🌑 How To Enter The Void State ?

an open letter to those who have not yet shifted.

i don't know how many of you will see this, let alone how many will read it entirely. this letter is for those who have been trying to shift for two years, five years, more. those who cannot give up, and those who will not give up, and maybe even those who already have. to preface, this letter will not rehash everything you already know. you've scrolled every forum, you've seen every method, you've read every tip. you've trialed, and errored, and persevered... but you're still here. law of assumption, manifestation, belief, intention. but you're still here. you've been told all about shifting... right? you already know what shifting is... right? you should already know how to shift... right? but you're still here.

this letter is not intended to debase or invalidate those who do already believe in those things and who are satisfied with that. this is for those who have been trying that way for 2 years, 5 years, and more, and still haven't shifted. this is for those who might want an alternative perspective.

what you've been told

in my personal opinion, the online shifting community as it currently stands is very... rigid. narrow. there are a few dominant views, and then the many who drown out any possible dissent or disagreement. i do understand why this happens. reality shifting is already a marginal belief, hounded by anti-shifters and disbelieved and debunked on all sides, so it makes sense that people feel the instinct to close ranks at any sign of an outsider. unfortunately, this has led to a community that raises its hackles at even other reality shifters who simply don't believe the exact same way that you do. law of assumption. manifestation. intent. (and dare i say it, the multiverse.)

i don't believe in any of that, in the context of shifting.

now, wait! don't go yet, stay with me. it's okay if you do. i'm not intending to change the minds of those who already believe in these things. i'm not going to go at anyone and say "i'm right, you're wrong, and you must change your mind to agree with me!" that would be silly, and counterproductive. let's lower our guards, and extend an olive branch, please. if you feel these things serve your journey, then carry on. you're allowed to disagree with me, i won't be upset. you're allowed to think i'm wrong, if you want. literally no worries at all.

but i am a little tired frankly of certain ideas being treated as the only options, and often in a rude or hostile manner. if you are someone who has spent five years trying to shift, and you see yet another post that boils down to "all you have to do is want it hard enough" does that not hurt your soul? the following sections of this post are for those who these ideas have not been working for. for those who have not yet shifted. it's been two years. five years. more. and you're still here. are you open to another possibility?

what is reality shifting?

i've told you what i don't believe, but what about what i do? i'll try to keep this as concise as possible for the sake of brevity and comprehension, knowing i could potentially clarify in future posts. but please continue with the understanding that im a chronic overexplainer, and my curse is the fact that the extra words don't always actually increase understanding. bear with me.

reality shifting: broadly speaking, this refers to shifting your linear experience of reality from one, to another. this has been known by many other names in the past, across continents and cultures, even in pre-agriculture societies. i'd include ideas like persistent realms, quantum jumping, focus 21, etc. language is subjective, and people may describe or understand the same experience in different ways.

i believe reality shifting is a haphazard side effect of our limited ability to perceive and comprehend reality. let me explain. space, as we understand it, is three dimensional. but reality isn't. it's our bodies and minds limiting our perception and understanding that makes all of reality seem that way to us at surface level.

1D: let's consider a hypothetical one dimensional existence. everything would a straight line, and the only way to perceive anything else would be as a single point directly in front or directly behind you. forwards and backward. the 2D and 3D are beyond your limited ability to physically sense or feel, let alone to comprehend. Forget about the 4D (time). due to your lack of comprehension, you cannot move at will in two dimensional planes, let alone three dimensional space or even time. you are static, a single point.

2D: let's consider a hypothetical two dimensional existence. it would be a flat, infinite planar expanse. you might be a square, or a circle. you can move freely in two dimensional directions (forward, backwards, side to side), but not in the 3D. No up, no down. If you tried to perceive a three dimensional object, you would only be able to comprehend it as linear, a line on the horizon where it intersects your 2 dimensional plane. you would perceive the 3D as moving around or within you on its own, without the ability to direct it. the 4D, or time, if you could perceive it, would be static, a singular point at a time.

3D: what about our three dimensional existence? congratulations, you now are a form, such as a sphere, or a cube. you can move freely in a voluminous, infinite three dimensional space. Forward, backwards, side to side, up, and down. if you *try* to perceive the fourth dimension (time), you can only comprehend it as linear, a line where it intersects your 3 dimensional space. You perceive it as moving around or within you on its own, without the ability to direct it yourself. any dimensions higher than that, if you could perceive it, would be static, a singular point at a time.

quick 4D sidebar: clearing this one up now because this will confuse some of you who are involved in other communities. in many law of assumption and manifestation communities, "4D" has been used to refer to your imagination, inner world, a bridge to "higher vibrational states", etc. i don't use it that way. i use it in the sense of the mathematical concept, or linking three-dimensional space with time. 4D=time.

4D and 5D: so, time is the fourth dimension. that means it is four dimensional, yet due to our limitations as 3D creatures, we can only perceive it as linear. we perceive it as moving around us, without our direction, forwards, (or backwards in some cultures). what about the 5th dimension? the static one? the one we can only perceive one point of at a time? let's call this 5th dimension... reality. due to our limited perception, it may not seem like it, but time and reality are just like space in that all of it exists at once. if you were a 5th dimensional creature, you wouldn't see a bunch of different realities, you'd just see one the way we just see one 3D universe around us right now.

tip: think of it this way, if a three dimensional creature moving through time is only able to perceive it linearly, it may think that each point of time exists separately, passing by in chronological order. this would be like a character in a book, the character experiences each page one at a time as we turn the page. but we know that actually, the entire book exists all at the same time, and already did exist before we picked it up and started reading it, and continues to exist even when we set it down. the same is true of time, and reality. even if we perceive it as linear, or a point, all of it actually exists simultaneously, like space.

still, we can only perceive one point of reality at a time. i believe when we reality shift, we are by some freak of nature (or nurture) finding a way to trigger a "movement" in this "5th dimension," and therefor shifting our linear experience of time and our singular perceptual experience of one reality to another. ("movement" is a bit of an abstraction here, as movement generally refers to 3D space. you're not actually moving anywhere, you're already there, you just... can't see it at the same time as this.)

ok, so how the heavens do i shift?

if you read through all of the above, i assume that's what you're asking by now. "get to the point shimmer! how do i shift?" if you don't need intention, belief, assumption, manifestation, three gallons of water, crystals, or anything else then what do you need to shift?

if we boil shifting down to its absolute core, all you need to do in order to shift is to shift. (put down the pitch forks, and the flaming feathers and tar. i'll elaborate.)

shifting involves finding a way for us 3 dimensional creatures to trigger a shift in a dimensional direction that we do not have the capacity to perceive. so what i mean by "all you have to do to shift, is to shift" is that there is no physical movement, or secret password we can whisper that makes us shift, not inherently. it's sort of like being told to find your invisible and non corporeal primordial tail, and then swish it in a direction that doesn't spatially exist. find your "move in the 5D button", and then press it. except, there is no button.

so how do we "move" from one point of reality to the other? well, the first clue to this is in noticing what part of us is actually doing the "moving".

you don't make it happen with your three dimensional form. there is no body part or mass or motor function in your 3D body that triggers a shift. there's nothing that allows a three dimensional form to move in five dimensional directions... you just can't. your body stays here. that's good news actually, in my opinion. there is no need to force yourself into strange bodily positions, or chug water, or whatever else. your 3D body is irrelevant, because it's not going anywhere. you don't have to do anything with your body to shift. some people can shift awake, asleep, in the shower, walking around, etc.

you also don't necessarily do it with the fourth dimension, time. there is no specific amount of time that you'll shift after. it might seem you've spent a lot of time trying to shift, but the actual shift itself is instantaneous. some people shift their first try, and some of you might be on your second decade of attempts. again, the time factor being irrelevant is good news because this means it doesn't have to take time.

