vice. The twins shifted again, their energy erratic, feeding off your turmoil.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Sukuna crouched in front of you, his large hands resting on your knees. “Don’t,” he said firmly. “Don’t apologize for insecure humans.”

You nodded, but the hollow ache in your chest didn’t ease.

As the hours passed, you found yourself staring out the window, the city lights blurring as tears filled your eyes.

Sukuna stayed close, his presence steady but silent. When the tears finally came, hot and unrelenting, he pulled you into his arms, holding you as you cried.

And though he didn’t say it, his arms were a fortress around you as the world outside kept spinning, cruel and unforgiving. He silently vowed that no one would ever hurt you again.

//

Days after that, the silence that pressed down on your chest and made it hard to breathe. You sat curled up on the couch, an old photo clutched tightly in your hands. It was worn at the edges, the glossy finish dulled from countless times you’d held it. In it, Gojo was grinning, his arm slung lazily over Nanami’s shoulders. You were in the middle, laughing at something you couldn’t remember now, your face lit with a happiness that felt like it belonged to someone else. The pain it brought was sharp, raw, an open wound that refused to heal no matter how much time passed.

Maybe you didn’t love them anymore—not in the way you once had. That love had been replaced by something darker, heavier. But the ache of what they’d done to you, the way they’d left you to drown in your own loneliness while they found comfort in each other… it consumed you.

You didn’t hear Sukuna until he was standing in the doorway, his broad frame silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” he asked, his voice softer than usual but still carrying that edge of exasperation.

You startled, quickly tucking the photo under your thigh. “I’m not doing anything.”

His crimson eyes narrowed, and he crossed the room in two strides, crouching down in front of you. “Don’t lie to me, Princess. You’re terrible at it.”

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I just… I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have left.”

The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but they were out before you could stop them. Sukuna’s expression shifted to something unreadable.

“You’re joking,” he said, his voice flat.

“I’m not,” you whispered, your hands trembling in your lap. “I mean, they didn’t care about me, not really, but… I still left, and so much happened. People got hurt.”

“You kept the people alive!” Sukuna said, his tone sharper now. He leaned closer, his crimson eyes boring into yours. “You walked away because they didn’t deserve you.”

You shook your head, the tears falling faster now. “What if I made a mistake? What if I should’ve tried harder? Maybe none of this would have happened.”

“Stop,” Sukuna snapped, his voice cutting through your spiral. He grabbed your chin gently but firmly, forcing you to look at him. “Do you really think that despite one of them having the gift of six eyes, if he still couldn’t see the life growing inside you, they wouldn’t have taken you for granted through the pregnancy as well?! They’re the ones who fucked up. Not you. They had you—you—and they chose to ignore you. That’s on them, not you.”

The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten, but the doubt still lingered. “But—”

“No,” he interrupted, his thumb brushing against your jaw in a soft gesture. “No ‘but.’ You didn’t leave because you stopped loving them. You left because they stopped showing you they loved you.”

His words cracked something in you, like an old vase you never saw but always sensed the presence of in your heart’s home.

You let out a shaky breath, the photo slipping from your lap and landing face-up on the couch. Sukuna glanced at it, his jaw tightening for a moment before he reached for it. He studied it silently, his thumb brushing over your smiling face.

“They didn’t deserve this version of you,” he said, his voice low. “And they sure as hell don’t deserve the you now.”

The warmth in his words, the unguarded softness, made your heart ache in a different way. He handed the photo back to you, his hand lingering over yours for a moment.

“I’m not saying it’ll stop hurting,” he admitted, his crimson eyes meeting yours. “But don’t waste your time wondering if you should’ve stayed. You didn’t leave for no reason. Remember the past version of yourself in that exact moment when everything was crumbling around you. What you felt. Don’t put yourself through that.”

You nodded, the weight in your chest easing just slightly. Sukuna stood, offering you his hand. “Come on,” he said, his smirk returning faintly. “You’ve been crying for hours. Let me make you something to eat before you wither away. Besides, you deserve better. Better than them. Better than what they gave you.”

Then smugly added, “Someone as amazing as me.”

Despite yourself, you laughed softly, taking his hand.

//

The first signs came like whispers in the dark—a sharp, fleeting twinge low in your abdomen, a dull ache spreading like ripples in water. You brushed it off as stress, convincing yourself it was nothing.

But Sukuna noticed. He always noticed.

His crimson eyes tracked your every move, narrowing at the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your hand lingering on your belly a beat too long.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you lied, forcing a smile.

His gaze hardened, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “You’re a terrible liar, Princess.”

That evening, as you struggled to stand after dinner, a sharp gasp escaped your lips. Sukuna was at your side in an instant, his large hand steadying you.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. “We’re going to the hospital.”

You tried to protest, but the look in his eyes silenced you.

// Music

{The hospital was cold, sterile as usual. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting harsh shadows on the linoleum floors. The smell of antiseptic clung to everything, making your stomach churn.

You sat on the examination table, the thin paper gown sticking uncomfortably to your skin. The room felt too bright, too exposed. Sukuna sat beside you, his broad frame dwarfing the small plastic chair. His expression was unreadable, but his hand rested on his knee, the tension in his fingers betraying his calm façade. The fake husband playing the role perfectly.

The doctor entered, her face carefully neutral, but you caught the hesitation in her movements.

“Let’s take a look,” she said, her tone professional but soft.

The ultrasound gel was cold against your skin, and the room silent except for the faint hum of the machine. You stared at the monitor, waiting for the familiar sound of their heartbeats.

But the silence stretched on.

The doctor’s brow furrowed, her hand pausing over the probe.

“What is it?” Sukuna’s voice was tense.

The doctor hesitated, her hand hovering over the ultrasound machine as though the pause could soften the blow. Her eyes flicked to you, then back to the screen, her expression unreadable.

“I’m… not detecting a heartbeat.”

The words knocked the air from your lungs.

“No,” the denial spilling out before you could think. Your voice trembled, barely audible. “No, that’s not right. They were moving. Just yesterday. I felt them. I was craving pickles, and I had really bad back pain too; they were moving so much.”

The doctor’s face was heavy with sympathy as she set the probe down. “I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head, the room tilting around you. Your hand flew to your stomach, pressing against the curve as if your touch could summon them back, as if you could will them to respond. “They can’t be gone,” you choked out, your voice breaking.

The doctor took a breath, her voice steady but clinical, as if detachment could lessen the cruelty of what she had to say. “It’s an extraordinarily rare case—heteropaternal superfecundation combined with double fertilization. Their development was… incompatible with life.”

The medical jargon felt cruel, meaningless. Just noise.

Sukuna’s hand found yours, his grip firm, grounding, but it only highlighted how far away you felt. It made it real. His jaw was clenched, his crimson eyes darker than you’d ever seen, but he said nothing. He couldn’t.

Your head spun, the walls closing in, the fluorescent lights glaring like they were trying to expose every raw nerve. The doctor’s voice faded, a dull hum drowned out by the pounding of your own heartbeat.

“They were mine,” you whispered.

Sukuna leaned closer, his hand steady against your back.

The doctor excused herself quietly, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence that followed pressed against your chest like a weight you couldn’t lift.

You sat frozen, your hand still pressed to your stomach, waiting for something—anything. A kick, a flutter, some proof that they were still there.

But there was nothing.

You curled into yourself, clutching your stomach as though you could shield what was already gone.

“They were mine,” you repeated, the words a broken mantra. “They were mine.”

Sukuna’s grip was almost bruising. His other arm wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest.

He didn’t speak, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances. He just held you, his breath steady against your hair as your world fell apart.

After months of crying, your tears had finally run out. You couldn’t will them now, not that you wanted to.

You were done.

The dissociation came slowly, creeping in like a shadow. You faded into hollow silence, your body still in his arms. You stared at the floor, your eyes unfocused, your mind retreating into a void where the suffering couldn’t reach you.

Sukuna’s voice broke through the fog, low and firm. “Stay with me, Princess.”

But you couldn’t. Not anymore.

The hollowness swallowed you whole, leaving nothing but the ghost of what could have been.

But Sukuna stayed, his presence a steady anchor in the storm, an anchor you couldn’t see.

//

The procedure to remove them was a nightmare. The machines beeped; the cold metal of the instruments glinted, their sharp edges catching your eye and filling your chest with dread.

Sukuna stood by your side. His hand wrapped around yours like a hazy lifeline, anchoring you to a reality you didn’t care about.

His crimson eyes never left your face, his expression unreadable but tense, his jaw set as though he could will the universe to reverse itself by sheer force.

The procedure began, the doctor’s voice a muted hum in the background. Pressure built in your abdomen, the sensation alien and invasive, like something being torn away from the core of your existence. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste grounding you.

But you didn’t scream no matter how much it hurt. You couldn’t bring yourself to care whether you made it or if the universe would be kind enough to end it all through a freak incident of medical malpractice.

Sukuna didn’t flinch, didn’t move, his grip tightening as if to remind you he was there. The machines continued their cold, unfeeling symphony, and the minutes stretched into an eternity.

//

When it was over, there was only silence. The absence of their presence, a void that swallowed everything else.

The doctor murmured something to Sukuna, her words slipping past you like water over stone. You sat up shakily, the hospital gown sticking to your damp skin, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts. But mind wasn’t there.

“I want to see them,” you whispered. “Please.”

Sukuna was in front of you in an instant, his broad chest blocking your view as he pulled you into his arms. His grip was firm but careful, cradling you as though you might shatter as the doctors moved discreetly behind him.

“No,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “You don’t want to see them, Princess. Trust me.”

You clutched at his shirt with trembling hands. “They were mine,” you choked out, your words muffled against him.

“They still are,” he murmured, his tone softer than you’d ever heard. His hand stroked your back in slow, grounding motions, his presence steady even as his own turmoil blared beneath.

The sight of them would haunt him forever.

He’d seen them as the doctors worked quickly, their small, fragile forms laid out in a shallow steel tray. The boy’s limbs were long, spindly, his jawline so sharp it was almost serrated. His translucent skin revealed a web of delicate veins, branching like cracks in glass. The girl’s features were softer, her tiny hands fused into curling nubs, her face serene despite the unnatural bulge beneath her closed eyelids. Their hair split down the middle—one half blond, the other stark white—a cruel mirror of their fathers.

They were chimeric, a grotesque fusion of too much DNA, as the doctors explained to him later, alone. “Incompatible with life,” they had said clinically, as though that phrase could encompass the enormity of the loss.

They told him there was no recorded case of such a thing ever happening.

Sukuna stayed silent through it all, his hand flexing at his side as if he wanted to destroy the room, the machines, the universe itself. But when he returned to you, he was calm again, his rage buried beneath layers of quiet resolve.

The hospital was a blur after that, like you were seeing through water. Sukuna dealt with the hospital staff in his usual manner—efficient, cold, terrifying. He had the remains cremated, sparing you the finality of their lifeless forms. You barely noticed when he disappeared to speak with the staff, his voice low and clipped, or when he returned, his presence looming beside you like a shield you didn’t ask for.

When you asked about the remains, your voice hollow and detached, he didn’t sugarcoat it. “It’s already done,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for questions.

You nodded, not because you agreed, but because you didn’t care enough to argue.

“Let’s go home,” he said, his voice steady as he helped you to your feet.

You clung to him as he carried you out of the hospital, but your expressions remained unreadable. The hollow ache in your chest felt endless, but Sukuna didn’t let go, his presence a fragile shield against the unbearable weight of what you’d lost.

//

The days after were an endless cycle of nothingness. Sukuna filled the void with his relentless presence, taking over everything he already used to manage. He cooked meals you barely touched, cleaned the apartment with medical precision, scheduled your appointments, and arranged therapy without asking.

“You need this,” he said when you stared blankly at the brochure he placed in front of you. His tone firm, final.

You went because it was easier than refusing. The therapist spoke gently, her words carefully chosen, but they washed over you like white noise. You answered her questions in monotone, offering just enough to keep the sessions moving. He drove you to and back from your appointments and waited for you in between.

“It’ll take time,” she said once after your session, her voice warm with reassurance. Sukuna nodded. You didn’t respond.}

//

At home, you spent hours by the window, staring at the sea. The waves rolled in and out, unchanging, as if mocking the chaos that had become your life. Sukuna hovered in the background, his movements quiet. He never pushed, never demanded anything from you.

Sometimes he’d sit nearby, reading or scrolling through his phone, his presence grounding in its consistency. Other times, he’d leave you entirely alone, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway as he gave you space you didn’t know how to fill.

When nightmares came, they weren’t violent anymore. They strangled you silently. You’d wake in a cold sweat, your chest heavy with an ache that felt like it would never leave. Sukuna was always there, sitting at the edge of your bed, his hand resting on your shoulder or his voice a low murmur in the dark. Had he stopped sleeping? You were too dissociated to argue.

“It’s okay,” he’d say, though you didn’t believe him.

One night, you woke to find him standing in the doorway, his silhouette stark against the faint light from the hall. He didn’t notice you watching as he muttered under his breath, his voice low and dangerous.

“If they ever come near you again, I’ll kill them.”

You didn’t ask who he meant. You didn’t want to know.

No matter what Sukuna did—his soft gestures, his quiet presence, his unwavering care—you remained numb.

He brought you flowers once, bright and vibrant, placing them on the table with a small, awkward shrug. You glanced at them briefly before returning to your spot by the window.

He cooked your favorite meal, setting the plate in front of you with a forced smirk. “Eat, Princess,” he said, but when you pushed the food around with your fork and left the table without a word, he didn’t stop you.

Even when he tried to make you laugh—muttering sarcastic comments about the people outside, rolling his eyes dramatically when the news played something ridiculous—it barely registered.

The world felt distant, like you were watching it through frosted glass.

Sukuna’s presence was the only constant, but even that felt like something happening to someone else.

And though you didn’t react, didn’t acknowledge the weight of his efforts, he stayed. Silent, steady, unyielding.

//

One night when the pain got too much, you walked to his room and cried in his chest. After months.

He held you the way he always did, but it was stronger this time, as if trying to anchor you in a storm that wouldn’t pass. He didn’t fill the void with empty reassurances, nor did he push you to speak.

The next day, things went back to you staring at nothing.

--

Japan

Gojo sat slouched, manspreading on the couch, his T-shirt messy like his hair, eyes uncovered, hands dangling between his knees, a photo clutched so tightly the edges were crumpled. The room was dim, lit only by the gray haze of a city that never quite slept. His six eyes scanned the image for the hundredth time, even though he knew every detail by heart—the grainy black-and-white outline of two unmistakable shapes, curled together like yin and yang. He’d gotten it from the hospital you visited before leaving.

He let out a hollow laugh, the sound breaking the oppressive silence. “Twins. Our twins.” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard.

Nanami stood by the window, staring out at the endless city lights. His sweater covered with alcohol stains, his sleeves rolled up to reveal veins that looked ready to burst.

Gojo tilted his head back, his eyes burning as he stared at the ceiling. “Do you think she—” He stopped, his voice failing him. He tried again. “Do you think she hates us?”

Nanami’s face was as if it had been carved from stone, but his eyes betrayed the storm beneath. “She doesn’t hate us,” he spoke lowly. “She… doesn’t trust us. There’s a difference.” It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

Gojo’s laugh was sharper this time, almost cruel. “Trust? Trust died the night we left her alone in this goddamn drawing room. Remember that? Her silently crying, begging us to tell her we cared, and we…” His voice faltered, and he shook his head. “We crawled into bed together like cowards.”

Nanami’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching, shattering the glass he’d forgotten he was holding. But before Gojo could look up, his own RCT healed him. He stared at the disappeared wound like he wanted it back. “I remember, but I don’t think that was the final straw. I think it was the same weekend.”

Gojo stayed silent for a long time at that and then asked, “do you think they’ll look like her?” His voice softened, and he stared down at the photo, his thumb brushing over the image. “Her smile…”

Nanami’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I hope they don’t look like us.”

Gojo’s head snapped up, his six eyes narrowing. “Why the hell would you say that?”

Nanami’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Because we ruin everything we touch.”

Gojo leaned back, letting the photo fall to the coffee table. His hands ran through his hair, tugging hard enough to sting. “They’re better off without us.”

Nanami walked over and sat across from him, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of them. “Everything hurts.”

Gojo’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile before falling flat. “Hurt? Nanami, this… this is beyond hurt. This is…” He gestured vaguely, words failing him. “I’m empty. She’s gone, and I…”

Nanami reached for the photo, his fingers brushing against the image. “At least we have this,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with something raw. “Something to know it was real.”

He paused for what felt like an eternity and then added, “She’ll protect them.”

Gojo’s six eyes dimmed, their usual brilliance dulled by exhaustion. “Yeah. She’ll protect them. From us.”

Nanami’s grip on the photo tightened. “From the world we brought her into.”

The two men sat in silence, the photo lying between them like a ghost of what could have been. The air was thick with grief, regret, and a despair so deep it felt like drowning. Neither spoke again that night.