i also don't think we do it with just intent or belief. the intention word gets used so much it basically means nothing, but the general idea is that intent is the driving force that manifests your desired outcome. in the context of shifting, people use it like "set your intention to shift, and you will" or "intent makes you shift." or the dreaded "you just have to believe harder." personally, i don't think that's true. i don't think intention makes you shift. if it did, you all would have shifted by now, right? i think looking anyone who's been trying to shift for 4 years dead in the eye and telling them they just haven't intended to shift yet is honestly a bit cruel and unusual. some people who intend to shift will shift, but in my opinion, its a case of correlation, and not causation. there are also people who shift without intending to, or who intend to shift but don't.

it's also not really our thoughts that shift. or our mind as a concept, or our entire self. we know this because you don't turn into a comatose vegetable when you shift to a different reality. your thoughts, mind, and self here are unaffected by your awareness shifting away from it. if you successfully "permashifted" to hogwarts tonight, your self here would still wake up in the morning and go to work.

so what does shift? only our linear experience of our own awareness. so in order to reality shift, we just need to find a way to trigger our awareness to shift from one point of reality to another in a non linear fashion, and then integrate that into our linear experience. aha! you think. great! now how do i do that...? unfortunately, this is not an exact science (yet.) once you begin shifting regularly, i think it gets "easier" in some regards because you get a sense for how your awareness "feels" and what works for you. for those who haven't shifted, i can't say "take three deep breaths and recite the secret words, and then you'll shift." there is nothing specific you can physically do that will for certain make you shift. there's no secret passwords.

there is no key to shifting. the good news is, this means there is also no lock.

what we can do is get ourselves primed, into a state that increases the chances our awareness is triggered to shift. ie, find the "move in the 5D" button, (you know, the one that doesn't exist) and learn how to press it. and because it is our awareness that shifts, my "methods" have to do with priming your awareness for shifting. you don't need to believe, which is a good thing because it means doubts won't hold you back. you don't necessarily need to intend, which is a good thing because it means there are no secret blockages in your way. no "subconscious", no "reprogramming", no "delusion is the solution." you don't need any of that. you also don't have to do anything specific with your body or space unless you feel like it and want to. you don't need a script, but you can make one if you want. it's whatever, it's irrelevant darling, it's non-consequential.

these three methods below basically encompass all shifting methods out there. i might expand on techniques for these methods later, but for now i'll go over the basics.

method one: pure awareness

it basically boils down to two steps. get into a state of pure awareness, and then shift.

the first step for this method is actually a simple one, sort of, but i think it's unkind to call it easy. it can be easy, if you just happen to have a perfect technique that works for you on your first try. if so, congrats! if not, don't despair. it comes more naturally to some than others, at first. you can probably build the skills and try different techniques necessary for you to get there.

but what is pure awareness? it's currently very often being called "the void state", but i'm not using that term for a few reasons. one, i think using the term "the void state" or calling it "the void" is making people think it's some sort of place that they're trying to go. it's not. it's not a physical place at all, and that's kind of the point. most of the time, your awareness is perceiving reality through the confines concept of 3D reality, because that's the data input it's receiving from your brain and body. that grounds you in this reality, and allows you to go about your day to day life. your goal with the pure awareness method is to focus on just your awareness, absent of all 3D distraction data and input. that way, your awareness is primed to be triggered to shift its focus to the 3D perception of a different point of reality when you come out of that state.

i might make a post about techniques for getting into the state of pure awareness, but this post is already long enough.

method two: destabilization of awareness

this method gets over complicated, but it basically boils down to two steps. destabilize your awareness, and then shift.

honestly, most shifting methods i see online are in some way doing this. lucid dreams, the hypnogogic state, SATS, self-hypnosis, "symptoms", and also all those iterations of the "raven method" the "staircase method" the "alice in wonderland method" etc are all basically ways to destabilize your awareness from the linear perception it is so used to in this point of reality, offering the opportunity of triggering a shift to a different one. they're all sort of either distracting or subverting your focus on the 3D here in this point of reality.

basically, you'll be trying to discombobulate yourself to the point your awareness is not focused on 3D reality, and trigger a shift.

method three: absence of awareness

sleep method gang, rise up. i'm serious. this method involves reducing your awareness to zero, or as close to it as possible, another potentially prime state to trigger a shift. (and by sleep method, i don't mean lucid dreamers or SATS, i mean simply going to sleep here, having a period of complete unawareness, like totally dreamless sleep, and then waking up in your DR.)

this absence of awareness during sleep is (in my experience) the most common cause of accidental or unintentional shifts, but you might be one of those who can trigger a shift to desired realities with this too.

sleeping is not the only way to get to the state of the lack of awareness. i'd say total distraction methods also count for this. you're not asleep, your body is awake, but you're so "zoned out" (or alternatively in a meditative state such that) you're absolutely not aware of the 3D experience of this point of reality anymore.

this is completely different from the state of pure awareness by the way, because in the state of pure awareness you are aware. like, in pure awareness you have a full train of thought and total control. the absence of awareness is the opposite. it feels sort of like a "blip" where reality time and space passed you by and you were not aware of it.

should've tapped into the void state this entire time 😭🤦🏽‍♀️

that fear i used to have with inducing the void state awake was there out of the fear of failure, but chile when i tell you, it's so... easy?? 😭😭

i didn't induce it awake, but i tapped into it, but i wasnt aware.

when i was inducing it awake, my body went numb and i started seeing these purple flashes and my eyes were trying to flutter open rlly badly, but i started hyperfocusing on everything so i didn't end up inducing the void state aware, only when i put my mind at rest and relaxed, tht's when i induced the void state.

when i tapped out, i didn't feel like i woke up. it literally felt like i tapped back into awareness. andddd yea? that's all i wanted to say.

btw, i was listening to the same high frequency guru void state vid, and i was just counting from 1 up, and i focused on the blackness behind my eyelids.

(HS! Au) Reading together 📕

Tried talking about Shifting to one of my closest online friends, she didn't say anything wrong but the way she responded made me feel like she was making fun of me. I'm done talking to strangers about this.They can suffer in here

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

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

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

Major Tags: Graphic Violence, SMUT—Minors DNI, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Polyamory, Founders and Executives, Gaming Industry, Canon-Divergence. Additional Tags: The Office-style Commentary, Crack Treated Seriously, Social Media Meltdown, Mendez Brothers Vibes, JJK Headcanons, Hurt Reader, Pregnancy Complications, Regretful Gojo and Nanami, Protective Yaga, Internet Sleuths, Domestic Chaos. Warnings: Emotional Abuse, Poly Relationship Drama, Unplanned Pregnancy, Medical Emergency, Canon-Typical Violence, Social Media Backlash, Emotional Distress, Slight Body Horror.

A/N: Before you dive in, remember:

You iz kind. You iz smort. You iz a Bruce Wayne-level CEO who works harder than Gojo avoids accountability.

Your employees? Taken care of so well they’re bored—so bored that they are all unhinged.

You’re remote working this chapter because even god-tier CEOs deserve to peace out occasionally.

Alot of 4th wall breaking in this, but not fr.

This chapter was supposed to be a chill 5k words. Now it’s a 17k monster that eats vibes and spits out madness. Next chapter will probably be shorter. Probably.

Graphic John Wick-style violence & SMUT ahead. Not between the people you wanted (sorry not sorry), but it’s there. If you’re underage, go touch grass. Minors, DNI.

Square brackets are included if you wanna skip the smutty bits, but honestly, why would you?

Smut? Yes. Is it good? It’s only my second attempt, so please bear with me, mi lords and ladies.

Buckle up, ladies, because there’s only madness past the first flashback. Leave your brainz at the door, grab some snacks, and prepare to yell in the comments.

Previous Chapter 2: Collateral Void (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 3 - Corporate Warfare: Protocol The Circus of Two

They thought they knew you—until the battlefield proved otherwise.

The day Gojo had had to kill Suguru, Gojo had run. The moment the deed was done—when Suguru’s body fell lifeless to the ground, his eyes still open in that final, silent understanding—something inside Gojo shattered. He didn’t think. He couldn’t. So after seeing his students off, his feet carried him to the only person who might understand the weight of what he’d done.

Nanami had been in Kyoto Tech at the time, finishing the mission log in the dim light of a conference room, when Gojo teleported outside. The door swung open without warning, Gojo’s figure a silhouette in the frame. He stood there, disheveled, his hair matted and sticking to his forehead. His blindfold was gone, revealing eyes that looked wrong—too bright, too sharp, and yet so utterly empty.

Nanami’s heart was racing, but he didn’t need to ask. The haunted look on Gojo’s face told him everything.

Gojo didn’t move at first, his shoulders trembling faintly as he stared at Nanami like he wasn’t sure if he was real. Then, without a word, he stepped inside, his footsteps slow, dragging like his legs could barely carry him. Nanami didn’t speak as Gojo stopped in front of him, his hands hanging at his sides, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know how. The silence between them was thick, heavy with things unsaid.

Nanami caught it—the unspoken plea in Gojo’s eyes, the desperation he didn’t have the words for. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t an ask. It was something raw, something broken, and Nanami understood.

He got up and stepped forward, closing the space between them, and pressed his lips against Gojo’s.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tender. It was teeth and tongue and the kind of desperate hunger that tasted like grief, like anger, like trying to drown something that couldn’t be killed. Gojo’s hands finally moved, clutching at Nanami’s shirt, fisting the fabric so tightly it wrinkled beneath his grip. Nanami pushed him back, their bodies colliding with the table, their kisses bruising and violent. Gojo bit at Nanami’s jaw, his neck, dragging his lips down like he was trying to consume him, to pull him into the void that was swallowing him whole.

Nanami let him. He let Gojo take what he needed, even as his own guilt gnawed at him from the inside. He kissed Gojo back just as hard, his hands gripping at Gojo’s hair, his shoulders, as though anchoring him would somehow keep him from breaking apart. They didn’t speak. There was no need for words—words would have made it real.

[The table groaned under the force of their weight as Gojo pulled Nanami forward, their lips never breaking apart, breaths harsh and uneven. Gojo’s hands roamed over Nanami’s chest, clawing at his shirt until the buttons popped, exposing the pale, toned skin beneath. Nanami tilted his head back slightly, a ragged exhale escaping as Gojo’s mouth latched onto the curve of his collarbone, biting hard enough to draw blood—almost. Neither of them were a fan of giving up control, so the fight for dominance was inevitable.

And Nanami had never been passive. He pushed back with equal force, his hands sliding under Gojo’s shirt—sliding it off along with the rest of his clothes, nails raking against his skin. Gojo hissed, his body arching into the touch, but Nanami didn’t let up. He gripped Gojo’s hips, slamming him back against the conference table. The sound echoed through the dimly lit room, but neither of them flinched.

Nanami’s hands moved, pinning Gojo’s wrists above his head as his mouth descended again. Lips trailed down Gojo’s throat, brushing over the rapid pulse there. His teeth scraped lightly before biting down, leaving Gojo gasping, his head tipping back against the polished wood. Nanami’s tongue followed, soothing the sting, as though the pain and comfort were two halves of the same need.

Gojo’s hands twisted above his head, his defiance crumbling under the weight of Nanami’s control. Neither of them had ever been inclined to give up control, but Gojo needed this—needed someone else to take the reins, to silence the screaming guilt and grief that echoed inside him. And Nanami, for all his quiet guilt and simmering self-loathing, would give Gojo anything. His strength, his control, his very life, if it meant giving Gojo a moment of peace.

Every kiss, every bite, every desperate movement between them was laced with the raw edge of grief they couldn’t articulate. Gojo’s hands finally broke free, tangling in Nanami’s hair and pulling hard enough to make him hiss.

Nanami then grabbed Gojo’s thighs, hoisting him higher against the edge of the table with a strength that left Gojo momentarily stunned. Nanami’s lips crashed into his again, cutting off any retort, teeth nipping at Gojo’s bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. Gojo groaned, his fingers tightening further in Nanami’s hair as Nanami’s hands dug into his thighs, keeping him pinned in place.

The fight for dominance was relentless, neither man willing to yield. Gojo clawed at Nanami’s shirtless back, leaving red welts in his wake, but Nanami didn’t falter. His weight shifted, one hand sliding up to grip Gojo’s jaw, forcing their gazes to lock. The intensity crackled like a live wire between them.

“Enough,” Nanami growled, his voice low but commanding. He didn’t wait for Gojo’s reaction. His next kiss was slower, deeper, taking control with a deliberate intensity that left Gojo breathless. The resistance in Gojo’s body faltered, his defiance softening as Nanami’s hands roamed lower, grounding him in the moment.

Nanami didn’t rush. His fingers traced the lines of Gojo’s chest, his touch firm but reverent, as though mapping every scar, every curve, every part of him that told a story. Gojo arched into the touch, his breath coming in sharp bursts as Nanami’s lips followed the path of his hands, marking him with bites and kisses.

Gojo gasped sharply as Nanami’s teeth grazed over the line of his Adonis belt, his back arching off the table. The tension in his body trembled, the lines between anger, desperation, and grief blurring into something visceral. Nanami’s eyes flicked up, meeting his gaze—dark and intent, grounding Gojo in the present even as his own thoughts warred with the past.

Nanami trailed his lips lower, marking every inch of Gojo’s exposed skin, while his hands traced a slow path down Gojo’s thighs. The sensation was maddening, Gojo’s chest heaving as he bit down on his bottom lip to stifle a groan. The restraint only made Nanami’s expression shift—something raw and predatory flashing in his eyes as he gripped Gojo’s waist, holding him steady.

“Let go,” Nanami murmured, his voice low and steady, almost scolding. His fingers wrapped around Gojo’s cock, stroking him with a maddening gentleness that made Gojo’s breath catch. Gojo shot him a glare, but it lacked its usual sharpness, replaced by a haze of frustration and need.

Nanami let go of his cock and dipped his fingers lower, wet with Gojo’s slick precum, trailing a path to his entrance. He circled the rim with deliberate ease, watching the way Gojo’s body tensed and tried to flinch away, only to be held firm by Nanami’s other arm pressing against his stomach. Gojo’s breathing turned heavier, his half-lidded gaze locking onto Nanami’s with something akin to defiance.

When Nanami finally pushed one finger inside, Gojo’s head fell back, a sharp gasp escaping his lips. The stretch was barely there, but the intimacy of it—the vulnerability—made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the physical.

It was Nanami’s silence that struck him the hardest. The way he didn’t speak, didn’t fill the air with meaningless words, but instead focused on Gojo with a devotion so absolute it made his heart twist. Gojo closed his eyes, the memories of Suguru flashing unbidden. The look in his best friend’s eyes before he’d—

He couldn’t think about it. Not now.

Not with his husband. Not with Nanami. He didn’t deserve that.

Soon Nanami dipped another finger inside, drawing a loud groan from Gojo that echoed in the quiet room. Gojo’s hand shot up, grabbing Nanami’s collar and yanking him down, his lips crashing against Nanami’s in a bruising kiss. It wasn’t about dominance anymore—it was about escape. Gojo bit at Nanami’s lip, his nails dragging against his back as though trying to claw away the weight pressing down on his chest. Nanami dipped a third finger in.

Gojo squirmed, trying to crawl away from the overwhelming sensations building inside him, but Nanami wouldn’t let him run. He kept his arm firmly pressed over Gojo’s stomach, pinning him in place even as his fingers worked him open. The stretch was relentless, the deliberate pace leaving Gojo trembling, his body betraying him with every shiver of pleasure.