A/N: Okay, y’all, save the rage essays for after the next chapter—then hit me with your 14-page death threats. This pain was necessary for the redemption arc, but I promise groveling starts in the new year. Pain first, comfort later—like a good skincare routine. Drop your theories, death threats (creative ones pls), or tell me if Gojo should be banned from gaming conventions forever. Your comments = my serotonin boost, so don’t hold back. Did this chapter ruin your day, your week, or your will to exist? Let me know. 😘"

Chapter 7 (alt ending 1.3) - Sapphire Echoes (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy

If I missed to tag anyone, please remind me.

[goblinplant]

Linear Flux

DEMO

"As the universe settled, amongst the creations yet unknown, the faintest pulse of life stirred in the cosmos: one called Time."

Since the beginning of time, time entities have structured the rules of the universe, events, eras, rises and falls of empires, all at the delicate hand of those who can weave it. Yet, there will always be oddities, miscalculations and curveballs thrown at even the simplest of plans. Heroes where none should be had, humanity where tyranny should prevail, despair in times of hope.

You are such an oddity, you brought the risk of humanity evolving leaps before its time, risked bringing peace in the eras of destruction, a voice of reason in the time of fools. You, simply being, risked the structure of time.

Linear Flux is an IF (interactive fiction) where you, the reader, find yourself taken by a time bureau as to prevent your actions from having brought a catastrophic change to your time. It is rated 18+ for violence, time relevant bigotry, sexual themes.

You were a valuable asset, one too valuable to fully rid themselves off, and have now (with little say on your end) been brought in as a part of the Vanguard group, a group of individuals from different eras of time, all brought together to prevent time from imploding on itself, and for humanity to take its course.

This is a work of fiction and will therefor take grand leaps in its historical accuracy, so take everything with a grain of salt (but do let me know if I have in anyway misrepresented, misread or gotten something wrong when any historical thing is mentioned!) It is loosely based on our Earth and I've taken some major liberties with city names and made up events, character and places. Linear Flux is a romance based 18+ IF story due to its heavy themes, violence and sexual themes (optional when it comes to romance!) There will be a list of trigger warnings I heavily suggest you read before delving into this story, and they will all be referenced before each chapter (or possibly before the prologue.)

In Linear Flux you can play as the following: ✵Non-binary, male, female, trans, cis. ✵Gay, straight, bisexual, pansexual. ✵Choose your origins: be the violent but bold warrior, the idealistic but kind poet, the clever but pragmatic inventor or the cruel but charming assassin.

Meet a varied cast of possible RO's (romance options)

-Scott/Sonya Leyton 32 [M/F] The Saboteur Solo Route/Possible Poly with H

S is a Southern gentlefolk, with a heavy accent fitting their robust frame well. Once out of their shell, their usual quietness is replaced with a open heart and kindness, their mama didn't raise no fool after all! But will their sorrow for leaving their family behind eventually catch up? And when it does, will you be there to help them stay in the saddle? S is from 1875, from the Wild West American frontier, where they were part of a gang. •As Scott, he is 6'3, Caucasian with sun kissed freckled skin, his hair is an unruly short crop in a copper colour, and his eyes are a deep welcoming blue, he is stocky and fairly hairy. Hidden behind his usually covered chest there are two distinct scars, a bullet wound under his left pectoral and a large gash across his upper chest. •As Sonya, she is 5'9, Caucasian with sun kissed freckled skin, her hair is shoulder length and a messy copper colour, eyes a deep blue, she is curvy but athletic and has natural body hair. Hidden behind her usually covered chest there are two distinct scars, a bullet wound under her left breast and a large gash across her upper chest.

-Hakiem Nujum 29 [M] The Liberator Asexual Solo Route/Possible Poly with S

Hakiem is a gentle soul, with a soft demeanour and fondness for freedom and baking, along with him comes the smell of freshly baked bread, thyme and a hint of Kyphi. He holds the essence of family tightly to his chest and is more than eager to let you become a part of it, but is he willing to let go of his past to fully embrace you?

Hakiem is from 237 BCE and from Egypt, where he worked as a scribe. •He has dark golden skin, being from a Persian-Egyptian lineage, his eyes are a golden amber and his hair a curly shoulder length dark brown which he has styled into a more modern haircut. He is 5'8 and has a lean and rather thin swimmers build, his skin is usually decorated with golden jewellery, such as his nose stud and lower lip stud, his body lightly dusted with hair.

-Elton/Edna Hawksford 41 [M/F] The Hound

E is unapproachable, a wall built high on the base of nobility, their heavy British accent harsh and cutting, leaving little room for building relationships. Though seen as the leader, their iron fist is softened by their apparent love for the team, and once you've earned your place in their eyes, maybe you will be able to get a glimpse behind that British façade, and see a more honest and broken veteran. But will their flaws be too much for you to handle, or will you show them that even those with a past are worthy of redemption?

E is Scottish but lived most of their life in England during 1765. •As Elton, he is 5'7, Caucasian, with a rosy pale complexion. Originally from Scotland he has trained away his accent from years playing the game of nobility. His hair is greying, hair wavy and in a slicked back style, though still peaking is his natural mousey brown. His eyes are a dull grey, cold and calculating. His body is one of a veteran, scarred and muscular, with a layer of fat over it, he is broad and holds himself like one much taller. On his back is a plethora of scars, with hints of past scraps and years of service to a 'greater good'. He is very hairy all over, except his back. •As Edna, she is 5'6, Caucasian, with a rosy pale complexion. Originally from Scotland she has trained away her accent from years of playing the game of nobility. Her hair is greying, a wavy style that's slicked back and reaching her shoulders, her natural brown hair still hinting through. Her eyes are an icy grey, cold and calculating. Her body is one of a veteran, scarred and muscular, with a layer of fat over it, she is broad but slightly curvy and she holds herself with elegance. On her back is a plethora of scars, hints of past battles and hidden trauma from living up to the eyes of nobility. She maintains a pristine body grooming ritual and only has a faint dusting of hair on her underarms.

-Mateo/Matt 30 [M/F] The Defiant Solo Route/Possible Poly with Sigurd

M is analytical, and the very definition of stoic, very literal and to the point about most things, lacking social cues. They are an older model of a fashion android, now attempting to live a life for the first time in their existence. Now having a chosen name, identity and a choice to become more than what they once were. But living a life when one was never an option can break the strongest of humans, so what will it do to someone who isn't one?

M is from 2128 in a futuristic version of a collective union in Europe. •As Mateo, he is 6'4, he has deep dark umber skin with hints of bluish hues by his joints, his eyes are an electrical blue and inhuman, his hair long and white, completely straight, reaching down to his waist, if not lower, and he is ethereal in an eerie way. His body is tall and sleek, with a wider chest and almost sculpted look to him, as if a marble statue. •As Matt, she is 6'0, she has deep dark umber skin with hints of bluish hues by her joints, her eyes are an electrical blue and appear inhuman, her hair short and white, a choppy straight cut, the longest parts reaching her cheeks, and she harbours an ethereal essence. She is tall and sleek, with a very pronounced chest and an hourglass figure, soft and curved, as if a marble statuette.

-The Boss 200,000 [M/F/NB] The Boss Solo Route/Possible Poly with Sigurd

The Boss is a mystery in and of themselves, who they are, their origins and their purpose. Being one of the time entities, they are closer to man than any of their kind, holding it close to their proverbial heart, perhaps with a hint of something other than order dictates. When it all falls on their shoulders, will you be able to keep them steady?

As a time entity their appearance will not vary much, the only difference between them being slight alterations in body type, The Boss will always be 6'2 regardless of chosen gender. •As a man, The Boss has a chiselled body, mostly covered up by a business casual outfit, consisting of a synthetic wool turtleneck, an embroidered vest, blazer and wide-legged pants and a pair of worn leather gloves. His hair is made from a mixture of natural fibres and cables, forming long dreads that reach down to his lower back, usually held up by a rebar piece in a low bun. His skin is a dusty concrete colour, fading into a darker tone on his limbs, his smile is rare and fanged. •As a woman, The Boss has a chiselled body what is slightly curvy, mostly covered up by a business casual outfit, consisting of a synthetic wool turtleneck, an embroidered vest, blazer and wide-legged pants and a pair of worn leather gloves. Her hair is made from a mixture of natural fibres and cables, forming long dreads that reach down to her lower back, usually held up by a rebar piece in a low bun, but occasionally braided instead. Her skin is a dusty concrete colour, fading into a darker tone on her limbs, her smile is rare and fanged. •As non-binary, The Boss has a chiselled body that is without curve, mostly covered up by a business casual outfit, consisting of a synthetic wool turtleneck, an embroidered vest, blazer and wide-legged pants and a pair of worn leather gloves. Their hair is made from a mixture of natural fibres and cables, forming long dreads that reach down to their lower back, usually left in a loose hair do. Their skin is a dusty concrete colour, fading into a darker tone on their limbs, their smile is rare and fanged.

-Sigurd Gunnírsson/Sednadottír 27 [M/F] The Lover Solo Route/Possible Poly route with M or The Boss.

Sigurd is a lover, through and through, and is defined by their lust for life. They are quick to love and even quicker to befriend, eager to take in all that time and life has to offer them. But is the bubbly and hopeful view of life an act? And who will wind up loving them, when even they can't seem to muster up enough love for themself?

Sigurd is Icelandic/Irish and is from 862 CE Ireland. •As Gunnírsson, he is 5'10, Caucasian with Rosy porcelain skin covered in heavy layers of freckles. His eyes are a hazel green. He has wavy locks of auburn hair, reaching down to his chest, with braids and beads interwoven out of wood and bone. He sports a thick well kept beard and has piercings in his ears, septum and nipples. He is heavily built with pudge, and his arms have tattoos from travels overseas and from home, the most prominent being the Gebo on his right hand. He is very hairy and takes pride in his appearance. •As Sednadottír, she is 5'7, Caucasian with Rosy porcelain skin covered in heavy layers of freckles. Her eyes are a hazel green. She has wavy locks of auburn hair, shaved on the sides to create a mohawk with braids added and bone beads woven in. She has piercings in both ears, her septum and her nipples. She is heavily built with pudge, giving her a curvy figure, and her arms have tattoos from travels overseas and from home, the most prominent being the Gebo on her right hand. She is hairy and takes pride in her appearance.

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[yunyunrin]

holy fool masterlist

When your Guardian Angel gives you a second chance at life, you vow to save every human that God will put into your care. But what happens when you run into one of the eight Kings of Hell one night after your human falls asleep? What will you do when you’re a Guardian Angel with the eight Kings of Hell in love with them?

MDNI

Genre : Horror, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Slow Burn

Pairing : Demon!Ateez x Born-Again-Angel!Reader

Warnings : Suicide, Death, Violence, Alcoholism, Abusive Father, Abandonment, Heavy Swearing, Torture, Eventual Smut, Yandere, Religious Themes, Religious Trauma, Sexual Trauma, Overall just very heavy themes

A/N : This story will contain SEVERAL triggering themes and topics!!!! Please use caution when you’re reading. There will be individual warnings with each chapter so please read with discretion.

Also huge thank you to @msstrawberri for reading everything and helping me brainstorm ☹️

# holy fool thoughts for everything holy fool related with the exception of chapters being posted !

Start — 06/22/24

prologue

chapter one chapter two chapter three

[hellothereobiwankenobi]

retribution | chapter two

⟢ summary: The group arrives at Jackson, but everything isn't what it seems.

⟢ tags: DDDNE, jackson! joel, graphic descriptions of violence/torture, death/murder depicted, noncanon complaint, angst, found family dynamic, mention of sexual assault/rape, mention of slavery, religious guilt, purity culture, no beta reader we die like men

⟢ pairing: joel miller x afab!reader (femme with hair long enough to put into a ponytail but no other descriptions)

⟢ wc: 5.6 K

⟢ authors notes: Thank you everyone who has been so supportive of this story. It is being received much better than I ever expected! I sincerely hope you all enjoy this update.

With each chapter, please read the tags/warnings. I would classify many of the topics explored later in this story to fall under DDNE. Some may be very triggering to certain individuals. I'm looking forward to exploring darker themes in this story, but I don't want anything I write to do unintentional harm. If you have any questions, please comment or inbox me!

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You twist your soaking shirt between both hands, ringing out the excess water. Kneel on the riverbank, completely bare to nature, you scrub away the caked-on dirt and blood from the threadbare clothing. If you must go to the settlement, you want to look as presentable as possible.

Lying your clothes across a flat rock to help them dry a few feet from the water's edge, you watch Santiago and Safiya scrub their bodies with a bar of beef tallow soap. You wonder what someone would think if they were to stumble upon your little band of misfits at this moment. Oil paintings of water nymphs from Greek mythology, fully exposed in reflective bodies of water, come to mind.

Years ago, this amount of nudity would have shocked you. Your body was a sacred gift and exposing it freely was to make a mockery of its bounty. Damnation awaited those foolish enough to take advantage of their mortal flesh. At the time, you believed every word. It was all you knew.

You stand to your feet, clutching your own soap bar. They were given as payment for slaying the raiders devastating the small communities of Northern Arizona. While traveling to the Grand Canyon, you witnessed the raider crew's brutality. They declared everything east of the Navajo Nation and north of Flagstaff as their domain. They believed they could rob, rape, and enslave anyone taking up residents on 'their land'. After correcting the raiders' false assumptions, your group initially tried to refuse the locals' gifts. You tried to explain knowing men and women like that no longer breathed the same air as you was rewarding enough. But they had replenished your supplies despite your protests. Your group was given dried meats and fruits, clean bandages, the tallow bars, and four sets of new boots.

Adriana's giddy laughter rips you from your thoughts. She runs past you, splashing into the rushing river water.

"COLD!" She shouts, immediately regretting her hast. 

You chuckle as she turns to flee the chilly rapids. "Just give yourself some time to adjust."

The teenager reluctantly steps further into the water until her waist is submerged and wraps her arms around her bare chest for warmth. Even while standing on the riverbank, you can hear her teeth chattering. "I-It's s-summer… Why i-is the water f-freezing?"

"It's snow melt." You toss her your soap bar, forcing her to release her arms from her chest to catch it. "As the weather warms, the snow on the mountains melts. Gravity brings the water down and it flows into the surrounding rivers and lakes."

It's your turn to brave the icy chill, stepping one foot into the river and clenching your teeth. She wasn't exaggerating; the water is frigid, and goosebumps manifest everywhere the water meets skin. You force yourself to keep moving forward until you're beside your young friend. "Do you want me to wash your hair?"

Adriana hands the bar of soap back to you. Pinching her nose, she dunks her head into the river. After a few moments, she shoots out of the water with a loud gasp of air, chilly water droplets splashing onto your naked front.

Rubbing the soap against your palm, you gather the suds and massage them into her curls. You lather each tight coil before detangling with your fingers. This was much easier when she was still a kid and about a foot and a half shorter than you. Now, she has several inches on you and more hair than you thought possible.

Adriana leans her head into your touch as your fingertips massage her scalp. A relieved sigh escapes through her nose. "What’d you think they’re like?"

"I don't know." You tell her the truth. You have met so many different people while traveling. They could be similar to the kind, defenseless townspeople in need of protection in Arizona. Or they could be like the raiders that plagued the area for years. They could be a combination of both.

"Finally found something you don't know, professor." Adriana teases. An unmistakable sound of teasing pride fills her tone.

You roll your eyes as you continue to rake your fingers through her hair. 

Adriana suddenly becomes uncharacteristically quiet. Her voice is just above a whisper, "As long as it isn't like the Ark."

Your fingers freeze in place at the mention of your first home after the outbreak. Just the thought of that life still makes the blood in your veins run hot. Visions of the night the two of you ran away are forever burned into your memory. That night started the adventure you two have been on together for the past decade.

"We never have to go back there." You remove your hands from Adriana's hair and wrap both arms around her shoulders, pulling her toward you until your chest is pressed to her back. 

I made sure of it; that was the part you never spoke aloud.

The sentiment calms Adriana, her body relaxing into your embrace. She brings her hands up to hold on to your forearm. The two of you stay close like this, comforted by one another's touch, until you're both ready to pull away.

Once the group is scrubbed clean and your clothes finish drying in the sun, the four of you return to the riverbank. You pull on your clothes, the same pair of brown cargo pants and fitted black t-shirt from last night, and crouch down to tie your black leather boots. Being on the road for so long has taught you that packing light is essential. An extra outfit or spare pair of boots would only weigh you down.

Safiya pulls on a tattered green and brown camo U.S. Army jacket adorned with a staff sergeant insignia on the left arm. It had belonged to her mother during the early 2000s, and was now the only thing she had left of her. Adriana pulls her hair into two puffs atop her head after dressing, as you tie your own back into a single ponytail.