“Dammit, Kento,” Gojo hissed, his voice cracking as his head tipped back against the table. His pride was in tatters, but his need was stronger. “Please—” The word slipped out, not mocking like he intended but a whimper, and Gojo hated how much it revealed.

Nanami’s gaze darkened like he’d tasted a new kind of meat, his lips curling into something feral as he withdrew his fingers, leaving Gojo gasping at the sudden emptiness. He didn’t speak—he didn’t need to. He pressed the head of his cock against Gojo’s entrance, his hands gripping Gojo’s waist as he slowly pushed in.

Gojo’s breath hitched, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The stretch burned, his body trembling as Nanami coaxed him through it with words—Gojo was too dazed to understand—with a touch so steady it made Gojo’s chest ache. His hands clawed at Nanami’s shoulders, pulling him closer until he was forcefully all the way in Gojo’s soul, his lips seeking Nanami’s in a desperate kiss, or was it his desperate need to connect with someone who’d understand?

A single tear came unbidden, hot and stinging, as Gojo clung to him. The memories of Suguru—of his smile, his voice, the way he’d always understood him without any explanations—flooded back, drowning Gojo in a wave of grief that threatened to choke him. “I didn’t want to do it. Why’d I have to do it, Kento,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, broken. Gojo wasn’t asking.

Nanami stilled, his forehead pressing against Gojo’s, his breath mingling with Gojo’s shallow gasps. He wiped away the single tear with his thumb, his touch gentle, reverent. “I know,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, a quiet absolution that Gojo didn’t think he deserved.

When Nanami began to move, it was slow, deliberate, every thrust measured to draw out the tension in Gojo’s body. Gojo gasped, his head tipping back as his legs wrapped tighter around Nanami’s waist. The pleasure was overwhelming, crashing over him in waves that blurred the line between pain and relief.

Nanami’s grip moved back onto Gojo’s waist, tightening, his movements becoming more deliberate, more focused. Gojo’s sobs turned into broken groans, his body trembling as Nanami pushed him past the edge, leaving him gasping and undone. But Nanami didn’t stop. He held Gojo together, anchoring him with every movement, every touch, every unspoken word.

Nanami moved with purpose, his thrusts deliberate and hard, his control unwavering. Gojo’s gasps turned into whines, his body trembling with the force of the pleasure building inside him. Nanami’s grip on his hips tightened, keeping him pinned as he pushed Gojo past the edge multiple times that night.

When Gojo finally shattered for what felt like the nth time that night, his mind became a static blur, reminiscent of an old TV, while his overstimulated body arched off the table. A choked cry escaped him as his hands clawed desperately at Nanami’s back. Moments later, Nanami followed suit, his control slipping away as he buried himself deep, pressing his forehead against Gojo’s.

They stayed tangled together, their breaths mingling in the heavy quiet. Gojo’s fingers traced idle patterns over Nanami’s back, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Nanami’s arms wrapped tightly around him, his grip firm but steady, as though anchoring them both to something solid amidst the storm of their shared grief.

Neither of them spoke. The silence was deafening, filled with the weight of everything they couldn’t say. But for now, it was enough. ]

The cycle started that day.

Every time the silence grew too loud, every time the weight of what Gojo had done—what they had done—threatened to pull them under, they turned to each other. Which was almost every night. Their bodies collided in the dark, sometimes tangled in sheets that smelled faintly of you. Gojo whispered things Nanami didn’t understand, half-formed words lost between gasps and bitten-off groans. Nanami gripped Gojo’s waist, leaving marks that bloomed like bruises, as if hurting him could stop the ache in his own chest.

But no matter how many times they fucked, no matter how many times Gojo’s hands shook as he held Nanami’s face, whispering pleas like a prayer, it didn’t change anything. It didn’t bring Suguru back. It didn’t make Gojo whole. And it didn’t stop Nanami from feeling like a thief—like he had stolen Gojo from someone who should have mattered more.

It was as if they were locked in a silent agreement. Thus was their wretched loop of avoidance sex, a desperate attempt to connect while simultaneously avoiding the deeper issues that lay beneath the surface. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge Gojo’s depression stemming from killing Suguru, nor did they want to confront Nanami’s guilt for taking Gojo away from the dead man, a guilt that festered quietly in the background.

This unspoken tension ultimately led to the situation they found themselves in today. The woman they had both cared for was left out in the cold, cast aside as they spiraled deeper into their own emotional turmoil. In their minds, they had decided she wouldn’t understand—after all, she didn’t know Suguru, nor did she know the truth about Gojo’s actions that day. They feared that if she found out, she’d leave them; she wasn’t a sorceress and would think that their bond was built on betrayal rather than the complex web of grief and guilt that had ensnared them both. So, they kept her at arm's length, convinced that their silence was a form of protection, when in reality, it only deepened the chasm between them.

Now, Gojo paced the apartment like a caged animal, his sunglasses discarded, his eyes wild and frantic, his hair falling out of place. Every inch of the apartment had been turned over, every piece of furniture moved. The emptiness of it was suffocating.

“She didn’t just vanish,” Gojo muttered, pacing the kitchen with the kind of manic energy that only he could produce. His hands slammed down on the counter, sending a ripple through the glass of water he’d left there hours ago. “She’s somewhere, Kento.”

Nanami stood by the window, his back turned, his eyes locked on the skyline of the city. He looked tired, his tie loose around his neck, his posture broken in a way Gojo hadn’t seen before. “She left because of us,” Nanami said, his voice almost hollow, like the weight of the words had crushed him from the inside out.

Gojo stopped pacing, spinning to face him, the anger burning in his chest like a fire. “So what? We just let her go?!”

Nanami’s jaw clenched. He took a slow breath, as if fighting against the storm in his own chest. “No,” he said, his voice sharp, a crack of desperation. “We don’t just let her go.”

It was a quiet acknowledgment of everything they had broken, but neither of them knew how to fix it. Gojo’s frantic search was a result of the chaos inside him—he couldn’t sit still, couldn’t bear the silence of their shared space without her. Nanami, in contrast, withdrew, still retreating into himself as the guilt gnawed at him, the sense that he had lost something he couldn’t ever get back.

Gojo threw himself into the search, combing every bar, every café, and every corner of Tokyo. Nanami’s focus turned inward, poring over old texts, receipts, anything that could give them a hint of where she might be. Days turned into weeks.

“She’s too smart. She doesn’t want to be found,” Nanami admitted one night, rolling the whiskey glass on his forehead for its cold, staring at the fire. His voice was thick with guilt and self-loathing. His words hung heavy in the air, like the weight of an irreversible decision.

“I don’t care,” Gojo snapped, throwing his glass into the fire, making it explode as the alcohol burned. The desperation leaked through. “We owe her that much.”

The next day, with his arms out of his coat sleeves, as it billowed behind him like a cape, Gojo stormed through the glass doors of your office building in Shibuya, Japan—you no longer operated from, but they didn’t know that—with Nanami, whose presence was no less menacing. The hum of low conversations died instantly. The receptionists froze at the sight of them, barreling in like a hurricane. Nanami opted for dark blue, while Gojo wore black formal attire, both pairing their outfits with white shirts to blend in.

“We’re here to see her,” Gojo declared, his voice booming across the expansive space. His crystalline eyes, unshielded and glinting dangerously. His smile, sharp and humorless, made the newly hired receptionist visibly flinch.

The young man behind the desk stammered, his hands trembling as he tried to maintain professionalism. “S-sorry, sir. Who exactly are you looking for?”

Gojo leaned down, planting both hands on the counter. His height, broad shoulders, and intensity loomed over the receptionist like a storm cloud. “Your CEO,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “We’re here for her. Where is she?”

Before the poor receptionist could crumble entirely, Nanami stepped in. His tone calm, polite even, but carrying a razor-sharp edge. “The founder of this company,” he clarified. “You know exactly who we’re talking about. We need to see her. Now.”