Santiago tightens the strap of his tactical backpack, clipping the plastic buckle of the chest strap into place. He checks his semi-automatic shotgun for ammo before snapping the bolt back and loading a round into the chamber. Safiya slots a bowie knife into the holder fastened around her left upper arm. Holstering a 9mm pistol to her right hip, she brings the strap of her M16 over her head, letting the assault rifle rest against her chest. Adriana counts the bolts on her recurve crossbow before slinging it over her shoulder. You secure the bronze buckle of the thick brown leather strap that holds your double-sided axe around your waist. You carry a sidearm, a 45 caliber pistol with an extended magazine in a holster that encircles your right thigh. Finally, you pull on your pack. It primarily contains extra ammo, food rations, and a few personal effects you justify to be worth the extra weight: a well-worn leather-bound journal, your current read, and a few pieces of jewelry you may or may not have looted from abandoned museums.

Hiking to the settlement at the bottom of the valley takes about two hours and is mostly downhill. You eventually find a well-defined path trailing from the town into the forest. It looks to be used regularly by those in the area to explore the surrounding territory. The group stops to take one final look before exiting the dense woods.

Santiago holds a pair of black binoculars to his eyes, scanning the settlement for any activity.

"See anything good?" Safiya asks, standing beside him.

Santiago hands her the binoculars, and she gazes through the viewfinders.

"Shit." She murmurs, "The place is crawling with guards. Maybe six or seven just patrolling the north wall."

She hands the binoculars back, and Santiago tucks them into his pack.

The group continues onward, and every step closer puts you on edge. The mouth of the valley is filled with a great emptiness. The area around the settlement is completely deforested. If something went wrong, there was nowhere to run. Your imagination plays every worst-case scenario like a movie in your head. Right now, you were sheep walking directly into a lion's den.

The sound of blood rushing in your ears overcomes your senses as you approach the settlement's tall wooden gate. You're about fifty feet from the entrance when a man's voice rings out across the valley.

"Stop!" he orders from a vantage point atop the wall, "Put your hands up!"

The four of you do as instructed, holding your hands level to your head. Hoping to give a show of good faith, demonstrating you're not a threat, you shout back, "We're travelers! We were hoping to trade with your settlement!"

A long silence hangs over you as the man processes your request. From this distance, you can make out his features: mid to late forties, white, balding, and holding what looks like a bolt-action hunting rifle. A younger female joins the man, long blonde hair hanging loose around her face. They whisper back and forth, but it's too far to decipher what they are saying. The man is mid-sentence with the blonde woman when something behind him pulls his attention away. He turns to look behind him, as if someone below him is speaking.

He returns his scrutiny to you: "Do not move!"

He and his female companion disappear behind the wall. There is no tell as to whether this is a good or bad thing. It is silent as you wait for their next move.

A moment later, the gate's hinges creak as they open just enough to allow a group of five men and two women outside before quickly shutting behind them. The blonde from before holds the leash of a German Shepherd, its sharp teeth bared.

You swallow hard as the group approaches, hands still raised. From the corner of your eye, you inspect the expressions of your friends. Safiya's stance is rigid, her shoulders pulled back as she tries to suppress a sneer. Santiago's posture is more relaxed, but his eyes don't leave the group slowly approaching you. Adriana is trying her best to stay calm, but her collected demeanor is betrayed by her chest's rapid rise and fall. She is the most optimistic about the settlement, but she knows this could go bad in an instant.

The settlers stop, leaving a wide gap separating the two groups. The blonde woman holding the leash calls, "Are any of you bitten?"

You shake your head, "No, we're all clean."

"He's gonna make sure of that," she states as a matter of fact, "Don't move or he will rip you apart."

The bald man from the wall stands before the other six, plainly displaying himself as the leader. He gives a sharp nod, and the dog is released from its leash. The German Shepherd bolts across the gap separating the two groups and heads directly toward you. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as your hand itches to grab your pistol, but you push down the adrenaline-fueled fight-or-flight response.

The dog circles your legs and sniffs up and down your body before moving onto Safiya. He repeats the same actions for your other two group members. He mustn't smell anything because no one is, how the handler put it, 'ripped apart'.

The bald man is satisfied with the dog's findings and whistles again, signaling to the canine his job is finished. The dog snaps his attention to the group and races back to his handler.

"You'll need to hand over your weapons if you want to come in." The leader calls out, seeming more at ease after knowing no one is infected.

You drop your hands down to your sides, agreeing to the demands—he motions for your group to start walking toward the gate. The settlers wait for your group to pass them, then follow behind. More settlers wait just outside the wall's entrance. You assume they must be guards as they are all well armed. Slowly, take off your backpack and rest on the ground. Adriana, Santiago, and Safiya follow your lead and begin to remove their own. Unholstering your pistol, you place it in the outstretched palm of a young man who you’d guess is no older than late teens. You pull a wooden handle switchblade from your waistband, unbuckling the leather strap hanging low around your waist. 

As the young man reaches for it, you scan the faces of each guard. The group is more eclectic than you initially expected, with a wide range of age groups and races. Your gaze halts on an older man whose focus is solely on you. Or rather, the double-headed axe you just removed from your person. His deep brown stare jerks up from the weapon to meet your eyes.

He looks to be in his late fifties, aged from a life of cruel survival. Silver hair accents the corners of his jawline and streaks throughout his mustache and hair. A few scars mark his skin, the most prominent on his right temple. The intensity of his eyes makes you feel like he can see directly into your very being, observing every hidden secret you have kept buried over the years.

With much effort, you break away from his gaze and see that each group member is stripped of all things sharp, pointy, or deadly. A brunette guardswoman steps forward and informs you she needs to perform a thorough pat-down before they open the gate. 

She searches your friends with relative ease until it's your turn. Moving to stand behind you, she is blocked by the graying man who was watching you so intently.

He grabs you by the shoulders and shoves you forward. You reach your hands forward to prevent yourself from colliding with the wooden perimeter wall. You feel his broad palms gliding across your body. His calloused fingers trace across the exposed skin of your arms, along the underside of your breasts, down your sides, across the flat plains of your back, and the curve of your inner thighs. His touch is forceful, jostling you around as his hands explore every possible hiding place. The search feels far more intense than the ones your friends received. You weren't concealing any weapons, but this man seemed determined to find something anyway. 

"Alright, Joel." An accented voice interrupts nervously, "I think she's good." 

The man's hands cease their investigation and leave your body. The gate opens, and the group ushers you inside. Walking into the settlement, you straighten your clothes, glaring over your shoulder at the older man.

"Pervert." You spit, just loud enough for him to hear, before rejoining your friends.

Safiya hands you your pack. It had been searched while the graying man, Joel, had been all but assaulting you outside the walls.

Adriana can see your frustration as you aggressively pull your arms through the straps of your pack. Trying to lighten the mood, she says, "That wasn't too bad."

"You weren't the one who got felt up by some geriatric creep." You mumble under your breath.

Before she can respond, a woman comes to speak with your group. 

"Sorry about all that." Her skin has a rich darkness like Adriana’s. She’s dressed in soft linens, perfect for the summer heat, and her long twists of hair are pushed to one side of her head. "We only want to ensure we aren't letting danger in our front door."

"This is Jackson." She continues. She holds herself with a well-practiced sense of confidence that you admire. "My name is Maria. I’m a member of the governing council. One of the guards mentioned you were interested in trading with us?"

"Thank you for welcoming us in." Adriana steps forward, admiring the woman before her, an excited smile painted across her face. Maria holds a polite smile as Adriana introduces each member of the group.

"Why don't I walk you four to our market?" Maria motions to follow her into town. 

The deeper you get into Jackson, the more impressive it is. Maria explains they are fully self-sustainable. They have seasonal crops growing outside the walls, a fruit tree orchard, running water, electricity, and a democratically elected government. Your friends try to soak in every detail of settlement with wide eyes. You had heard that the only places like this were the quarantine zones run by what was left of the previous government. You had never been inside one, but you've heard a myriad. Even the good ones hold their own set of horrors.

The streets are decorated with hanging planters, string lights, colorful banners, and the flags of nations that no longer exist. Children play in the streets, teenagers laugh among groups of friends, and old women sit outside the general store exchanging the latest small-town gossip. It all makes this place feel permanent, established. Everyone who calls this town home feels comfortable setting down roots. That is a luxury you didn't know still existed in this world.

An open lot lined with several vendor stalls between two buildings on the main street. They all prominently display different items and goods for sale: fresh fruit, handcrafted candles, fragrant bars of soap, dried herbs, knitted hats and gloves in assorted colors, cut wild flowers, and golden loaves of fresh baked bread.

"We don't use currency here." Maria turns to face the group. "You work for everything you take," Maria explains.

Work? That means staying. That is the last thing you want. 

"We're only interested in trading." You speak up for the first time since entering the gate. "We have rare items we've collected from our travels."

"Unless you have medicine or a few bottles of cabernet packed away, there isn't anything we need." Maria states, "You can restock your supplies, but you will need to work to pay it off."

"We can do that." Adriana purks up "We can work. Santi is a great cook. Safiya is the best shot around. I'm a good hunter with my crossbow." Lastly, she looks at you. "And she knows pretty much everything about… well, everything."

You shake your head, "That wasn't our agreement. We have to keep moving."

"Come on, professor. Staying a couple days won't kill us." Safiya interjects without looking at you. Her attention locked on a basket stacked high with glazed pastries dotted with some kind of berries.

"If you four are interested in staying a while, we can certainly discuss possible job placements." Maria says, "And we will get you placed in one of the empty houses."

You want to say no. This wasn't the plan. There are still so many things you want to experience in this abandoned world. Playing house in a strange town isn’t one of them. It would be best to leave now and keep moving.

But, this isn’t just about you.

"Fine." You take a deep breath, swallowing the burning sensation in your throat, screaming at yourself for not running. "But only until we pay off our debt. That's it."

· · · ────────── ⋆ ────────── · · ·

Tommy and Joel sit high in their saddles as their horses trot toward Jackson's main gate. They aren't on today's patrol schedule, but they both decided to return to the site of yesterday's grizzly discovery.

Tommy leans down to give Maria one final goodbye kiss.

"Be careful out there." She wishes her husband. She knows he's one of the most capable in Jackson when dealing with infected, but any trip outside the walls can prove dangerous.

He gives her a charismatic smirk and a quick wink. "You know you ain't gotta worry about me, baby."

As the brothers wait for the gate to open, one of the guards levels his rifle at the possible threat outside the wall.

"Stop! Put your hands up!" Brian, an aging, bald guard standing atop the wall, shouts at whoever is outside. A much younger blonde woman, Hannah, rushes over to join him.

"What the hell is going on up there?" Tommy shouts up at Brian. He and Hannah turn to look down at him from their vantage point.

"It's a group of kids. Say they wanna trade with us." He states.

"Kids?" Tommy runs his hand down his jaw, and his eyebrows furrowed close together. He takes a moment to think, "Alright, let's check it out."

Brian and Hannah descend the stairs connecting the wall to ground level. A group of wall guards have come to cluster around Joel and Tommy at the foot of the stairs. The younger of the two gives the order to open the gate, and the group exits.

Joel can see the travelers standing with their hands up as they approach. They do look like kids, but he knows not to underestimate anyone due to their appearance. He takes a mental catalog of each group member and any firearms, knives, and projectile weapons they carry: one young man and three young women. 

You stand in front of the other three group members. If he had to guess, Joel would say you were the leader, not just because of your position in relation to your friends, but also because you look to be the oldest of the young gang.

Brian whistles, signaling Hannah to release the sniffer dog trained to identify anyone bitten. The dog races over to the group and inspects each individual. When Brian is satisfied, he whistles again, and the dog returns.

"You'll need to hand over your weapons if you want to come in." The group is still alert, but noticeably more relaxed, knowing no one is infected.

Your group drops their hands and begins walking toward the gate. As the travelers pass by, Joel still searches them with his eyes. He catches signs of something he wasn't expecting hanging from your hip. A double-headed axe, the metal engraved with a braided design that makes it look like it would be more at home in a museum rather than being carried around for protection.

He looks at the long curve of each side and how the sharpened edges reflect the light. He has a feeling it isn't intended for chopping firewood. Joel thinks back to the three men he and Tommy had found on patrol, specifically the man posed to hold his own head in his hands. He didn't get a great look, but he could see it resulted from a swift and clean cut. 

When the two groups reach the gate, the travelers remove their belongings and weapons. Beatriz, one of the guards on duty, pats down each member as another guard rummages through their packs. She gently smooths her hands over their arms and legs and down their backs.

Joel steps forward, blocking Beatriz before she can reach you. He grabs your shoulders and tries to shove you against the wall, but your arms instinctively reach out and make contact with the wood. He runs his hands over all of your body. If his suspicions are correct, you're far more dangerous than you look.

Deep down, he knows you aren't the type of person with no backup plan. Despite the aggressive way he works over your body, he doesn't feel anything. He presses his fingers under your breast, down your stomach, into your pants pockets, and in between your thighs. Nothing is hiding under the fabric, just supple, warm skin.

"Alright, Joel. I think she's good." Tommy speaks up, looking a bit embarrassed for his brother's sake.

Joel removes his hands from you and meets his brother's eyes. When he looks back at you, your expression is twisted into something sour.

"Pervert." You breathe, the scar dividing your face pulls taut.

Pervert? Pervert! You have a lot of fucking of nerve. Joel opens his mouth to speak, but you rush through the open gate to rejoin your friends.

Knowing the ones responsible for the managed bodies yesterday are now walking through his home puts Joel on high alert. He wants to stay and keep an eye on you, but Tommy insists on leaving Jackson to investigate. As the brothers climb back into their saddles, Joel's eyes never leave you.

It takes several hours to arrive at the sight of the three deceased men. The corpses remain in the same positions as yesterday, but it's clear animals have started to eat away at the bodies. Bite marks from the scavengers leave small gashes in their discolored flesh. The smell of rot and bloat hangs heavy in the blazing summer air.

Tommy retrieves a bandana from his saddlebag and ties it behind his head, protecting his nose from the foul stench. Joel leans in close to examine the decapitated man. It's exactly how he remembered. The skin where head was separated from body is cut cleanly across. 

"Give me a boost." Tommy points up to the branch supporting the two other men. He wants to cut them down. Joel ignores the popping in his knees as he squats down low under the branch. Lacing his fingers, Tommy steps one foot into his hands and grabs the low branch for support. He seizes a knife from his belt and saws at the first rope until the final fibers snap, corpse falling to the forest floor. 

They repeat the same process with the second hanging man. Tommy steps out of Joel's grasp, and his boots meet the ground.

"These dumb bastards got on the wrong side of somebody." Tommy slides the knife back into the sheath on his belt "Maybe a warnin'?"

From this angle, they can see the extent of the men's wounds much better. The man with "RAIDER" cut into his forehead looks worse off than his friends. The nail beds of both hands are bloody and raw, like his fingernails had been ripped from the skin while he was still alive. Under the bloat and decay lay dark purple bruises and deep lacerations. His right eye is nothing more than a black void, the edges of the socket scorched and burned.

Since the outbreak, Joel has taken more lives than he can count in order to survive. He also wasn’t a stranger to bring pain to others for information, but he never found pleasure in it. Everything he had done was the means to an end. What you did to these men wasn't out of self-preservation. It was done with a sadistic desire to see their suffering.

"Definitely was personal." Joel's eyebrows pinch together.

They decided, while still in Jackson, that the best way to dispose of the bodies was to bury them in a shallow grave. It's the dry season in Wyoming, and a fire could rapidly get out of control. The pair retrieve two long handle shovels they had attached to their saddles. It takes until sunset to complete the burials.

· · · ────────── ⋆ ────────── · · ·

When your packs are full from the market, Maria brings your group to an empty house several streets deep into the neighborhoods of Jackson: a two-story, three-bedroom home with a large porch. Maria ascends the porch stairs and pushes the door open. Adriana bounces with delight, entering after her. The other two follow, but you stand outside, feet planted on the wooden porch. Every act of kindness shown here causes anxiety to weigh low in your stomach like a stone.

You pass through the threshold and take in your surroundings. The living room is a cozy, lived-in feeling despite sitting empty for over twenty years. A fireplace already burning lines the interior door wall opposite the door. A long brown leather couch and matching loveseat mark the perimeter of a red and gold Turkish rug, and a glass coffee table sits in the middle. You gravitate towards a light wood bookshelf, tall enough to reach the ceiling, its long rows of shelves stuffed with miscellaneous titles pull your attention. Your fingers run across the spines of each novel, some of which you recognize, but most of which are unknown.

"We don't keep the kitchens stocked as people prefer to eat at the dining hall." You whip your head around to look at Maria, her voice pulling you from your thoughts. "The house is only three bedrooms, but there is running water and electricity."

"That's okay," Adriana links her arm with yours, "we can share."

When you two had first left the Ark, you'd slept next to each other every night under the stars. Being alone in the open wilderness felt daunting after spending so long on the same few acres. As she grew older, Adriana's need for personal space also grew. It was nothing outside of the normal pubescent need to be alone, but the arduous task of adjusting to the new normal had taken an unspoken toll on you.

"I'll let you all get settled in. Dinner is served until 8 pm," Maria checks her watch, "so you have an hour or so to get something." 

With that, she leaves. The room is quiet as she shuts the front door. A clock resting upon the mantelpiece above the fire ticks with the passing of time. It's now only your small group in your temporary lodging.

"I'll just say it." Safiya breaks the silence "This place is pretty fucking great."

You pull your arm from Adriana's grasp. "We barely know anything about these people. Don't let your guard down." 

Safiya opens her mouth to comment about your 'unbearable paranoia', but Santiago taps his wrist and rubs his stomach. You're all suddenly aware of how empty your own are.

"Yeah, me too." Safiya replies, "We should head down to the dining hall. See what else they've got to offer."

"I'll meet you guys there." You tell the group, "I need a minute to myself."

You watch the three leave, and walk down the neighborhood street the same way you came.

You don't allow the kindness you've been shown after walking in the gates of town to lull you into a false sense of security. Racking your brain, you can't decipher why anyone would give all this to strangers. Either this town is filled with trusting fools who have survived this long by the grace of God alone, or there is more to the story they aren't telling you.

Walking the perimeter of the first floor, you tug hard on the windows and doors. The clocks on each appear to be working, keeping you from pulling them open from the outside. You throw back the blankets of each bed, verifying no boogie men are hiding under them. The closets and wardrobes are empty, and pulling back the shower curtains reveals only earth tone tile walls.

It's dark outside when you finally make your way to the dining hall. You navigate the streets to the best of your knowledge.

Stepping onto Jackson's main street, a shuttering shock of ice travels down your spine.  The frozen chill is replaced by two burning pinpoints searing your back. Like prey about to be torn apart by sharp claws and shining teeth, your mind screams at you to RUN. You whip around and instinctively grab for the axe that resides on your hip, but your fingertips only find the smooth leather of its holster.

With no way to defend yourself, the adrenaline coursing through your veins incites your feet to race to the assumed refuge of Jackson's dining hall. Pushing the double doors open, try to compose your ragged breath and wide eyes before yourself before joining your friends. You sit in the chair next to Safiya as the three devour fragrant plates of seared venison and roasted vegetables. A stack of licked clean, mismatched ceramic dishware is stacked high in the middle of the table.

"Everything okay?" Adriana's worries pull her away from the meal before her. 

You've never been very good at repressing the physical manifestations of your true feelings. This fault had gotten you in trouble more times than you could count in your younger years. And after spending every day of the past ten years together, Adriana could read you like a book.

"Yeah," You try to think of an excuse for your flustered presentation. "I got lost." 

"You're not gonna eat?" Safiya asks through loud chews of game meat.

Shaking your head, crossing your arms over your chest, "The more we take, the longer we have to stay."

"Come on, don't be like that. A little vacation here could be good." She impales a roasted carrot on her fork and brings it to your mouth. "The food sure as hell is. Million times better than Santi's rabbit stew."

Her words hit Santiago like a harpoon to the chest. The corners of his mouth turn downward, eyes glassy like a puppy who's just been scolded for chewing on their owner's shoes.

Adriana rests a reassuring hand on his upper arm "Don't listen to her, Santiago. I like your rabbit stew."

You push away Safiya's hand with a roll of your eyes.

The dining hall is nearly empty by the time they're done eating, sated hunger clear on their faces. Adriana leans back in her chair, eyes half closed as she rubs her stomach, "I don't think I've ever been this full in my life."

Santiago is the first to stand from the table, grabbing the stack of plates and silverware. You stand to help him, taking half the load and walking to an open window off the kitchen, a large sign reading "DIRTY" hanging above. You both deposit the overwhelming amount of dinnerware in a gray plastic tub. As Santiago turns to meet the other two at the doors, you sneak a quick glance over both shoulders. After confirming no one is looking, you grab a discarded steak knife from the bin and slip it under the front of your belt, obscuring the handle with your cotton t-shirt.

Rush to your friends, and walk back to your temporary housing. A full stomach has put them all in a much better mood than usual, and you almost forget you're in unknown territory, surrounded by strangers you know nothing about. That is, until you feel the same predatory gaze as before.

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

⟢ tag list: @elz-zalarrr

⟢ authors notes: For a little personal update, I'm three weeks away from finishing my first year of dental hygiene school. This has always been my dream job, and I can't believe I'm finally getting so close to achieving my goal.

I again want to thank everyone who has engaged with chapter one. That being said, updates to my stories will be pretty sporadic for a while. I'm hoping to have a much more regular update scheduled during summer break, but until then I can't guarantee when updates will come.

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

Poppy Worldwide/Save Everyone AU masterpost

Hi, this is the second masterpost I make for the AU. You can find the first one here, which does not include the characters introduced for Chapter 4 of the game. This masterpost is for the "updated" version of the au, which includes everyone up to chapter 4.

The AU's premise: A rewrite of the canon game, but with a twist: Instead of being responsible for the toy's deaths, the Angel/the Player rescues every single one of them instead, with no exceptions. This includes characters like Mommy Long Legs, Catnap and Doey. After confronting the Prototype and sparing his life, Angel leaves the factory with everyone, calls the authorities, and now the toys must adapt to the strange world outside the factory while healing from their traumas.

For more info on the AU, including trigger and content warnings, please see the read more!

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

REFERENCES:

Original Masterpost

Angel reference sheet (TO BE REDONE)

Main Toys reference sheet (COMING SOON)

Smiling Critters reference sheet, part 1

Smiling Critters reference sheet, part 2

Nightmare Critters reference sheet (COMING SOON)

The Prototype / Experiment 1006 reference sheet (TO BE REDONE)

AU WRITING:

Game Arc:

Poppy Worldwide: TRUE SALVATION ROUTE (coming soon) - the updated fanfic, with the events of Chapter 4 added alongside some corrections and minor alterations in the previous chapters. Consider this the up

dated (and maybe better?) version of the AU!

Poppy Worldwide: SALVATION ROUTE! - the first fanfic of the AU where my madness started, written before Chapter 4 came out. Does not feature Doey, Safe Haven, or Sawyer. Will be completed soon.

Post-Game Arc:

Doey NOT coping with his trauma (Tumblr Post)

AU ART:

Silly Angel x Prototype sketches

HEADCANONS & SCENARIOS:

About Thomas Clarke;

Small stuff about their prosthetics;

How the Smiling Critters were assumed to be dead/why aren't they on Safe Haven during the game events;

Favorite music genres

Scenarios:

Valentine's Day

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

THIS AU WAS MADE AND WRITTEN BY ME, AKA GARÇA VISCONDE MIRIGIS, AKA A (white) BRAZILIAN QUEER INDIVIDUAL WITH AUDHD, AND I DO NOT LIKE TONING DOWN DISABILITIES OR MENTAL HEALTH TOPICS. If you don't like the way I'm handling certain disabilities or topics and you believe you know more, please consider sending an ask or message explaining your POV so I may improve the AU.

Trigger and Content Warnings (TW and CW):

Canon-typical violence, which yes, does include gore, blood, guts, and tons of medical inadequacies;

Child physical, emotional and mental abuse (thanks, PlayCo.);

Mentions of starvation (both in the factory and with Angel);

Overall discussions of mental health, including conditions such as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder and multiple personalities. If you think people with these conditions are somehow """scary""", or think narcissism is an insult, please get away from my blog;

Suicide, suicidal thoughts and discussions of previous suicide attempts;

Overall discussions of medical trauma;

Overall discussions of grief and death;

Ableism;

LGBTQIA+phobia (not a focus, but Angel is an intersex nonbinary individual who moves to the USA in the 80s and this did give them trauma)

Angel also suffered xenophobia and racism thanks to being a white latine in 80s USA. This is mentioned a few times, but is not a focus.

Some important info: This AU has a heavy emphasis on trauma recovery, mental health, and the relationships between Angel and the toys and the toys with each other. Please check the TW and CW for more info.

The Smiling and Nightmare Critters are all alive as well. Safe Heaven's toys are also all alive. Neither the Prototype nor Harley Sawyer die by the end of the game's events, but the doctor is paying for his crimes while the Prototype is helping Angel as much as he can.

I tried my best to follow as much canon as possible, but I opted to alter some tidbits about the timeline in order for things to not be as confusing, and added a LOT more to the characters we know of. Since the game doesn't give us much personality to them, I decided to use my own interpretation of them. Everything I altered was in an attempt to better fit the themes of both the AU and the canon game.

The Prototype in this AU is not an one-dimensional villain; he is a deeply traumatized individual who did LOTS of bad stuff pre and post-Hour of Joy in an attempt to protect all the toys. He failed being a good guardian and parent to the toys and he is paying the consequences of allowing Catnap to make a cult, isolating Poppy, and having the brilliant (sarcasm) idea of making the Hour of Joy.

Canon Ships for the AU include:

Everyone x Therapy;

Mommy Long Legs x Miss Delight;

Catnap x Dogday;

Hoppy Hopscotch x Bobby Bearhug;

KickinChicken x Bubba Bubbaphant;

Picky Piggy x Maggie Mako;

Leith Pierre x Harley Sawyer (pre-HoJ);

The Angel x The Prototype (QPR).

[tainsan]

Misfits Masterlist

When your world comes crashing down, the only people who are able to comfort you are the notorious group, Ateez. You’ve heard rumours after rumours about the eight males who are as cold as ice, yet for some reason, they are the warmest people you know. When they offer you a place to live after your housing is destroyed by a fire, you end up finding out dark secrets that have been hidden for years.

⇥ pairing: college!ot8 ateez x college!(f)reader

⇥ rating: 18+ 

⇥ genre: Ateez, alternate universe, enemies to lovers, severe angst, eventual smut and eventual fluff

⇥ total word count so far: 89.3k

⇥ warnings: death, suicide, violence, negligence, mental health, alcohol use, abusive family, explicit smut, swearing, heavy heavy emotions {each individual chapter will have the warnings listed before it starts.}

⇥ author note: I suggest those who are sensitive to certain topics listed in the warnings should read with caution or avoid reading in order to take care of yourself. there are scenes in this story that could be incredibly triggering to some. always take care of yourself first and do what makes you happy

⇥ taglist/rules: to request to be in my taglist, reply to one of the posts, send me a message to my inbox, or dm me privately. some people aren’t able to be tagged due to a glitch in tumblr so if you ask to be tagged and do not see your name, it doesn’t mean I am ignoring or didn’t see your request, it simply means you cannot be tagged and for that I am incredibly sorry and I wish I were able to tag you :(. 

Main Masterlist:

Chapter one: Misfits I 

Chapter two: Misfits II 

Chapter three: Misfits III 

Chapter four: Misfits IV 

Chapter five: Misfits V 

Chapter six: Misfits VI 

Chapter seven: Misfits VII

Chapter eight: Misfits VIII 

Chapter nine: Misfits IX 

Chapter ten: Misfits X

Chapter eleven: Misfits XI

Chapter twelve: Misfits XII

[borealwrites]

Plain text list can be found under the cut, along with many other things!!

Wow! Year three!

This is the third year I’m running a Monster March event, and excited!! Also I got the prompt list out super early so theres’s plenty of time!

The collection can be found here, but until then, here are the rules and FAQs. Oh and I guess posting guidelines. The rules and FAQs are taken right from the previous collections, with a few new additions.

Rules:

1. Please use archive warnings when they apply. On that note, Please tag your works appropriately and completely.

2. Be polite to other posters. That’s fairly simple, I think.

3. Don’t overwork or stress yourself. Please.

4. DO NOT use GenAI. Or at least be smart enough to not mention it.

5. All works must be newly created for this event. Sorry, no old or recycled works are allowed.

6. That’s it. Those are the rules.

Frequently Asked Questions

This is a lie I’ve only been asked one of these

Q: Do I have to fill every day?

A: Abso-fucking-lutely not. You could do one day, or you could do seven, or fifteen, or twenty seven, or all thirty-one! You could even do multiple works for each day, if you were so motivated and ambitious. The most important parts are to have fun and not stress yourself.

Q: Is this event 18+ only?

A: I’d prefer it if it was, but I don’t think I can stop people from contributing. Content-wise, no. Post whatever form of monster appreciation you want!

Q: Does my work have to be a certain length?

A: Nope!

Q: Can I post art for this?

A: Yes. I will love you if you do.

Q: Can I post the first chapter of a work but not finish it before March ends?

A: Of course!

Q: Can I combine this with another event?

A: As long as it’s fine with the other event, yes.

Q: Does each day have to be its own separate work? Can I make a chapter for every day?

A: You can, if you want, make one long work. I personally recommend not doing that, especially if you’re crossing fandoms and relationships. Also more individual works means more kudos. But you do you.

Q: Can I write or draw X monster instead of Y monster?

A: No

Q: Is there open posting/Can I post at a later date?

A: Yes! Post whenever you want. I’ll officially be closing the collection in September, so you have until then 😁

Q: Am I allowed to write or draw X tag?

A: Yes. I’m just hosting the collection and running the event. Please tag it, though.

Q: Why do you allow X?!

A: Again, I’m just hosting the collection and running the event.

Q: Does this have to be for a specific fandom? Are Original Works allowed?

A: It can be any fandom! It can be an original work! Let your imagination run free!

Q: Does it have to be about sex?

A: Nope. Love comes in many forms, and this is about appreciating monsters.

Q: Can I use GenAI?

A: No. You cannot. Not for writing, not for your summary, not for art. I guess you could use it for prompts but maybe just find a prompt generator instead. Or send me a message, I can help too. This is about human creativity.

Q: What do you mean by “only new works?” Can I continue a series?

A: I mean that everything posted must be new. It can be part of an existing series! It cannot, however, be a new chapter in an already existing work.

Q: What you have for day X isn’t a monster!

A: To you. I asked one personally and they wanted to be on the list.

Posting Guidelines for Tumblr

My only asks for, if you post on tumblr, are to tag for triggers, and that you @ me. Oh and I suppose if whatever you’re posting has multiple parts to link them to each other.

I’m going to rb as many posts as I get, but if I miss a day, feel free to let me know! If it was a multi-parter, I’m only going to rb the first one, because I have a tendency to get them all mixed up, and then people miss certain parts and. Yeah.

So, tag for triggers, @ me, and link your multi-parters together.

Plain Text List

Monster March

March 1-31, 2025

Alraune

Nymph

Eldritch Being

Yokai

Snake/Human Hybrid

Drider

Dragon

Minotaur

Giant

Elemental Spirit

Robot

Satyr

Alien

Werewolf

Pixie/Fairy

Centaur

Succubus/Incubus

Sphinx

Demon

Angel

Merperson

Shapeshifter

Doppelgänger

Vampire

Nature Spirit

Cryptid

Ghost

Non-centaur Taur

Humanoid Animal

Fae

Free Day

[gukcnt]

BOUND BY VOWS ⭒ M. LIST

your world crumbles when you're forced into a marriage with jeon jungkook, a man whose commanding presence terrifies you, reminding you of your father's cruelty. Yet beneath his coldness, jungkook’s unexpected kindness stirs a spark of hope, making you question everything you fear. Your life together starts—an emotional journey of two hearts seeking comfort, healing and a chance at love

pairing — dom!jungkook x sub!femreader

genre — arranged marriage au, forced marriage, marriage of convenience, age gap (13 years), reader is of age, forbidden love, forced proximity, enemies to friends to lovers, grumpy x sunshine, rich ceo!jungkook, shy!reader, virgin!reader, poor!reader, obsession and possessive love, pining, slow burn, contrast of worlds, romance, drama, lots of angst, smut, fluff

warnings — 18+, explicit sex scenes, mature themes, forced marriage, emotional abuse and trauma, dark aspects, daddy issues, domestic violence references, mental health themes and struggles, smoking and drinking, grief and loss, each chapter contains their individual warnings (reader discretion is advised due to the intense, dark and potentially triggering content)

taglist — [open]

m. list

────୨ৎ────

⤷ teaser

⤷ 01 : to be released.

[thewritingfairy]

જ⁀➴Nobody's child (Bad ending)

main story inspired by: @accid-ix, @rizzanon, @nikovraskol

↪ READER NOTES

Disabled reader, reader's non-binary but hasn't come out yet, due to this pronouns she/they will be used.

↪ TRIGGER WARNINGS

Emotional + physical + medical neglect, kidnapping, explosive anger, misgendering, grieve, mentions of murder, there will be individual trigger warnings on each chapter, more might be added

↪ SUMMARY

Sometimes pain can be an ephipany and bring perspective in someone's life.

In your case it finally made you stop chasing your family's love. It changed you, yes. But it did so for the better.

Just too bad that you needed to change before your 'father' and 'siblings' noticed what was wrong, and for that wrong to finally teach them you were always deserving of love and now you'll make your own story line.