The receptionist swallowed hard. “Sirs, please allow me to check. Till then, please have a seat, and we’ll send someone over with desserts.”

Nanami sighed, but it wasn’t of relief but of poorly suppressed anger. “We’re not here for dessert.”

Gojo turned to him, eyes wide with fake betrayal. “Nanamin, I’m trying to mourn our wife running away, and you want me to not have dessert at her company?” He was indirectly taunting the receptionist who had gotten the response to his question on the Slack channel as he eyed the computer screen conspicuously.

A voice from the crowd mutters, “He’s married?”

Another voice whispers back, “To our CEO. Both of them.”

The first voice gasps. “No wonder she ran away.”

Your poly marriage was not public information given your private nature; only the employees who’d been around for a while knew.

Glancing over his shoulder as if praying for backup, the receptionist stuttered. “S-sirs, I… I don’t have the clearance to schedule a meeting with the founder. You’ll need to leave—”

Gojo straightened, laughing sharply. “That’s adorable,” he sneered. “She’s not answering my calls. She hasn’t answered for weeks. I’m not an idiot—someone in this office knows where she is.”

The receptionist’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Before he could muster a response, Gojo shoved his phone back in his pocket and turned on his heel, stalking towards the elevators. “Fine. I’ll find her damn office myself.”

“Gojo,” Nanami barked, making Gojo freeze mid-step, his smile sharpening into something more feral.

“Don’t make a scene,” Nanami said, his tone carrying the weight of an order. “She won’t like it.”

“A scene?” Gojo turned back, his smile widening in mock offense. “Me? Never.”

Before the tension could escalate further, the sharp sound of heels clicking against marble echoed through the lobby. The employees instinctively parted, revealing the Chief Human Resource Officer (CHRO). Tall, poised, and impeccably suited, she approached with an air of authority that demanded respect.

“Gentlemen,” she said, gaze flicking between them with thinly veiled disdain. “You’re causing a disruption.”

Gojo turned to her with his signature you-will-give-me-whatever-I-want smirk, though desperation simmered beneath the surface. “Perfect timing. Maybe you can help us. We’re looking for your CEO. She’s my—”

“I’m aware of who she is to you,” the CHRO cut in sharply, her voice laced. “And I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss her whereabouts.”

Nanami stepped forward, his calm exterior cracking slightly. “She hasn’t responded to our calls. She could be in danger—”

“Your phantom concerns are your problem, not ours,” the CHRO interrupted, her tone scathing. “Your personal issues have no place here. She has made it very clear that she does not want to be contacted by either of you.”

Gojo faltered, his fists curling at his sides. “She wouldn’t say that. Not about us.”

“She did. Explicitly. And I have it documented.” The CHRO’s tone was measured but unyielding, her gaze sharp. “Do you really think her treatment went unnoticed? That no one here saw what was happening? She may not have voiced it, but anyone who worked with her could see the signs. Employees observed your social media overflowing with pictures of you and your husband for months, while her accounts went silent.

"Do you have any idea how damaging that is to the reputation of a CEO of her stature? She’s not just another executive—she’s the head of a global gaming powerhouse, a company on par with Nvidia in scale and influence. Meanwhile, you two are private individuals with no significant public following. Thankfully, her low profile on social media prevented this from spiraling into a major PR crisis. Otherwise, the company’s image could’ve suffered irreparably.

"And let me remind you—I cautioned her against this marriage. I warned her about the potential risks. I take no pride, but unfortunately, it’s clear now that I was right.”

Her words carried the weight of her authority, cutting through any defense they might have offered. Gojo’s jaw tightened, and Nanami stood motionless, his expression unreadable but his posture rigid.

Around them, murmurs began to spread. Employees exchanged knowing looks, their disapproval evident in the sharp, critical glances they directed toward the pair.

It seemed they were the only ones who didn’t notice anything until it was too late.

The DM HR whispered, “I knew those two were bad news; who the fuck is naturally blond and platinum blond in Japan?!”

The senior executive who knew too much whispered back, "Right!!… I always kinda knew something was off. She’d come in wearing sunglasses, looking like she hadn’t slept. Meanwhile, the blonde one’s voice notes were so passive-aggressive I got secondhand anxiety. It’s giving ‘marriage is a scam.’"

The junior game tester joined in, "I don’t know what they did, but I do know this: if you marry someone who wears a suit every day and doesn’t look at memes while the other one only looks at memes, it’s over for you. Trust me."

The art director sighed, "She’s in some other country sipping a margarita while these two out here embarrassing themselves. Goals, honestly."

The barista chimed in as well, "Okay, so we’re all pretending not to simp for the blond one, right? Cool. Cool. But also... is he single now? Asking for research purposes."

There was a collective groan of, “No, Linda, they are both red flags!”

“It’s not what you think,” Gojo started, his voice dangerously low.

“Isn’t it?” The CHRO’s crimson lips curled faintly. “I will not assist you in locating her. Nor will anyone else in this building.” With a swift motion, she turned on her heel, her voice carrying as she continued walking. “I am running late for a meeting. Kindly ensure they are escorted out.”

Nanami exhaled sharply as she left the building, getting in her car, leaving an unsettling silence in her wake. He closed his eyes for a brief moment. Gojo’s shoulders tensed, his six eyes snapping toward one of your old assistants.

“Mr. Gojo, Mr. Nanami,” the assistant said, approaching them with a clipped, professional demeanor—tall, wiry, and clearly regretting his life choices, his jaw tight with tension. “You’ve already been told that Madam does not wish to be contacted. Please leave before this becomes… unpleasant.”

Nanami exhaled sharply, lowering his head momentarily before meeting Gojo’s gaze. “Satoru. Time to go feral.”

Gojo grinned wide like a mad dog just unleashed to spread his rabies further, like a predator released from its cage with a single command, his eyes burning with excitement. He cracked his knuckles, his energy palpable. His voice was calm but laced with a chilling menace. “Oh, we’re well beyond unpleasant.”

Without another word, he moved with blinding speed, a blur that left the assistant frozen in shock. In an instant, Gojo was on him, seizing the assistant by the lapels and slamming him against the nearest wall. The impact echoed through the building, rattling the artwork and leaving a spiderweb crack in the marble.

The memory of last night’s meticulous planning surfaced in Nanami’s mind. They’d known this wouldn’t be a simple task. Your company wasn’t just a tech giant—it was a fortress, a gaming empire rivaling the likes of Amazon and Apple combined. Its headquarters was an impenetrable monolith, a testament to the power and influence you wielded. But the real challenge wasn’t the walls or the tech—it was the people.

The staff here were loyal to a fault, not just because of contracts or NDAs, but because you were a CEO unlike any other. Benevolent, visionary, and fiercely protective of your employees, you had built a culture of unwavering trust and admiration. The perks alone were legendary: comprehensive health coverage that extended to employees’ families, generous vacation policies, and an unheard-of pension plan that not only matched inflation rates but exceeded them. Even retirees were treated like royalty, their benefits growing year after year. You had created an environment where people didn’t just work; they thrived. No wonder they’d fight tooth and nail to protect you.

Nanami had pointed this out last night. “They’ll never betray her. Not willingly. We’ll have to be... persuasive. And tech companies also keep task forces on a leash. We’ll need to be prepared for more than just resistance.”

Gojo had smirked then, the same smirk he wore now. “Persuasion’s my specialty.”

“Where is she?” Gojo was currently growling, crouching down and pulling the assistant’s collar tight, his crystalline eyes glinting with something unhinged.

“I’m not telling you anything,” the assistant spat, trying to maintain a semblance of dignity. It lasted all of two seconds before Gojo’s fist connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling onto the floor with a strangled cough.

“Should… should we call someone?” A voice whispered behind the reception desk.