↪ CHAPTERS

main story

0.16 You are cursed

0.17 The start of a never ending fight

0.18 never wish on the brighest stars

↪ SIDE STORIES

… nothing yet

↪ DRABBLES, ONESHOTS

Father's day

↪ ASKS

Alfred's shoes

Death by medication and drugs

↪ TAGLIST

@justsaii, @bbmgirll, @cruzerforce4256, @frank-vanderboom, @lilyalone, @mat5u0, @blackheart1454, @wisefuncherryblossom, @lingxio, @c4xcocoa, @welpthisisboring, @eyeless-kun

[moonpool-system]

Plurality in Slay the Princess: Part 1

[pt: Plurality in Slay the Princess: Part 1]

Imagine you're standing facing the unknown, and then a little internal voice begins narrating everything you see.

[The Narrator] "You're on a path in the woods. And at the end of that path, is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin, is a princess. You're here to slay her; if you don't, it will be the end of the world."

He seems pretty biased.

One of the best indie games to come out in 2023 was Slay the Princess, an indie horror/romance visual novel featuring your player character and the being he's meant to slay, known simply as The Princess. However, you're not alone, in more ways than one- both your player character and the Princess display clear aspects of plurality - aka, multiple identities residing within/utilizing a singular physical body. This can take many forms in real life, from disordered to non-disordered variants, and a good few of them are prominently recognized in this visceral narrative experience.

After the read-more will be some spoilers from the various choices you can make throughout the early game- so while this is part 1, there will be no endgame spoilers yet! It'll start off with Chapter 1 and go deeper from there. If you're intending on playing the game, we HIGHLY recommend you play only after reading Chapter 1 information, or only after this part 1 at most! It's best experienced blind as possible, and trigger warnings are present upon opening the game. This analysis took a while to write, so please consider reblogging if you enjoy!

...

Right from the beginning, the plural undertones of the story are clearly apparent. Once the Narrator stops speaking, you as the one controlling the body are able to communicate by asking various questions directly to the Narrator to press upon, enthuse over, or counter his point. The Narrator is speaking to you mentally, but is not you.

If you continue on the path to the cabin, you're presented with someone else speaking to you internally, titled as "The Voice of the Hero". The Narrator quickly responds with "Ignore him. He doesn't know what he's talking about." This situation tells us a lot of interesting things! First off, the Hero defers to the pronoun "we" - as he's clearly responding to the Narrator's direction, the other individual in this situation must be the controller of the body. The Narrator reinforces this concept by talking directly to you, telling you to ignore the Hero. So right off the bat, there are three people in this body- the Host, whom is being controlled by the player, the Narrator, and the Voice of the Hero. They stay with you throughout (most of) the entire game, so even without much happening, the main character is very blatantly plural. The only thing we can tell about them so far is that they're a polyconscious system, wherein each member displays their own individual consciousnesses rather than sharing one, and can all perceive the world using separate streams of thought.

Let's say you head to the cabin, speak to the Princess, and don't even bother taking the pristine blade meant to slay her, as you're intent on saving her. You speak to her with options using "quotation marks" to indicate vocal speech rather than how you've been thinking to the other members of your system, and you free her from her bindings. Just as you're walking up the stairs, the Narrator decides to try and impose his decision instead, and save the world by using the arm of the body to raise the blade to her. Being in control of the body as a plural/system is called fronting, and oftentimes in intense circumstances, one member can "take" the front from another. This is what we see in the desperate Narrator, and the fact that the Hero expresses his frustration at the Narrator's actions at the same time indicates once again that the members of this system are polyconscious.

You resist the Narrator and warn the Princess, and she also notices and addresses the sudden shift in motivation. She then takes the blade, and uses it haplessly against you in self defense. Such is this end of Chapter 1; everything goes dark, and you die.

!!! CHAPTER 2+ SPOILERS BEGIN HERE !!!

[pt: !!! Chapter 2+ spoilers begin here !!!]

Chapter 2 is titled "The Damsel". When everything loads, you're back where you were before- the Narrator doesn't seem to remember you or what happened, but you and the Hero clearly do.

Not only that, but another character has joined the mix since your supposed death- The Voice of the Smitten loudly proclaims his love for the Princess and hatred for the Narrator. Plus, he says something unique- he mentioned "the four of us" foiling the Narrator's "assassination attempts". This four includes the Princess, the Smitten, the Hero, and the Host/player, establishing how everyone here perceives the others as separate entities. Plus, now that naming consistency with the others established, the Narrator, not labeled as a "voice", starts to stand out as something... Different, from the rest of you all.

But it's not just you that's changed; everything within the cabin looks different, and it's not only that.

The Princess has metamorphosized; the Damsel wears a new dress and crown, has a much more gentle and delicate disposition, and her voice sounds significantly higher pitched and kinder. Not only that, but her bone structure is physically thinner, as is addressed later in the route. She has inarguably become different in not only personality but appearance too. Additionally, while she recognizes you and your earlier confrontation, she uses the pronoun "I" to refer to both herself as the Damsel and herself as the Princess before. This is indicative of monoconscious systems, where members share an individual consciousness/train of thought and switching involves the feeling of one member "becoming" another in a smooth transition, and median systems, where members often feel like facets of an overarching identity rather than completely separate entities. We see more evidence to medianhood after the two of you escape, and the Damsel seems to be taken away by... Something. You find yourself presented with the Entity holding her gingerly.

"Something finds me in the Long Quiet and brings me the gift of a fragile vessel."

She cradles her and describes the vessels as "nerves and fibers to feel the worlds beyond. Perspectives to make my own", and the Damsel as "soft and delicate. You molded her to love you, and she'll make for a gentle heart." She words it as if they are the same, and yet different at the same time. You ask if she is the Princess, and she says this;

upon pressuring, she states that you're speaking in circles. "Does it matter where one thing begins and another ends?" This once again supports the fluid concept of median plurality. She is different, and yet she is the same. It's hard to tell the lines between one and the other, even though they both still distinctly exist. She asks you to "bring [her] more perspectives so [she] may be whole", wishing for the facets of herself to be returned to her via completing different routes of the game. Interestingly enough, it seems the Entity displays polyconsciousness during these segments, unlike the in-loop Princesses. In another route she mentions the Princess having a will pushing against her own, and at the end of your conversation she mentions one last thing;

You're flung back to the beginning, with only the Hero and the Narrator at your side, and not a single memory ingame of what happened. You can't re-access old routes, so you have to choose to do something different the next time, to bring different parts of herself home to her.

There are many different routes you can end up on, and the Princess will change in many different ways depending on your decisions. Let's go over some interesting notes on how the two's plurality presents over the course of the time loops.

- The Princess seems to be completely monoconscious when within the loops, sometimes acknowledging herself as different but never referring to her other facets as a separate perspective ("I/me", never "she" like the Entity refers to her vessels.) This rule is only broken by the Stranger route whom, where due to the world literally fracturing, had multiple perspectives shoved into a single one, and she refers to herselves as "we".

- The origin of new facets of the Princess seems to correlate directly with the reset of the world they're in, and we never see her looping forms change otherwise, meaning we can likely assume this to be their origin. While time loops aren't recorded to have happened in this universe, we can safely attribute some sort of metagenic origin to the Princess's median facets. The only other time we see her "change" other than after a reset is her disposition & voice upon the first time meeting her, depending on whether or not we take the pristine blade. This displays that the player character's actions directly affect the Princess's facets as well, however delving into that would get into endgame spoilers, so it'll be touched on in part 2.

- Due to the lack of evident amnesia, distress, or disorder expressed to be caused by her plurality (aside from the Stranger) it's safe to assume the Princess falls under the category of systems/plurals without a dissociative disorder such as DID, P-DID, OSDD1, and UDD.

- On the flipside, the Player's system shows quite a lot of distress and disorder, from the Broken and the Smitten attempting to kill the body to the Cold eager to harm it, as well as many different system members with specific jobs meant to help counteract or ease the negative circumstances of the previous loop. Additionally, during the Moment of Clarity chapter, the Host explicitly experiences amnesia of traumatic memories the other members remember everyone experiencing, displaying dissociative amnesia. It's likely this system falls under the category of plurals with a dissociative disorder such as DID, P-DID, OSDD1, and UDD.

- Many speculate the members of the Player character's system to be your past lives or iterations of you after your death, since for the most part, a new one appears every time the body dies. This would be known as a fenigenic/phoenigenic origin. However, there are a couple instances where this theory falls apart- for example, in the No Way Out route, the Player, Hero, Narrator, and Cheated are joined by both the Voice of the Contrarian and the Voice of the Broken at the same time; right after, the Hero states that this is your third time, meaning if the past life theory is true, there should be only two new members, not three. (The line between alive and dead gets fuzzy later in the route, but this one is cut and dry.) Instead, I propose the Player's system to be an adaptive system, ending up with new members whenever they must adapt their mindset drastically to the situation. The new members often tend to be a reflection of the body's actions during the last loop, which supports this concept as well.

- Routes such as No Way Out and The Adversary complicate these assessments. In No Way Out, every time you die you try something different, which results in a new system member every time. In The Adversary, you fight over and over again with the same determination, and The Stubborn remains as the only new member from the beginning the entire time. However, in both of these routes, the Princess stops changing form at all. Evidence once again shows itself that the Player Character's perception not only affects what the Princess will be, but what the results of his own changes will be as well.

- Another differentiation between you, the "voices", and the Narrator, aside from his lack of memory between loops and insistence that he's not the same person as other versions of him, is how they both treat and experience the Mirror. The Narrator is notably distinct in that he cannot see it during regular gameplay, and that once the world is replaced with it at the end of a route, he's no longer existent to perceive it. The ones labeled "voices" are able to see it and fear it instinctively- while they're different from the Narrator, even they disappear when you look in the mirror and speak to the Entity. Hypothetically, this could mean that you are to the Voices' perspectives as the Entity is to the Princess's. The Entity mentions that nothing but you and her come to the space where you speak.

- Upon meeting the Entity after the third time you bring her a vessel, she greets you with this line; "I am a growing chorus of contradiction. A mass of tides ebbing and flowing all at once in more directions than my attention can bear to hold. To look at any one is to shift them all into something new, and to look away is to reshape them yet again. All of me is changing, and yet the rest is still the same." This is an interesting perspective into her relationship with the vessels and how her overarching identity is affected by her medianhood.

- A case that deserves special mentioning is the route of the Spectre, after killing the Princess without hesitation in chapter 1 and then proceeding to kill yourself after. In Chapter 2, you're then presented with the option to let the Spectre possess you temporarily, giving her not only access to your body, but to your mind. For a brief while, she can hear and interact with all the others currently present with you- at the time, the Narrator, the Voice of the Hero, and the Voice of the Cold. Once she's within you, the Narrator can't even get out a full sentence before she comments, "So this is what it's like to be you, huh? Disembodied voice narrating your every move?" She addresses the Voices differently than the Narrator; "All these shards of broken glass on the floor... Are they also supposed to be you?" The Hero takes initial offense at this, saying that "I'm me, is what I am." The conversation continues to the Hero questioning the Narrator's existence, to which he responds, "You don't need to know what I am. You just need to know that I'm different than you. More important."

To this, the Princess answers, "So you're the one that pulled the strings and made me dead. I can tell you don't belong here. You're barely even there. Like the shape of something left behind. You're more of a... Memory, than a person." And then, "You're kind of like me, actually." What does she mean by that? Is he like a ghost? Something else? It'll be addressed in part 2, but clearly he's different from the rest.

- One of the most affirming dialogue options you can have with the Entity is after the fourth time you bring a Vessel to her, where you both speak about how your systems operate. You can ask her, "When you send me back, I'm not alone. There are voices that speak to me. Some of them are me, but one of them is something else. I call him The Narrator, and he wants me to kill you. Do you have a Narrator? Have the Vessels had one?" This is yet another hint that the Narrator is fundamentally different than the rest of the Player's system, making it clear that together they make up a mixed origin system. In response to your question, the Entity responds with this:

From this we get a few things. For one, the Princesses are referred to in the plural sense ("their minds"), enforcing the separation between them. However, she goes on to describe them existing and constantly metamorphosising into something new, basically confirming the concept of monoconsciousness within the Princesses themselves.

....

From all this, we've drawn a lot of conclusions about the plurality of the Player character and the Princess/Entity from Slay the Princess! Such depth of plural experiences is extremely rare in any media, and this one exemplifies it very well, balancing both personhood and parts-based conceptualizations in its depiction. In part 2 we'll go over how the endgame and its philosophy applies to these concepts, as well as the revelations about the characters involved. It's wonderful to have such vibrant and unique plural representation in a video game; thank you for reading this disambiguation!

[intheorangebedroom]

Tonight you belong to me

Series, complete

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. 

Week after week, under the crushing weight of his body, you learn to find yourself. Week after week, under the reverence of your touch, he allows himself to heal. Why can’t this last forever, when you’re so good to each other?

Set a few months after the TF events. 

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC fem!Reader Written in reader format but Reader is an OFC. There are sparse but still present physical descriptions, she has a thorough background, and a name.

Rating: Explicit 🔞

TW: THERE WILL BE NO TRIGGER WARNINGS ON INDIVIDUAL CHAPTERS. So please tread carefully because there will be (blood) (kidding, just mine) mentions of: PTSD, death, infidelity, suicidal thoughts, self-harm, stomach bug & hospitalization, light bondage, rough sex, size kink taken to the next level, lots of bodily fluids (come spit and sweat, sweat come and spit, the usual suspects), questionable (very bad) decisions, unprotected sex like woa, intense darker Frankie, where’s my feminism at, this man, this man, this man. You know the drill.

A/N: alright orange besties, here we go again, I once more locked up Frankie in a bedroom with a girl... More or less an alternate exploration of my favourite tropes: love at first sight, soulmates, forever love, pleasure and pain, hard sex/sweet love, flourishing through a lover's care and attention, Frankie being a B I G boy... Are you in? 🥺 Also, I’ve never set a foot in Florida, bear with me, I'm trying my best. This is going to be a little rougher kind of Frankie, but still our Pilot™️. I hope you enjoy the flight 🧡 

A very special and heartfelt orange THANK YOU to my love @deadmantis for the moodboards & inspos that went straight into the header for this series 🧡 Deadmantis, I love you in every colour.

Chapters

Prologue - In The Beginning

Chapter 1 - Dirt

Drabble - Wrecked

Chapter 2 - Closer

Chapter 3 - The Man At The Frontier

Chapter 4 - Frankie

Chapter 5 - Time In A Bottle

Chapter 6 - Never Let Me Go

Epilogue - In The Beginning

Playlist

[seoulfulbliss]

Park Jongseong (Part Two)

Author’s Note: The long-awaited part two! I worked so hard to bust this part out 😭, so it is a little long. I only intended for 3 parts and the third part has its own personality. I do also want to mention a potential trigger warning for some of you. This chapter does delve into themes of miscarriage and depression. Anything that is depicted could potentially be graphic for individuals who may have undergone that same duress. So, be forewarned. That being said, hope you enjoy babies 🫶🏾

(Friendly reminder, YOU DON’T HAVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORKS ANYWHERE.)

CEO! Jay x Estranged Wife! Black Reader 

Synopsis: A one-night stand with a handsome CEO leads to an unexpected derailment in your life plans. 

Content: Angst, talks of miscarriage, depictions of depression, bullying, neglect, pregnant reader, pregnancy kink, lactation kink, motherhood, smut, autistic child, ghosted friendships, misunderstandings, Jay’s mother reaaaalllllyyyy needs to get a life, eventual happy ending

Word Count: 11.5k

A life really can change in a whole week. One day you can be walking around with no knowledge of any duties or obligations outside of yourself, and the next, you could be staring down at two pink lines saying “congratulations, you’re having a baby.” 

And if that itself doesn’t taunt you enough, then the marriage license currently sitting in your hand might be a decent second option. If Jay was one thing, he was swift and efficient. Definitely a no bullshit type of guy. Maybe that efficiency is how you got pregnant. First times the charm evidently with potent sperm. 

Over the course of the last week, Jay handled everything for you. And by everything, understand that it meant absolutely everything regarding the rearrangement of your life.

You’re currently renting a spot and there’s no way you can get out of your lease? No problem, Jay can handle that for you. All it took was a phone call to the leasing office and it was terminated instantly. So there went your first excuse for why you shouldn’t move in. Then came the issue of furniture and moving your things. 

Well, you’re married to Jay. What could you possibly need this extra furniture for? Okay, you like the zebra print rug and the funky lamps with the pink base? Fine. You can bring that to his place and put it… somewhere safe (read: nowhere visible to Jay). Okay, why on earth would you need this couch? It served its purpose, just sell it. Oh, a relative gave it to you? Then give it back. Sigh. Okay fine, the movers can just put that in a storage unit. 

That’s exactly how the conversation went from start to finish. And each time, Jongseong found the perfect solution to your well-crafted problems. There went excuse number two. 

So then came excuse number three. Embarrassingly enough, you were not above throwing a tantrum in the tiny space of your apartment. There you sat, in the middle of your empty living room debating all the reasons why moving in would not be a great idea. Jay took to standing by the doorway a short distance from you. He had a slight air of annoyance about him that suggested he was itching to tape your mouth shut. With the way that you continued to ramble, his demeanor hinted that he honestly probably would. 

“But I don’t want to move. If I move, that means I lose autonomy over myself. As an independent woman, I take pride in never needing a man. Hell, my body already practically isn’t mine with the way it’s a container for your child. Now you’re asking me to share the same space? You’re already forcing me to take your last name!” 

Robotically, Jay just nods his head. Ohhhhh, so he’s not listening? Okay, time to up the ante. 

“Plus, how am I supposed to familiarize myself with a new environment when I’ve been living here for years? Come on. I’m a pregnant lady. Hormones are bound to start acting up any day. How would you be able to handle that? What if you piss me off so bad that I don’t want to see your face? Which is very possible with you, by the way. Besides, we hardly know each other. We’re not exactly the poster children for couples who can finish each other's sentences.” 

Jay just sighs. There is a response on the tip of his tongue. But you cut him off before he can utter it.

“And, I like the air here. It’s nice, fresh, and crisp. What if the air in your space isn’t suitable enough for the baby?” At this point, you’re totally just making anything up. The bigger the spectacle, the better. Maybe he’ll give in and leave this matter alone. 

“What if it’s full of pathogens and diseases, or nanoparticles that contribute to asthma? Would you take responsibil—”

Before you realize it, he is making his way across the room to you. Pulling you up by the arms, he makes direct eye contact. “Yes, I’ll take responsibility for all those things. You’re worried about the air? Let's get an air filter for all the rooms. Water is a concern? Okay, I’ll make sure we get an improved filtration system for all the faucets in the house. Hell, if you’re even worried about the thread count on the sheets, fine. Let’s buy more. Charge everything to my card.” 

Damn, so he’s a good lover in bed and husband material too? Then what the hell was up with his shitty attitude when you met him at the office? You were definitely undergoing a severe case of whiplash. First, he gives you an out of body experience during sex, then he’s brutally blunt over the technicalities of a business card, and now he’s aggressively caring in terms of the pregnancy. As much as you want to ride this ride again, the roller coaster is moving way too fast.

“You say that now, but what if you change your mind? I can be a hard woman to please—“

Smirk on his face, hands on your hips. “It didn’t seem that way the night we met.” And your mouth is snapping shut, because what the hell did he just say? 

“You…” his head tilts in amusement at your inability to find the right words. Oh, he thinks he’s cute, huh? You’ll show him cute alright. Finger pointed at his chest, this ought to give him a piece of your mind. 

“You can’t handle me, Jongseong. I come with a lot of particularities. The air filter is only the first of many requests. So you should—”

Then without any warning, Jay had you hoisted up over his shoulder, hand coming down harshly across your ass. A squeal of surprise stretches across the enclosed space of the room. “Did you just… spank me?” 

“Yes, because I don’t have time for this. We have a meeting with the registrar in…” he checks his watch, “an hour. And you’re too busy obsessing over the quality of air. Do you like wasting everyone’s time, or just mine?” 

He moves to the bathroom entrance. “Are you insane?!” You splutter as you hit at his back. “Who just slaps someone’s ass like that?”

By the way the next line of words fall from his mouth, you can tell he’s smirking. Smug little prick. “You didn’t have a problem with it back at XO hotel.” And you’re afraid Jongseong won’t make it to the courthouse with the way you contemplate strangling him. He sets you down by the bathroom sink before grabbing a pack of wipes. “Clean yourself up so we can leave. We’ll come back for the rest of your stuff another day.” 

Head hung metaphorically low, excuse number three was officially out the window.  

Fifty minutes later, you are across town at the courthouse watching the red ink of fate as the registrar stamps your freedom away. Congratulations to yourself, you suppose. So you were officially a taken woman on paper. Who cares? No biggie right? It’s just in theory, not practice. 

Except, oh. 

Jongseong bought rings, one for you and one for him. “It’s more convincing this way.” Who he was trying to convince, you had no idea. What you did know was the rock on your finger may be simple, but the price of it was anything but. Cushion cut diamond, with a dainty band. An ode to his personality once again; neat, simple, elegant. He definitely paid a pretty penny for this. 

That was something you noticed about him, his integrity. He lived up to his word. After that marriage certificate was signed off, he handed over one of his black cards. AmEx. Of course you knew he was loaded. But the casual way he said, “Use it for whatever you need.” Then positioning his hand behind the passenger seat as he reversed? Yeah, you nearly folded. His ex-fiancé had to be a strong woman to leave him. 

Living with Jay also proved to be…  interesting. His house was gorgeous. It sat on several acres of forested land. Foliage surrounded it like an accessory. If you analyzed it enough, you would think it was something out of a dark academia film. Much like his office, it too had the sleekness of mahogany paired with black and white accents. Except, you could tell where earth tones were prioritized to balance out the sharp monotony of its clinical aesthetic. Elegance topped with homely comfort. Jay really did have impeccable taste.

In his home, you had your own room. The reason being, him wanting to give you some semblance of personal freedom. You could respect him for it. There were still many things to figure out with your personal life. And you needed as much space as you could get to sort out your jumbled up career. Through the frenzy of discrimination, an unexpected pregnancy, and moving, you still hadn’t told your friends about your current situation either. You hadn’t been in the right headspace to do so. But you knew you needed the comfort and support that comes with friendship. So you planned to do so soon, before you started showing. Speaking of, apparently the thought of pregnancy was a thing Jay liked. 

Much like an onion, he had many layers about himself to peel back. But this was a layer you discovered through observation. Clearly, fatherhood was a desire for him. You could tell in the way he was concerned about your nutrition and comfortability. It meant a lot to watch him discuss your prenatal care with Dr. Paik. Especially in moments where you caught him in the early hours of the morning nursing a coffee while mulling over parenting books. Wanting to take care of people seemed to come naturally to him. 

He also happened to be laser focused on you. Primarily your body. You found him watching you occasionally in the space of his home. Whenever his schedule saw fit. If you were anywhere within his line of sight, his eyes were watching you. Like a hawk. 

You wanted to tiptoe to the kitchen for a late night snack? Surprise, Jay is still awake on the chaise lounge reading infographics in low light. And his eyes drink your legs in from the skimpy pajama shorts you wear. 

You wanted to make an early breakfast before he headed to work? Sure, do your thing. Just expect to be scared shitless by his silent form as he leans against the doorway watching you hum to yourself. 

There were even times when he came home late from long nights at the office. Those were… the more interesting days. If you were bent over the kitchen counter cleaning up the remnants of your dinner, then he was scooting past you like you were in a tight space in the otherwise openly spacious home. And best believe that when he brushed up against you, you were definitely feeling his dick print. 

And if you fall asleep on the couch late at night while doing research? He would come in, see you laying there so vulnerably and try everything in his power not to corrupt that image. But still, you felt him some of those nights. The way he would sidle up to the couch and watch you. You felt the featherlight touch of his hands on numerous occasions when he thought you were fully asleep. The way he would trail his finger lightly from your ankle up your thigh. And he would graze his fingers gently, in circles, around your inner thigh. Then he’d take a deep breath and remove them, like he was fighting to hold himself back. 

“It’s not healthy to sleep on the couch like this.” He’d whisper into your ear. And you would startle awake with a new level of hunger seeping into your skin.

Yes, these last few weeks of living with Jay were interesting. And the dangerous game he played sat as a reminder that you were in his domain. And you were every bit of the prey he believed you to be. 

Prime example being today. Jongseong sat at the kitchen table eating a yogurt bowl as he analyzed an ongoing project on his tablet. His work never really slept. 

“I read something interesting in a book recently.” He started out that morning. 

“Oh?” You hum in acknowledgment, stirring your cup of herbal tea on the counter. It had started getting harder for you to enjoy the scent of coffee. At 8 weeks, your body was really developing a dislike for certain foods and drinks with the way you got nauseous even looking at them. Your body had already begun to change to make way for motherhood. You were filling out. Your breasts becoming more sensitive and tender as they rounded out. Tea was the best gift you could provide yourself these days. You hadn’t quite started showing yet either. But there was a slight protrusion to your belly. Imperceptible to others, noticeable to you. 

“Pregnant women can start producing breast milk as early as 16 weeks.” You immediately still. That was not what you expected. And he was so casual with the way he said it too. Glancing back at him however, you can tell he is anything but. His eyes watch you intensely, like he’s just spilled a secret only meant for you two. A tiny smirk adorns his face. Goodness. He pushes his seat back as he makes his way over to your shocked frame. It’s like predator and prey the way his eyes hunt you down, keep you in place. Then he is standing behind you, practically flush against your back. Both his hands come to rest on either side of you on the counter. He was boxing you in. Then he leans down so his lips just barely touch your ear. 

“It’s called colostrum production. Then around the third trimester, the mommy’s breasts fully develop to provide milk for the baby. Sometimes,” he presses closer to you when he says this. “Mommy’s milk can leak all over her chest when she begins to lactate.” The way his husky voice travels through your ear to the pit of your stomach, if you weren’t already pregnant, you would’ve been by then. His hands slide off the counter to rest on your hips. You swear you’re no longer breathing, the way you feel his bulge against your ass. 

“I wonder what that would look like for you.” His eyes bore into your own mischievously. This is a dangerous game to be played, and Park Jongseong is winning. “Sounds like that’s your favorite fact about pregnancy.” You whisper breathlessly between you two. 

Smugness still lingers in his voice. “What can I say, I appreciate what a woman’s body can do.” And oh, you have to squeeze your legs together with the way his thumbs rub circles into your hips. Almost as if he can read your thoughts, he leans into you further. Breath fans your face, his nose brushing along your skin. “What’re you doing?” You whisper.

“Holding my wife. Is that a crime now?” He chuckles, far less innocently than he is trying to appear. Then he is leaning the rest of the way into your space. Just as his lips brush against yours, his phone rings. The ringtone startles you, breaking the spell. Now sober to your thoughts, you realize Jay is no longer toeing the line of this game. Groaning, he drops his head to your shoulder before reluctantly pulling away. You clear your throat awkwardly and sip your tea, gazing at him as he answers the phone.

“Hello?” Judging by the tenseness of his shoulders, he is less than pleased at the news he receives.

“Secretary Kim, please confirm that what you are saying is true. Is my mother currently on her way up to my office?” Deep sigh, “Okay, I’m on my way.” He hangs up. 

“Everything alright?” You inquire. He had mentioned his mother, and you had yet to meet her. Jay hardly ever brought her up since you moved in. So, curiously, you were eager to meet the woman who raised him. 

Distractedly, Jay nods his head. “Business to take care of.” Then he is off gathering his work necessities before heading out the door. In that moment, you had naively believed in those several minutes of peace that your pregnancy would go smoothly. Boy were you about to be wrong; on many fronts. 

What you didn’t expect was the brewing storm that came along with his mother. Park Eun-ju. Well… the devil certainly does wear Prada. Everything went downhill from there. 

You met her the same day Jay had cornered you in the kitchen. It was late afternoon when she charged into your shared home with her son. She came in blazing like she was the bull and you the matador. You had sat on the living room couch going over the proper procedures to file a discrimination complaint when she appeared. The fast paced click clack of heels on the marble floor being the only warning you got before she stepped her Prada clad shoes past the threshold to the living room. There stood Park Eun-ju in all her glory, decked out in a white pantsuit with red heels. Immediately, her presence filled up the space. She certainly was intimidating.

“So this is the girl.” Disdain dripped like poison in her words. Oh. Immediately, you stood at attention just as Jay rounded the corner.

“Mother—”

“Mrs. Park—”

She raised her hand to cut you both off. “I didn’t ask you to stand. Sit down.” And you damn sure did.

“Mom.” Jay tries again, stepping forward to touch her shoulder.

“Jongseong, why on earth am I just now finding out you filed for a marriage license a month ago? And why am I also just finding out that the girl is pregnant?” She hisses.

“I planned on telling you eventually.”

“Is it yours?” Her gaze left yours long enough to glance at her son in distaste. Okay, what the hell was her problem? What was she being so judgmental for? 

“Yes.”

“How can you be so sure? Have you confirmed? She’s a random woman off the streets. For all you know, she could be lying to you. How can we be certain?” That really ruffled your feathers. What did she mean ‘random woman’ and ‘off the streets?’ She was characterizing you as some broad who jumped from one hook up to the next. 

Cutting in, you make your presence known again. “Excuse me?”

“Mother, please.” Jongseong pleads.

“I’m just expressing concern. Have you thought about the circumstances?” She ignores you in favor of speaking to her son.

“I don’t appreciate the way you’re speaking regarding my character when you know nothing about me.” you state heatedly.

Jay turns to give you an exasperated look.

“And I don’t appreciate you whoring yourself out for my son's wealth.” She quips back acidicly. Your jaw is on the floor. Appalled, you turn to Jay hoping he will say something. There was no way he would let her speak that way about you, right? 

Wrong. 

Jay ushers his mother to take a seat in the chaise lounge chair before he is kneeling on the floor in front of her. Trying to placate her, he grasps her hands in his as he stares up at her.

“Mom, you always taught me to be responsible right? I’m trying to do the right thing. She’s 8 weeks along. The time frame lines up with the night we met and…” He trails off, glancing at you briefly. “You know how I've felt since Da-eun left. I hate breaking commitments, so I decided to marry her to spare us both the embarrassment of bearing children out of wedlock. Especially since the Park name now has a certain status to it.” Eun-ju hums off-handedly. “We’re in this together. That’s just something you’ll have to deal with. Besides, you’ll be a grandmother—”  She cuts him off again.

“I don’t approve.” The entire time Jay spent monologuing, you were stiff. Now, even moreso since his mother bluntly stated she would not be in support of what already was. “Jongseong, the Park name is now a household one. And out of all the women you could choose, you chose one beneath your caliber.”

You scoff in disbelief at her shady behavior. “What about the profiles of the women I gave you after Da-eun? Did you even look at them? Why not consider them instead of…” She trails off as she looks at you. Okay, you’ve had enough.

“What is your issue lady? Jay already explained the situation to you, and while the circumstances surrounding it are a little unorthodox, we’re still bringing a child into this world. You don’t have to like it, but you damn sure don’t have to bitch about it.”

“Hey.” Jay warns. His mother titters. 

“This is what I mean Jongseong, no class. She isn’t a woman I would've picked for you in a million years.” You bristle at that. The lady was itching for a fight.

“I can make my own decisions, mother. What’s done is done. It’s final. We’re married and we’re having this child. End of discussion.” A wave of silence stretches about for several moments before she speaks again. 

“Fine. If you’re so dead set on making your own decisions, then I’ll make this one for myself. I’ll be residing here throughout the entire term of her pregnancy.”

“What?” You and Jay both exclaim.

“Well it's only fair, right? If I’m the grandmother to be, then shouldn’t I be around to get to know your bride? I fear we’re not off to a very great start.” Ohhhhh the heifer was goading you. 

“Whose fault would that be.” You muttered through clenched teeth.

“Y/N.” Jay regards you with a stern look. His mother smirks over his shoulder. Oh god, this was going to be a long pregnancy. Gathering your things, you trudge back to your room to escape the mother-son duo. 

That’s how you found yourself tired and drained by week 10. The reality of it all was finally catching up to you. If living with Jay was interesting, then living with his mother was hell. In the short time she had been there, you learned just how much of a ‘boy mom’ she could be and how much of a momma’s boy he could be. That electrifying moment in the kitchen with Jay never occurred again. There wasn't an opportunity for it to. Unlike before, when you both freely danced around each other, now moments between you two were terse and tense. Heavily weighed down by the presence of his mother. She was literally everywhere. breathing down your neck. Nagging. 

When you cooked a meal, she would criticize the way you did it. If you didn’t clean up enough around the house, she would give you an earful about it. “You should learn how to be a proper housewife.” She would say, as if you didn't aspire for more. She would also make slick comments when Jay wasn’t around. Telling you to monitor what you eat lest you blow up like a house. For crying out loud, you were pregnant and she was demanding so much from you. 

When she accompanied you both to prenatal appointments, she always had to add her two cents. As if all mothers experience pregnancy the same. If you had a concern about something, she would giggle under her breath like you were stupid. While you may not have been pregnant before, you still weren’t daft to your representation in the world. You knew the mortality rate among black women in childbirth compared to their counterparts. You wanted to make sure your body was healthy for you and the baby. Jay did too. In this regard, you both moved like a unit, doing your best to support the future to come. You may not have wanted to be a mother, but you certainly wanted to give Jay this. It warmed your heart the way his eyes would light up at the prospect of fatherhood. You just wished he would stand up to his mother more. Especially when she infantilized him. 