“What do you think I’m doing?! I’m hiding!” A voice whisper-yelled back.

Across the room, a lead sound designer—stocky, sweat beading on his forehead—had been inching toward the emergency security button. Nanami calmly appeared behind him, like he was Dumbledore and the lead sound designer was Harry Potter putting his name in the Goblet of Fire. His hand shot out, grabbing the man’s wrist before it could reach the button. The lead sound designer yelped as Nanami twisted his arm behind his back, his voice low and terrifyingly calm.

“I wouldn’t,” Nanami murmured, bending low to speak in his ear, his tone smooth, almost polite. “You won’t like where this ends.”

The lead sound designer struggled, his free hand flailing as Nanami yanked him forward and sent him crashing face-first into a coffee table. Sending papers exploding into the air like confetti.

“Holy shit,” a gameplay engineer whispered from under a coffee table. “Did he just suplex Salaryman Kenjiro Tsuda?”

“Kenjiro Tsuda’s dead. He’s gone. He’s not getting back up.” A UI/UX designer shot back, whimpering behind the couch nearby.

“I just wanted to finish my latte...” Their project manager nearly cried behind the large vase.

“You’re wasting our time,” Nanami said coldly, adjusting his coat as though nothing had happened.

Gojo then moved again with his inhuman speed and dragged the your assistant toward the center of the room, tossing him into a coffee table like a rag doll.

“You still haven’t answered his question. Tell us what you know, or we’ll continue this conversation elsewhere you won’t like,” Nanami said, his voice calm but cold as he stepped over the downed lead sound designer and turned back to the assistant. The man was crumpled, his face pale as he clutched his ribs.

“Talk,” Gojo snarled, his foot pressing down on the man’s chest.

“She’s gone,” he gasped finally, his voice shaking. “She left the country. She’s never coming back. I swear, that’s all I know.”

“Never coming back?” he repeated softly, almost to himself. “You’re lying,” Gojo said, his grin widening into something almost feral. He reached down, grabbing the man by the collar again, ready to strike.

“No! I swear! She said she’ll never come back, and she doesn’t even hold video calls for daily sprints anymore, so we have no idea where she is. Last I talked to her, she was feeling cold, but it’s December; every place is cold.” The assistant garbled out, not risking getting his face destroyed further.

The admission landed like a death knell. Gojo’s smirk faltered, Nanami’s expression darkening.

The employees who hadn’t fled watched from behind ferns and corners, their faces pale with a mixture of fear and morbid fascination. A public relations manager whispered to another, “This is like that time in marketing when Cathy somehow exploded the printer, but… worse.”

“Way worse,” the marketing director whispered back.

The sharp clang of boots against marble rang out like a countdown, each step reverberating through the tension-filled lobby. The security guards fanned out, their polished batons glinting as they moved to encircle the two men.

Gojo stood in the center of it all, a smile curling his lips—a sharp, dangerous thing that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not leaving until someone tells me where she is,” he said, his voice low, almost guttural, a barely contained growl.

The guards exchanged uneasy glances, their hesitation palpable. But their leader, a gruff man with a scar bisecting his forehead, barked, “Take them down!”

Nanami winked at Gojo, “Remember, they’re just the warm-up.” Making him momentarily stunned but regaining his composure quickly, Gojo moved first, a blur of motion that defied logic. The first guard swung his baton, aiming for his ribs, but Gojo sidestepped effortlessly, his body twisting like liquid. His knee shot up, driving into the guard’s gut with a loud thud. The man folded, wheezing, and Gojo didn’t miss a beat—he grabbed the guard by the collar and flung him into another like bowling pins.

“Did he just yeet Security Steve?” a junior designer whispered from behind a potted plant.

“Steve’s out,” murmured another, sipping a coffee she’d swiped from the break room. “We’re down to eleven if the others don’t come soon.”

Nanami moved with cold eyes. A guard lunged at him, baton raised, but Nanami caught his wrist mid-swing. His grip tightened, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he twisted sharply. The guard yelped, his baton clattering to the floor, and Nanami didn’t hesitate. He pulled the man forward, slamming his elbow into the guard’s jaw with a brutal accuracy that left the man crumpled.

“Jesus Christ, did he just disarm a guy with his bare hands?” a lead artist whispered from behind a pillar.

“He did the 12-to-6 elbow; that move is banned in MMA for a reason. That’s not disarming; that’s un-aliving,” came the shaky reply by a lead writer.

More guards poured in, the clash of bodies and batons filling the air. Gojo’s movements remained fluid, playful, but his grin twisted darker. He ducked under a swing, countering with a quick jab to the guard’s armpit, his knuckles connecting with a force that echoed like a gunshot.

“God, why is he so hot?” a QA automation engineer whispered from behind a pillar.

“He’s literally committing felonies right now, Karen.” Her trainer reprimanded, hiding behind her.

“You are not being very inclusive right now,” Karen shot back.

Nanami was fighting like a machine, his strikes calculated and devastating. Another guard came at him, swinging wildly, but Nanami sidestepped, his body language calm, bored. He caught the man’s shoulder, driving his knee into the guard’s sternum with a force that left him gasping.

“He’s like… Scandinavian Batman,” an AI programmer whispered reverently from behind the aquarium.

“Except, you know, without the no-kill rule,” came the dry reply from a senior gameplay engineer, beneath the coffee table next to the aquarium.

“Hey! Note that down! We’ll use it for the Viking action-adventure game we need to pitch next week. Fuckers at Rockstar can suck it!!” A game director yelled at her junior character designer from behind a cactus.

The atmosphere shifted abruptly when the Special Response Team arrived. 

“Is that the SWAT team?” a social media manager hissed, peeking out from behind a fern.

“Girl, that’s not SWAT. That’s Jason Bourne’s cousins.” The office manager retorted, adjusting her glasses to get a better look.

 The exhausted HR assistant sighed, "I told my manager we should’ve installed metal detectors at the entrance. Now look—half the lobby is wrecked, the marble’s cracked, and we’re out of espresso pods. This is literally the apocalypse."

These weren’t the standard-issue security guards with clipboards and walkie-talkies. No, these were professionals—ex-military operatives handpicked for their ability to handle high-stakes breaches and hostile intrusions. Clad in sleek tactical gear that screamed government contractor, they moved with precision, their boots hitting the marble floor in perfect synchrony. Each carried state-of-the-art equipment, from compact but lethal rifles to augmented-reality visors that displayed a live feed of the situation.

Tech companies don’t just build empires—they defend them like kingdoms. These teams are the unsung sentinels of corporate fortresses, trained to neutralize everything from industrial spies to unhinged fanatics who believe their favorite game updates were divine messages.

The lead operative raised a gloved fist, halting the team’s synchronized march. Without a word, they fanned out, forming a perimeter around Gojo and Nanami. The room filled with the muted hum of high-tech visors scanning every inch of the space.

“They’ve got earpieces and custom boots, so hunky!” a compliance officer whispered from behind a couch.

“They’re like the Navy SEALs of HR.” A graphics programmer whispered back.

“Finally,” Gojo muttered, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off the boredom of waiting. “Took you long enough. I was starting to think you guys got lost in the parking lot.” In truth, it had been barely eleven minutes since the CHRO had walked off.

The operatives ignored the jab. Their leader barked a command, and in perfect unison, weapons were raised, laser sights painting the room in jagged streaks of red.

Nanami sighed, adjusting his tie. “You could at least pretend to take this seriously.”

Gojo tilted his head, mock offended. “I am serious. Look at me.” He gestured at his perfectly tailored coat. “I dressed for the occasion.”

Nanami’s eyes flicked to the nearest fire alarm. With a flick of his wrist, he sent his sleek metal pen—one of those metal executive ones—straight into the fire alarm. The glass shattered, and a shrill, ear-piercing alarm filled the room. Water cascaded over the operatives, drenching their tactical gear. They hesitated—just for a second—but it was enough.