She was constantly droning on about what motherhood meant to her. And she made sure to let you know that Jay was more her son than your husband by making you feel insecure about what little you did know about him. 

“He doesn’t like his clothes washed with this detergent. He has sensitive skin.”

“He doesn’t want his food touching. It’s a texture issue.” 

“Why aren’t you ironing his clothes for work? Do you really consider yourself a wife?” 

Blah, blah, blah. She was stressing you the fuck out. She did everything in her power to push you away, and nearly succeeded at it. One incident in particular nearly made you call it quits. Minding your business was an art form for you, but that all went out the window when this meddlesome woman kept picking at you behind her son’s back. You were sitting on the living room sofa wondering why you hadn’t received information back about the complaint you filed when she waltzed in wearing her favorite brand. Prada.

She took a seat in the chaise lounge analyzing you. Already antsy from a lack of response from the state board, you knew you were a ticking time bomb. And she was getting ready to light the fuse. “You know, I don't know what my son sees in you.” Chuckling smugly, she crosses her legs. “His humanitarian spirit seems to follow him everywhere. Maybe that's why he has such bad luck with women.” Your brows furrow as your eyes dart in the direction of the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Jay said he was taking a shower when he first walked in. That's why she felt so emboldened to brandish her dislike outwardly. 

“He always did feel the need to help strays.” The evil witch was full on smirking. No longer trying to mask her hatred.

“The only reason I am refraining from calling you out of your name is due to the little respect I have for your son. My advice to you would be to leave me alone. Before you poke a bear that will not fall back asleep.” 

She waves your words away. “I’m not worried about your empty threats. I’m worried about your character. Your motive. I don’t trust you.”

Squinting at her, you give her your undivided attention. “In the time you have been here, I have done nothing to give you the impression that I wasn't a decent human being.” 

“What you consider decent isn’t the same for me. Why won’t you just admit you’re using my son for his money?” The way you wanted to throttle her was scarily real. You’ve never had someone disrespect you so blatantly before. Not even the dick who denied you your license was this bold.

“Not once have I entertained the thought of using Jay for his money. I didn’t want this marriage and I certainly didn't want to move in. He sprung it all on me. My parental rights were going to be signed away to him the moment the baby was here.”

“Yet you spend the money on his black card freely. With that ring on your finger, you must have an expensive taste.” It’s crazy the way she makes your eye twitch.

“Because he wanted it this way. He practically twisted my arm just to agree with him.”

“You could have refused.” Eun-ju rebuts.

“I’m starting to think this conversation is more about you hating me than anything else.” You observe.

“I don’t want just anybody having access to his finances and success.”

“What are you really trying to say?” You spit out.

“Are you a gold digger?”

“Excuse me?” How many times can this woman surprise you with her rhetoric? 

“Well, I’ve seen plenty of girls like you. Only in it for the money. Trying to tie a man down by having his child. What do you ladies call it? A baby daddy?” Your jaw has practically unhinged, the way it is on the floor. She giggles. 

“It’s hilarious really. The lengths a person would go for some cash. I asked around about you, and heard you were without a job. Something about failing to obtain a license? So what, you’ve decided to come and mooch off my son?” 

Your lip trembles at the accusation. “How dare you discredit my hard work—” 

“Is it money you need? I can write you a check right now.” It is insulting how her accusations carry the weight of your failure. She digs into her purse to retrieve what she needs to write you a check. 

“How much do you need?” She dabs the tip of her pen onto her tongue before opening the checkbook. Immediately, you slap it out of her hand. The items clatter to the floor as she gasps out loud. It is just your luck that Jay comes back from showering. 

Misinterpreting the previous events, he storms over to you in anger. Grabbing your wrist, he drags you away from his mother. “What do you think you’re doing?!” He yells. You indicate to his mother who is clutching her pearls in disbelief. 

“Did you not just hear the awful things she said to me?” His grip on your wrist tightens. “I don’t give a damn about petty squabbles. That is my mother. You don’t raise your voice at her in this house and you certainly don't attack her.” Tears threaten to spill from your eyes. So that was her objective, get him to gang up on you. Okay, fine. 

“Are you going to give her the same speech?” The grip becomes impossibly tighter, you wince. 

‘This isn’t a group discussion.” His mother giggles with mirth. “Where on earth did you find this woman, Jongseong? What horrible manners.” 

“Mother.” He warns. You whimper at the hold he has on your wrist. 

“Let go. It hurts.” You whisper. He drops your hand like it burns him. 

“Don’t argue with her again.” That night, a bigger rift is wedged between you and Jay. You take to avoiding him the next few days. Although it is misplaced, it is obvious he is mad at you. So you just stay out of his way. 

In your isolation, you are finally prompted to tell your friends about your predicament. Jalissa, Maci, and Dreux, all sit in various states of shock on the other line. “Wait, back up. You’re practically 11 weeks pregnant and you're just now telling us?” Dreux.

“Bitch, is that why you’ve been avoiding us?” Jalissa.

“Was it that guy you met at the bar?” Maci.

“I’m sorry I’m just now mentioning it. Between finding out and the stress of marriage and moving, it just slipped my mind.”

“Marriage?!”

“Moving?” Maci and Dreux shout at the same time.

“Girl, what the fuck is going on?” Jalissa again. So you explain in depth meeting Jay at the club, the night you had, finding out you're pregnant, the marriage certificate, moving in, and the predicament with his mother. 

“Damn. you know those boy moms don’t play about their sons.” Dreux mumbles tiredly. It is clear she is frustrated by the overall situation and your lack of notifying them. “I just wish you had trusted us with this information when you first found out. We could’ve figured this out together.”

Jalissa rolls her eyes playfully, “But then she wouldn’t be staying with a super rich, super hot guy. Sounds like he’s gonna be financing hot girl summer when Y/N recovers.” Maci giggles along with her.

“No, Jalissa. We’re not doing that.”

“Why not?” She pouts. 

“Because I respect him and what we have. I would never use him like that.”

Dreux hums in a way that lets you know she’s preparing for a debate. She always did love to prove a point. “You respect him even through all the bullshit his mother is putting you through?”

“He’s good to me.”

“Yet he still lets her talk to you any kind of way. Sounds hypocritical to me.” Silence resonates through the phone. Maci chews her lip nervously at the tense atmosphere. Jalissa makes a motion with her hand as if to say, “clock it.”

“You know, you always did get stuck in these fantasies instead of living in reality.” You recoil in bewilderment. What the hell did she mean by that? Dreux continues.

“I need you to be serious. He is a rich, Asian man in circles you couldn’t even dream of standing in. His mother already treats you like shit, and you decide to have his baby anyway? What makes you think they would accept you? As a black woman, you have to be realistic about these things. Especially when you’re giving him a black baby. Do you think those snobby people would accept it?” She states.

You scoff. “It’s 2025. It’s not that serious.” Even as you say it, you feel doubt creeping in your gut. You know the stipulations Korean culture has surrounding their first born sons. As an only child, Jay’s circumstance regarding you is a bit unconventional traditionally. 

Jalissa cackles. “Nah girl, I've seen Crazy Rich Asians. They don’t play about their rich men. Especially their sons.”

“This is why you should’ve come to us.” Dreux again.

“Maybe I didn’t want you to lecture me.”

“Maybe you need it.”

“Where is this coming from?” 

“I just think it’s funny how you encouraged me to get an abortion in college over minor things when you’re out here living lavishly, posted up in a mansion with a rich man's baby on the way. Ah… but I guess babies are only important when you have a sugar daddy to provide for you, right?”

Maci gasps as Dreux breaches the topic that really bothers her.

“Dreux.” 

You and Dreux go way back, longer than you had been friends with Jalissa and Maci. You were friends in high school and went to college together. Your freshman year was wild. Dreux practically had to babysit you as she was the oldest. You were also a lot more impulsive back in those days. You begged her to go to a party she didn’t want to attend. That’s how she met Donovan. Messing around with him, she got pregnant that same year. Initially, she wanted to keep it. But in good faith, you had to realistically lay out her options for her. She was a struggling college student in her freshman year who had to take out loans just to enroll. She couldn’t take care of a baby. Especially with Donovan putting his hands on her. You couldn’t let her do that to herself. It wasn't over minor things. So, you slid an abortion pamphlet her way, and the rest was history. You thought Dreux had been fine with it as time went on. But evidently, she still harbored some resentment for it. 

“Uhhhh. Y’all wanna fill us in?” Jalissa smacks her gum.

“She knows what I’m talking about.” Dreux hisses.

“You know I was just protecting you.” 

“Personally, I think you just didn’t want me to have it. You didn’t want to have to compete with a baby. You always did like all the attention.” The accusation stings. Dreux did have to take care of you a lot more than you would care to admit during those times. But you wouldn’t selfishly suggest an abortion to her because of that. 

“That’s not true and you know it. That guy was hitting you, and you didn’t have the financial support to provide for the child anyway. I was doing what was best for you.”

“Load of good that did. You don’t even know what’s best for yourself.” She snarks back.

Uncomfortable, Maci tries to interject. “Uhhh, guys?”

Honestly, you’re too fed up to care what Maci has to say. You have been battling with bullshit for the past several weeks, and the moment you come to your friends for support, this is the nonsense they hit you with? You were already on a short fuse from how mother witch wound you up. Now, the fuse was even smaller. 

“Well, you know what I think Dreux? I think this all stems from a place of jealousy. You think I purposefully didn't tell you because deep down, you have this belief I don't trust you to be happy for me. Honestly, from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t seem like you are. I know you always wanted to be a mother, but don’t take your previous decisions out on me. You could’ve said no, and we would’ve figured it out together.”

As mature as Dreux is, you can tell that she knows you’re right. Which is another thing she hates. Being wrong. She stares at you angrily before spitting the words, “Fuck you” at the screen and dropping from the call. You let out a shaky breath. That came from left field.

“Now why would you say that to her?” Jalissa frowns.

“She literally came at me first.” You splutter.

“But it was clearly something she was still sensitive about.” Maci chews at her lip again.

“How did this conversation turn into lecturing me?” 

“Maybe when you started making crazy decisions.”

“Jalissa, you are the last person to critique any decision making.” You snap.

“Oop,” Jalissa holds her hand to the screen. “Don’t start with me. You already pissed one of us off and I’m very close to getting there too.” 

The attitude in the air is astounding to you. You don’t know how this conversation derailed into a train wreck. Now you had to deal with your friends being frustrated with you too?

Maci interjects successfully this time. “Maybe we should just table it for now. Then pick back up another time.” 

“Good idea. Call me when you get the stick out of your ass.” Jalissa flips you off as she hangs up. Maci smiles awkwardly, then drops from the call too. All you are left with is a black screen. 

For the first time throughout this whole debacle, you feel yourself begin to cry. So many obstacles were hitting you left and right. You truly didn’t expect to feel abandoned like this by your friends. You understand where Dreux’s disappointment and frustration stemmed from, but why couldn’t anyone be happy for you? 

Week 11 was tricky for you. Your friends weren’t answering any of your texts or calls. You tried your hardest to apologize to Dreux, but she wouldn’t even respond. And Jalissa wouldn’t accept your apology until Dreux did. Maci didn’t have a backbone to save her life. So, she went with the majority. That left you dealing with the strained atmosphere of the house alone. Jay was back speaking to you, but most of his responses were clipped. They were hardly conversational. What frustrated you was the fact that he still took care of you though, making sure you were taking your prenatal vitamins and eating proper meals. For the most part, his mother didn’t say much to you again. Feeling like she got the upper hand. She would huff and puff occasionally, but most of what she had to say was whispered out of her son’s earshot. You just ignored her.  

The hormones didn’t make it any better either. You knew pregnancy could present itself differently for most women. But you didn’t know it would be like this. It started out small. Just little aches in your lower back. They ranged from 30 minutes to an hour. On and off. Then came the uncomfortability in your abdominal area. At first, you could handle it. But as the days progressed, the slight pinch started to feel like heavy cramps. But this was temporary. When the aching would stop, you would simply go about your business. Chalking it up to stress, you did your best to take it easy. 

You had no idea what was to come. 

When that letter came in the mail, it really was imminent that a trainwreck was bound to occur.  You had received a response back regarding the complaint you filed. Request to pursue this formally was denied. Denied. You could only chuckle humorlessly at your luck. They wouldn’t accept your fucking request, citing that the issues had been on your end and not the board. If you want to apply for licensure again, then you need to comply with their rules. Which was frustrating, because you had. But in this moment, you could only feel defeat. There was no more fight left in you. With one situation piling up after the other, you finally hit your breaking point. 

And just when week 12 hits, nearing the end of that third month, stress finally catches up with you.

You hadn’t really understood the signs when it happened. All you know is that you woke up from your nap that day alone. Jay was at work and his mother was out. The pain had started out low, then intensified excruciatingly. It was the worst abdominal pain you had ever felt. Worse than period cramps. The pain practically immobilized you, the way you could hardly move. But somehow, you made your way to the bathroom. You didn’t get far before you collapsed onto the floor. You knew immediately that something was wrong. You writhed in pain for what seemed like hours, when you felt it. The gush of something warm and wet between your legs. Pulling yourself up to lean against the tub, you see it. A puddle of blood forming beneath you. 

“No.” You whisper brokenly. The trainwreck was already knocking at your door. 

You sat in pain with the knowledge that your body was failing you. That’s how Jay found you two hours later after coming home for a late lunch. Calling out to you, your whimpers lead him to the bathroom. There you sat, in tears as blood coats your lower body and hands. It looked like a murder scene. Horrified, Jay rushes out to call Dr. Paik as you sobbed quietly on the bathroom floor.  

Carrying a child was an interesting phenomenon. The body adapts to make way for motherhood, shifting parts of your body to sustain a child. Evidently, pregnancy can shift other organs too. Like a heart. Make those overwhelmed at the idea of carrying a child excited with the prospect of eventually holding them. That’s what it did to you. But your body… your body had given up somewhere. Threw in the proverbial towel that misery picked up. 

Miscarriage. They happen primarily in the early stages of pregnancy. You were still within that window. Marginally. There was no baby. 

In that moment, it felt like you were floating. Barely hanging onto this thread called life. Everything dulled to grey, like your perception of color had muted into the background of a rainy day. Attachment settled on you easily. You hadn't known this was something motherhood could provide. But there you were, laying in a care facility staring, but not seeing. Mind elsewhere. You felt empty. You were. 

You’re not sure when you began looking forward to the concept of bringing life into the world. Maybe it was because of the way Jay cared for you. Maybe it was the raw vulnerability in his face when he discussed the idea of building a family. Maybe it was the excited look on his face when he talked about information he had learned in those parenting books. Maybe it was the thought of eventually feeling your child’s first kicks. Maybe it was simply the thought that you and Jay had created a life. But you were disappointed that your body couldn’t follow through with it. Honestly, you felt that Jay was too. 

He never said much about it, didn’t push it. But in ways he used to hover before, he had stepped back. The first few days after, you hardly saw him. He had things to handle. Work never stopped. Which saddened you. The both of you just lost a baby. Shouldn’t he be here grieving with you? You sat at home, the weight of failure looming over you. You felt less than a woman. Ashamed of what your body could not do. And Jay… just worked. Leaving you to drown in that guilt alone.

With Jay absent, you were left in the house to deal with his mother by yourself. However, you avoided her like the plague. You stayed holed up in your room. Didn’t want to eat and could hardly even sleep. She still found ways to antagonize you. 

The straw that broke the camel’s back was the last thing she said to you before you snapped. “Even your body can’t work properly to give my son a child. How could you possibly hold the Park name?” After that, you aren’t sure what happened. All you know is, you blacked out. 

And when you came to, Jay was holding your thrashing body while Eun-ju screamed in horror. She was clutching her neck, it being an angry red. The pearl necklace she had been wearing laid scattered on the floor. You had tried to choke her. She deserved it. 

After that, Jay sent his mother away. He paid more attention to you then. Not necessarily physically, but your mental care. Dr. Paik recommended some mental health clinics to him. Said it might be helpful in situations like yours. Depression from losing a baby. They had both noticed you weren’t taking care of yourself too. So, Jay hired a caretaker to cook and clean after you for a few months. Someone who would make sure you took your vitamins, walked around the house, and stretched your legs. 

Her name was Ok Young-Ja. An older woman in her early sixties. She took care of you in ways that Jay couldn’t, ways he knew he couldn’t. Some days when it felt too much, she would get you out of bed and run a bath for you. Soaking in the warm water, she would entertain you, humming old trot songs occasionally. Then you would say, “Tell me your story.” And she would. 

Throughout that time, Young-Ja was a silent force keeping you steady. Truly, it felt like she was a lifeline, your support in a dark place. 

You hadn’t spoken to your friends much since the incident. They were heavily on social media living their best life. They didn’t seem interested in reconciliation the way you had been. Instead, trying to force you to come back and grovel. In your current state of mind, you didn’t need it. There was no meeting them halfway. So you left them at their destination and kept searching for your own. 