“Really?” Gojo smirked. “You couldn’t just use a smoke bomb?”

Nanami remained unbothered. “Subtlety isn’t your style, and I wasn’t about to bring explosives into her building.”

Then, without another word, they quickly but smoothly shrugged off their coats. Nanami folded his neatly before setting it on a chair, while Gojo chucked his haphazardly onto the floor. Rolling up their shirt sleeves with a synchronized efficiency, Nanami tugged his tie free, wrapping it around his right palm. He spared a glance at the advancing operatives. “Remember, we planned for this.”

“Oh, I remember.” Gojo’s voice was low, dangerous, and filled with anticipation. He cracked his neck as he finished rolling his sleeves.

The operatives regrouped, their leader barking, “Engage! Fire at will!”

But it was already too late.

Nanami was on the first operative before the man could steady his aim. He caught the barrel of the Glock 19 mid-raise, twisting it free and disarming him in one fluid motion. The weapon clattered to the floor as Nanami’s elbow connected with the man’s temple, dropping him like a stone.

Gojo, meanwhile, launched himself at six operatives with reckless glee. His movements were a chaotic masterpiece—dodging, weaving, and landing bone-shattering blows. A Sig Sauer P320 was aimed at him, but he ducked beneath it with an almost lazy smirk, countering with a spinning kick that sent the shooter flying.

An operative tried to flank him, but Gojo grabbed the man’s wrist mid-swing, twisting it until the Beretta 92FS fell from his grip. “Nice try,” he quipped, slamming the man into a nearby coffee table with enough force to shatter.

“He fights like he’s straight out of The Matrix,” an IT support specialist whispered, her voice barely audible over the fight.

An overworked developer muttered from behind a snack bar, “You know what? If my ex showed up here demanding answers, I’d just fake my death. But hey, I guess being a genius CEO means you attract unhinged hot guys who can fight security guards like it’s Mortal Kombat.”

Gojo turned back to Nanami as he ducked another swing. “You know, this is way more fun than that yappy meeting with the higher-ups we skipped.”

Nanami calmly dropped another operative with a swift kick to the tailbone. “You might be right.”

“Always,” Gojo dodged a tackle and sent his assailant flying into a wall with a perfectly executed throw.

The air grew oppressive, tension thick enough to choke on, as the lobby’s glass shattered. A hulking armored vehicle—more tank than truck—rolled in with a deafening crunch of marble beneath its tires. The metallic clink of magazines being loaded and safeties clicking off filled the space, a sound that froze even the bravest in place. Men and women in full tactical gear poured out in synchronized formation, their movements efficient, rehearsed, and mercilessly precise. Their advanced tactical vests gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, patches marking them as the Advanced High-Risk Operations Team—a group designed to handle threats so extreme most civilians wouldn’t survive the first couple minutes of their engagement.

These weren’t just ex-military like the Special Response Team. They were former elite military operatives—snipers, demolitions experts, and tactical leaders. Their specialty? Taking down impossible threats, the kind most people didn’t even know existed. They were armed to the teeth with machine guns, shotguns, and gear straight out of a warzone. They moved like a single, deadly organism, each step to dominate and overwhelm.

Nanami had expected a special response team—maybe a few ex-SWAT officers at most. What he hadn’t expected was this: a team that looked like it had just walked off the set of Sicario. The sheer audacity of it. Gojo tilted his head, an almost childlike curiosity flickering in his eyes as he watched the team fan out across the lobby.

The air thickened with a tension so sharp it felt like it could slice through steel. The Advanced High-Risk Operations Team advanced, their tactical gear gleaming under the cold, artificial lights. Each step they took was deliberate, their augmented-reality visors casting an eerie glow as they moved. This wasn’t just about security anymore; this was war.

Gojo tilted his head, his grin stretching wide enough to reveal the kind of madness that sent lesser men running. “She really went all out, huh? Gotta say, it’s... kinda hot.”

“Focus,” Nanami snapped, his voice steady but laced with something darker, his tie already off and wrapped tightly around his hand like a makeshift gauntlet. His eyes followed the operatives’ every move, tracking patterns and deducing weaknesses. “They have machine guns. Don’t underestimate them.”

“Who’s underestimating?” Gojo rolled his shoulders, his smirk turning razor-sharp. “I’m appreciating. Big difference.” He didn’t seem to care, given he had the biggest cheat code in this gaming company’s building—the infinity.

The operatives spread out, their leader’s hand slicing through the air in a silent command. Rifles raised, safeties off, they moved like predators circling prey.

Gojo leaned closer to Nanami, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “You think they know we’re not exactly, y’know, normal?”

Nanami didn’t answer immediately, his focus unwavering. But a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “They’ll figure it out soon enough.”

This wasn’t a challenge they had to face. It was one they wanted.

Gojo’s grin was practically splitting his face in half now. The Cheshire Cat would be scared of him, all teeth and no warmth, none. “It’s practically foreplay,” he quipped, already cracking his neck like a boxer about to step into the ring.

Somewhere far away, you joined on a call with your COO, grim-faced, as the tactical team’s live feed streamed across the screen. You had one hand on your heavily pregnant stomach and the other clutching a headset, voice calm but commanding.

“Operative 3, move left. Do not engage head-on. Divide their attention. Nanami will neutralize you with precision if you get too close, and Gojo—” you hesitated, lips pressing into a thin line. “Gojo thrives on chaos. Starve him of it.”

Your COO watched her in stunned silence. “How do you know all this?”

“Because I’ve spent years listening to them yap about how they’d fight their enemies,” you replied, gaze never leaving the screen. “Now, we’re the enemies.”

The operatives adjusted their strategy in real time, your voice their guiding force.

The first shot rang out, a deafening crack that sent shards of marble skittering across the floor. The employees—already huddled behind desks and furniture—ducked lower, their whispered commentary drifting through.

From behind the coffee station, a QA tester whispered, voice muffled, “Are those… machine guns?”

“No, Shivi, they’re Super Soakers. OF COURSE THEY’RE MACHINE GUNS!” came the panicked reply from a QA automation engineer, who clearly had never seen a water fight escalate this quickly.

“Holy shit, it’s John Wick level now,” an event coordinator hissed, ducking even lower, as if the coffee machine could provide cover.

“No, moron. It’s Black Hawk Down,” the Chief Creative Officer whimpered. “If I don’t make it, tell my cats I loved them! And that I left them a very detailed will… in my browser history!”

“They won’t shoot us. They don’t have instructions for that,” the chief of security whispered, his voice shaking as he huddled beneath a coffee table, clutching a stapler like it was a grenade.

“Where did you come from?” they shrieked in unison, as if he had just materialized from the break room.

“Never mind, aren’t you ex-Interpol? Why are you hiding? Go fight them!” a network programmer snapped, clearly forgetting that the only thing he fought was the Wi-Fi signal.

“I have plants at home now!” he retorted, clutching his knees like they were his last line of defense. “They depend on me! Have you seen how needy succulents are?”

The product manager cried fake tears, "I’m sorry, what? The CEO ghosted her husbands? I can’t even get one person to text me back, and she’s out here dodging two supermodels with a God complex and an anger management issue. She’s the whole mood board.” Little did she know, you were also in the same boat despite being married to the two men—who were probably just as confused about their relationship status.

Gojo darted behind a toppled desk, his movements almost lazy in their fluidity. He peered out, his eyes practically glowing. “Pinned down by Nerf blasters. What a tragedy.” They couldn’t use any of their techniques; this was already drawing too much attention now, but they needed answers.

Luckily, all employees were already hiding at the other end of the great hall and nowhere near the fight. 

“Cover me,” Nanami said curtly across from him, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Gojo chuckled, cracking his neck as he stood. “Anything for you, darling.”