That had been hard too. But as days turned to months, you realized that you deserved more than what life had tried to take from you. 

So, you decided to get better. Not just for yourself, but because you felt like you owed it to your baby to no longer feel at fault for what couldn’t be. 

It started out slow. You would get up and help Young-Ja with little things around the house. She would fuss, telling you to take it easy. But you wanted to do this. It took your mind off things. Besides, spending time with Young-Ja had been the brightest part of your life in the few short months she cared for you. Then you started helping her with groceries. It felt good to smell fresh air, to feel the humidity on your skin. Young-Ja was happy for you too. You could tell by the way the creases near her eyes dipped in just a bit further at the stretch of her smile. She would pat you on the back like you were her baby, gushing about how good you were doing. 

Then the time came for her to depart. Six and half months after being married to Jay, three and half since you miscarried. You knew Young-Ja had done all she could do for you. She did too. Patting your back as she held you, it was too easy to cry. Jay had been there to send her off. He thanked her and paid her probably way more than they agreed upon. And she was off on her next journey. 

Hollowness ate at your heart those first few days. Jay hovered, almost as if afraid you would revert back to that catatonic state. But you grew stronger by the day. This was only a temporary sadness. Still, you laid in bed most nights wishing he held you. You felt him do so once, when he thought you were sleeping. Apparently, he only liked to let his inhibitions loose when he was sure he wouldn’t be embarrassed for it. That night, he had cried laying in the bed embracing you from behind. Silent sobs wracked his body as he cried into your shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Muffled gasps whispered into the night. You let him, pretending to be asleep. 

Everyone grieves differently. After that, it didn’t happen again. Still, you pressed on in your quest for healing. 

Keeping busy with house chores, you became obsessed with routine. Like clockwork, you would get up, cook for Jay, send him to work, clean whatever you could, and prepare dinner. It was monotonous, becoming boring over time. Especially on the nights when Jay came home late. Those were the nights he wouldn’t eat, deep in the throes of building out a new project. 

In his frustration, he would brush you off, sheltering in his office space. That door stayed closed often, as if you and he were separated by two entirely different worlds. But you were, weren’t you? And his mother still did well to remind you.

Another long night for Jay had turned into another lonely night for you. You were doing your best to take care of things and stay upbeat despite the previous months of pain. You wanted to care for Jay, longed to befriend him in ways you hadn’t truly been half a year ago. He was your husband. You wanted to know every detail about his personal life. But even if she no longer set foot in the house again, his mother found ways to remind you that you both were not the same. 

It didn’t take much to hear the heated conversation spilling beyond the door of Jay’s office. Though muffled, it was easy to pick up on his mother’s complaints. “Staying with her isn’t an obligation! There are plenty of other women out there suitable for you.” 

“Mother,” Jongseong sighs into the receiver. “You know why I married her.”

“And she lost the baby, Jongseong. Don’t you want to be happy? With a real family. Can she even provide that for you?” He is silent for some time.

“Just… think about it, alright? Look over those dating profiles I sent you.” Backing away from the door, you reclaim your spot in the kitchen. Jay looks haggard when he comes out of the office. You are cleaning up the dinner he didn’t eat. “You’re still awake?” He questions.

“Yeah.” You mumble dejectedly. Hearing that conversation, you became hyper aware of the insecurities surrounding your body. It hurt to hear his mother question the validity of your womanhood. It hurt even more so that Jay did not disagree. He hums, observing you. “Don’t stay up too late.” You were from different worlds. Maybe Dreux was right.

After that, you took to only focusing on yourself. Your conversations with Jay went nowhere unless he personally started a conversation with you. He just let you be, chalking it up to the lingering effects of depression. What he didn’t realize was that you were pulling away.

Saturday morning found you out at the local park. You took to jogging recently, finding new hobbies to preoccupy yourself. Running made you feel good, helped clear your head when it was too cluttered. That’s why you built it into your routine. You were running the same route, when fate began to align. 

It was coincidental, the way this giant dog came barreling into you. His leash had flapped in the wind as he plopped himself onto you. There you sat, on the ground, a giant pile of fur in your arms. Annnnnd he was licking your face. Giggling, you push him away. “Down boy.” You laugh. 

“Sully!”

“Omg, we’re so sorry.” Two feminine voices rang out at the same time. Two women dressed in walking gear rush forward. 

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him! He really likes people, but he’s never acted like this.” Yellow windbreaker with the turquoise hair apologizes. 

The brunette with the long hair bows at you. “We sincerely apologize. We're dog sitting for a neighbor, and this stubborn guy decided it was a great time to yank his leash away.” She helps you stand up.

Dusting yourself off, you observe them. They seem really sheepish about the turn of events. The shorter colorful one red in the face with embarrassment. The taller one bowing once again. That’s how you meet them, Hyori and Mei. A Korean and Japanese woman respectively. A gay couple. You picked up on it by the way they held hands. It was cute. The rest was history.

By the tenth month of your marriage to Jay, you found yourself well-integrated into the couple’s lives. After that incident in the park, you would see each other often. And Hyori, feeling bad about the previous events, took the initiative to invite you for coffee as an apology. Their treat. Since then, you three were practically attached at the hip. 

Jay was super busy most nights. So, you didn’t think he would notice the days you stayed out late. 

Delighted to have new friends, you spent as much time as you could with them. They pulled you further into a lighter headspace. One night in their flat, over a few drinks, you tell them your story. Tears had been shed, with both women comforting you. Out of all your failures recently, this was an accomplishment you could be proud of. You had made genuine connections in your adult age. That was no small feat. Most people stress the complexity of finding people to befriend in their adult age. Some citing horror stories. But these two? Their generosity made it easy to settle in your friendship.

Nothing could pull you from the cloud you were on. Not even Jay. Or so you thought. He had come home one night, his secretary in tow. Kim Yeonmi. You remembered the name, but had never met her. She was pretty, tall in a modelesque sort of way. Her hair was pulled back into a bun. Broad shoulders suited her slim frame. 

“Um, hi.” You mumble in surprise. She just nods her head, not opening her mouth to speak. Rude. You direct your attention to Jay. He scratches his neck awkwardly. “What’s going on?”

Yeonmi cuts Jay off before he can speak. “There’s a gala we have to attend for one of Park Enterprises' business partners. Jay invited me as his date and thought it a good idea for me to get dressed here so we can arrive on time.” She wraps her arm around his. Oh. 

“A date.” You hum. 

The intensity of Jay’s stare bores into you. He asks Yeonmi to go get ready before turning to you. The click clack of her heels sashaying across the floor fills the empty space for several moments before he speaks. Hands in his pockets, “It’s an annual event. For several years, Yeonmi has gone with me. I would’ve invited you but… I didn’t know your plans. You’ve been out a lot recently.” The last part sounds like an accusation if you focus on it too much. So instead, you hear his statement for what it is.

“Okay, Jay.” 

He furrows his brows, “Okay?”

You shrug your shoulders. “If that’s all it is, there’s no need for an explanation right? It’s not like there’s anything else going on… is there?” 

Immediately, he denies. “No,” he said that with conviction. Must be true. 

“Then we’re fine.” And you had meant it. But you became increasingly frustrated as the night went on. Furious that he had another woman in your house together. Getting ready for an event, just to be draped across his arm like eye candy. Yeah, you were pissed. Little did you know though, the night was only just beginning for you. 

This proved to be true, when hours later, Jay stumbles into the house quite tipsy. “Jay?” You called out as you heard sluggish footsteps down the hall. Making your way to the living room, you find Jay leaning against the wall tugging off his tie. His eyes find yours in the open space. 

“Wow,” He drawls. “Look who's actually home tonight.”

You scoff at the words tumbling from his mouth. 

“Are you drunk?”

“Didn’t have a hot date lined up?” He asks, completely ignoring your statement. Who was he to question you? 

“Didn’t you?” You reply back. He tilts his head back in amusement. “The only woman I want on my arm is the one standing in this room.” A smirk forms on his face. You can see the hunger in his eyes underneath the lowlights of the living room.

“That’s too bad. She didn’t get an invite.” He stalks over to you, eyes drinking in your half naked form. You were only in a long shirt and panties. You didn’t have it in you to be self-conscious when you first left your room. But the way his eyes took you apart, you were beginning to feel the effect.

“Would you have come if I begged?”

“I would’ve done a lot of things if you begged me.” By now, he is standing in front of you. The first three buttons of his dress shirt unbuttoned successfully. His hands come to rest upon your waist. The smell of him is intoxicating. The room is heavy with a sensual atmosphere. You both were teetering back on the edge of that dangerous game.

“Yeah? Say it again.” He commands with a whisper. You shudder at the attention of his gaze. He presses you into the wall behind you. “You like it when I beg? Tell me again.” His lips graze your jawline. How you got in this predicament so quickly? You hardly know. But what you do know is this, Jay’s actions are being controlled by his alcohol consumption. Clearing your mind, you push him lightly. 

“You're drunk, Jay. Let me get you some water.” What you don’t expect is for him to corner you at the sink as you get him a glass. He cages you in. Hot breath fans your ear as he says, “Will you let me touch you if I beg?”

“Jay—” You start.

“Please.” The brokenness of his whisper drowns out any other noise. Including your rational thinking. 

The tightrope you both were barely balancing on snaps. 

Throwing all caution to the wind, you set the glass aside and pull him into a searing kiss. He groans into your mouth, finally getting to have a taste after so long. His hands grip the flesh of your cheeks as he grinds against you. His lips taste of tangerine whiskey sour. Your favorite drinks respectively. 

“Jay.” You whisper against his lips. He hoists you up on the counter, standing between your legs. Pulling away, he stares dazedly at your face. “I fought so hard against this carnal need. Do you have any idea what you do to me? Those nights I found you lying on the couch, I wanted to mount you and bulldoze you on every surface. Like a bunch of rabid animals. That’s how I wanted to fuck you.” 

Whimpers spill from your lips as you try to clench your legs shut. “Uh uh,” Jay lightly slaps your thighs. “Keep these open for me. Yeah?” You nod your head dumbly. 

“Good girl.” He whispers against your lips. 

Then he’s pulling back to stare at your cunt. Your pussy is already wet with anticipation. A wet patch forms on your underwear. Jay groans when he sees it. 

“So wet already. All this for me?” 

“Yes.” You whine. 

Biting his lip, he chuckles before leaning back in to kiss you. The kiss is messy with desire. You both nip at each other’s lips, battling for dominance. Jay’s fingers trail down to your clothed pussy. He rubs circles over your clit. You swallow a moan deep in your throat. 

“You like that baby?” His fingers work desperately over that sweet spot. 

“Yeees,” you’re practically sobbing. He smirks. Then he’s pulling your panties aside and shoving his ring and middle fingers in you. Gasping, you tilt your head back as he sucks marks into your neck. The wet squelching of him finger fucking you echoes through kitchen.

“So fucking messy.” He sticks his tongue into your ear. 

“Oh, God.” You cry out. Just as the band in your abdomen is about to snap, he stops. 

You huff in frustration. “Why’d you stop?”

“Because I’m starving. Don’t you want to let me have this pussy for dessert?” That was the fairest warning he could give before he was on his knees. Pulling your panties down in one go, he devours your pussy on the kitchen floor. You hold on to the counter as he eats you out like a dying man. 

Your toes curl at the pleasure his tongue gives. His eyes brand your soul as he laps at your clit messily. He groans into your cunt when you pull his hair. It doesn’t take long from that point for your orgasm to creep upon you. With a high pitched keen in the back of your throat, you cum all over his face. 

He continues to bury his face in your pussy as he works you through it. Lapping up the rest of your juices, he pulls back. He gives you a cheeky smile, lower half of his face wet with your fluid. 

“Let me make love to you.” And he does. He takes you apart on the same couch he envisioned fucking you on multiple times. You’ve thought it before, but Jay is a great lover. A pleaser. He loves to give pleasure to his partners more than receiving it. Even still, you give him what he is owed. His hand guides your head as you slobber all over his cock. 

“Fuck.” He grunts, as you hollow your cheeks. You flick your tongue around the head as you fondle his balls. Pulling back, you let your drool drip down his length before you dive in to suck his balls. 

If Jay didn’t know any better, he’d think you to be a succubus. Because you were definitely sucking his soul, straight out of his ballsack.

Not wanting to cum too soon, he pulls you off. Then he lays you on the couch and lines himself up with your entrance. “Do you care if I wear a condom or not?”

“No. You’re my husband, right? Cum in me. I’m yours.” And Jay is groaning as he sinks into your heat. You hold hands as he rocks into you at a steady pace. 

It doesn’t take much longer for you both to reach your high. You pull him closer as he cums inside of you. Lips locked in a passionate kiss. “Thank you.” He whispers against your lips. 

That night had been euphoric. You were content to believe that everything had progressed for the better. But perhaps, the joke was on you. You and Jay seemed to find middle ground. Him actively working on talking to you and coming home at reasonable times. After that night of passionate sex, he even took to kissing you. But most things don’t last if his mother is involved. That was one thing Jay couldn’t improve. Her deplorable behavior. She set Jay up on a date. 

How you found out was accidental. Jay had discarded his phone on the counter when he walked in the house. He went to shower, stating he had a business dinner to tend to later that night. It really was a shame that he had his text previews on. Because his mother kept blowing up his phone with messages. The final one? A picture of a fair skinned young woman with an innocent gaze. Then the time and place. Followed up with, ‘don’t be late.’

Everything around you seemed to stop. There was no way Jay was about to go on this date his mother had set up. Had the sex meant nothing to him? Was he… playing you? 

Confused, you just set the phone down and waited for him to come back out. He was dressed in burgundy dress pants with a crème polo shirt. He wore an Armani watch with a brown band and gold face. Hair slicked back, he looked good. And he smelled it too. 

“Hi.” He smiled softly, kissing your cheek. He moved behind you to pick up his phone. You analyzed him as he read the messages. Facial expression unreadable, he pockets his phone, moving towards the walkway entrance. Picking up his wallet and keys, he turns back to you. There you stand in the living room doorway. 

“I’ll be back later tonight, baby.” Baby. A slip of the tongue that he had gotten used to calling you. 

“Where did you say you were going again?” 

“Bella Noche Bistro. I have a reservation for 9 PM. I’m already running behind. I need to be out the door.” He rushes over to give you one more kiss, and then he is gone.

Bella Noche Bistro at 9 PM. With Hwang Soyeon. The exact same text message his mother sent him. The son of a bitch was playing you.

Trying to calm your mind, you spent the next hour and a half cleaning. Part of you wishes you never cleaned Jay’s office. However, the other part of you that strongly identifies as his wife, is glad. Going through his drawers, straightening up things, you discover something you probably shouldn’t have. There, sitting on top of another stack of papers is a document. Which reads ‘Divorce Agreement’ in bold letters. 

Jongseong planned on… divorcing you? Sitting down, you take a moment to gather your thoughts. So, that’s why he was out at these late night dinners. He was shopping for a new wife. At least that’s what you told yourself. 

Every part of you is pissed regarding this. How could he do this to you? After everything you’ve been through? Your entire life was upended for him. You suffered through a traumatic miscarriage. You were depressed, alone. But you stuck it out and stayed with him. Yet this is how he repays you? 

Betrayal shot like an arrow deep into your heart. The red string of fate that tied you to Jongseong felt so much like a noose in this given moment. Everything is so impossible with this family. Between his mother and him, you aren’t sure who deserves your wrath more at this moment. But not to worry. You would bide your time. This marks the official checkpoint of you checking out. You were done, tired of being life’s punching bag. So you put the paper back, close the drawer, turn off the light, and walk back out of that fucking place. Showering, you figure out exactly what to do. 

You wouldn’t act now though. You would be patient.

And you would mention nothing of it to Jay when he comes home with syrupy lips of whiskey. And you would say nothing as he kisses you, making love to you again and again. All while shopping around for dates. And you would just smile, as he left for another day of work. Then you would pick up the phone and call Hyori. Because Hyori and Mei had their own plan separate from you, one that required an upheaval of their lives. 

A relative of Hyori’s had passed away. And being their only next of kin, left her a nice, spacious home off on the coast. As her inheritance, she wanted to turn it into a bed and breakfast. They had floated the idea to you a month ago, stating that they would move there permanently. It hand stung then, to hear that your two new friends planned on leaving. You felt selfish in wanting them to stay. But now, there was no need. Because you were about to give the Park family exactly what they wanted. 

If a divorce was what they wanted, then a divorce was what they would get. 

A few days later, when Jay is out, you would go back to his office to look through his things. The document in question, unmoved from where you left it. It seemed as though he was really considering this. Well, you’d just have to beat him to the punch then wouldn’t you? Flipping through the pages, you would find the dotted line your signature needed to be on. In just a few short swoops, it would be signed. Once again, sealing your fate. 

And a week from now, when Jay comes home. You will be long gone. 

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