Without hesitation, he vaulted over the desk and sprinted into the open. Bullets followed him, tearing through the air, but Gojo moved like water—unpredictable, untouchable. His steps were erratic, yet every movement was to draw attention.

Nanami used the distraction to close the distance between himself and the nearest operative. The man barely had time to register Nanami’s presence before the barrel of his rifle was wrenched upward, a burst of bullets shattering the ceiling tiles. Nanami’s elbow came down hard, connecting with the operative’s nose in a sickening crunch.

Another operative lunged, swinging the butt of their rifle toward Nanami’s ribs. He caught it mid-swing, twisting it free with a motion so smooth it seemed almost effortless. He stepped forward, driving his knee into their stomach, and they crumpled to the ground.

Gojo was a genius tactician, and he was using guerrilla warfare to his advantage. He had taken his theatrics to another level. He vaulted over a couch, landing behind an operative with an almost casual air. “Nice gear,” he quipped, plucking the man’s rifle from his hands and tossing it aside like trash. “But you’re not using it right.”

He spun the man around, delivering a swift uppercut that sent him sprawling into a glass partition. Gojo’s laughter echoed through the lobby. “Man, this is better than Pilates!”

The operatives regrouped, their leader barking orders. “Surround them! Do not engage alone!”

Nanami glanced at Gojo, who was now crouched on top of a desk like some deranged bird of prey. “Stop playing around.”

Gojo grinned, hopping down with exaggerated grace. “Who’s playing? I’m multitasking—kicking ass and staying fabulous.”

The team leader’s voice crackled through their comms, audible even over the noise. “Regroup and contain! Reinforcements inbound!”

Gojo paused, his smile faltering slightly. “Reinforcements? Oh, now they’re just spoiling us.”

Nanami adjusted his tie-gauntlet, his expression grim. “Focus. This isn’t over.”

“Holy shit, it’s like Call of Duty in here!” A game dev muttered from behind another cactus.

“Dude, no, this is Apex Legends. Look at their loadouts!” His team lead corrected, whispering.

“Can someone livestream this? I need content!” A game tester whisper yelled.

Across the world, you leaned closer to the screen, voice calm and clipped as you spoke into the comms. “Switch to suppression tactics. Target their movement patterns. Nanami leads with his left; exploit that. Gojo thrives on unpredictability; isolate him.”

Back in the lobby, the operatives adjusted their strategy, their movements suddenly more coordinated. Nanami noticed immediately, his eyes narrowing.

“They’ve changed tactics,” he said, glancing at Gojo.

Gojo tilted his head. “Well, that’s interesting.”

He vaulted over the reception counter, sliding across its surface as bullets followed him like angry bees. “You guys shoot like stormtroopers!” he yelled, grabbing a fallen baton mid-roll. In a single, smooth motion, he swung it, knocking the rifle from an operative’s grip.

The man lunged at him, but Gojo sidestepped, his baton finding the back of the man’s knee. The operative crumpled with a grunt, and Gojo didn’t waste a second, delivering a sharp jab to his ribs that left him wheezing on the floor.

Nearby, Nanami grabbed another operative’s wrist and twisted sharply. The man’s weapon clattered to the ground as Nanami followed up with a brutal uppercut that sent him sprawling. But even in this situation, Gojo couldn’t resist being Gojo.

As if the fight wasn’t chaotic enough, Gojo’s eyes flicked to Nanami mid-battle. More specifically, to Nanami’s chest. “Damn,” he said, abruptly abandoning his position to sidle up behind his partner.

Nanami had just disarmed another operative when he felt Gojo’s hands clasp over his pecs like a makeshift bra.

“Nice form,” Gojo said, squeezing for emphasis. “You been working out?”

Nanami froze for a half-second, his face twisting into an expression of pure exasperation. Without breaking stride, he drove his elbow backward into Gojo’s stomach, sending him staggering.

“Focus,” Nanami growled, his tone razor-sharp.

“I am focused,” Gojo wheezed, clutching his stomach but still grinning. “Just multitasking.”

“Idiot,” Nanami muttered, stepping over another unconscious operative.

That made your blood boil further. A distorted voice crackled through the operatives’ comms, audible even to Gojo and Nanami.

“Pull back. Regroup. Adjust formation to staggered offense.”

Nanami froze mid-motion, his eyes narrowing. He heard the distorted voice.

Gojo, too, paused, his grin faltering for the briefest of moments. “Wait a minute…”

At home, you leaned closer to the screen, expression unreadable as you switched to a line only the team would hear.

“Do not let them bait you,” you said into the mic, voice cutting through like blade. “You’re dealing with professionals who are used to being underestimated. They’re dangerous because they don’t need their full power to win. Treat them like the threats they are.”

The COO on call with you could only say. “You’re directing them. You’re actually directing them.”

Your gaze never wavered from the screen. “I’m not letting a midlife crisis derail my employees’ lives. Not today.”

The remaining operatives regrouped, their leader barking orders. “Switch to suppression fire! Keep them contained!”

Bullets tore through the air again, forcing Gojo and Nanami to take cover. Gojo crouched behind an overturned couch. “This is fun. Think they’ll invite us back?”

Nanami kept looking ahead at the operatives changing positions as he said, "You have issues but I can't believe I'm saying this ever since I became a special grade, I have developed a taste for this." He adjusted his grip on the broken chair leg he’d been using as a weapon, his voice low and calm. “And even if I wasn't, there’s an old saying about Grade Ones: a tank might not be enough. And I don’t see the government allowing her a fucking tank.”

Gojo’s smirk widened, the faint shimmer of his Infinity flickering to life. “And she’d need something bigger than a tank to take me down. Maybe a ‘Domain Expansion: The Sun.’” He glanced toward the operatives, his tone turning mocking. “Guess they’re settling for machine guns and prayer.”

One of the operatives moved in close, his Heckler & Koch MG5 machine gun aimed directly at Nanami. But before he could fire, Nanami swung the broken chair leg with enough force to stab his thigh, making the man bolt over. He followed with a quick, brutal jab to the man’s throat, dropping him instantly.

“Did he just take down a guy with a chair leg?” The sales director whispered, wide-eyed behind a metal statue.

“He’s built different,” came the recruiter’s reverent reply, next to her.

The operatives shifted tactics, their movements suddenly more calculated, their strikes coordinated in a way that made Nanami pause.

Quickly regaining himself, Nanami lunged from his position, closing the distance to one of the operatives in seconds. His elbow connected with the man’s solar plexus, sending him crumpling to the ground. Another operative moved to flank him, but Nanami was faster, twisting the rifle out of the man’s grip and using it to knock him unconscious in one fluid motion.

Gojo, meanwhile, had somehow disarmed three operatives, all while maintaining a running commentary. “Honestly, you guys are doing great! I’d give you a solid eight out of ten. Nine, if you stopped aiming for my hair—do you know how hard it is to style this?”

The fight raged on, the duo moving like a well-oiled machine despite the chaos. Nanami’s brutality contrasted sharply with Gojo’s chaotic energy, but together, they were unstoppable.

The lobby doors burst open, and another team entered, this one carrying heavier gear.

“Is that… an exosuit?” Gojo muttered, tilting his head like a curious cat.

Nanami’s jaw tightened. “She’s serious.” Under no circumstance did they think this thing would show up.

The tide of the battle shifted when the exo-suited leader charged. His movements almost too fast for Nanami to block. Gojo managed to land a hit with his baton, but it barely slowed the man down.

It was clear whoever it was, was no ordinary opponent. “This guy fights like he’s got the script,” Gojo muttered, barely avoiding a blow aimed at his ribs.

“He’s not cursed, but he’s better than most sorcerers I’ve seen,” Nanami admitted grimly, blocking a strike and countering with a knee to an operative’s gut.

“You two aren’t bad,” the leader taunted, voice cool. “But you’re not winning this.”

“Winning?” Gojo smirked, dodging a blow. “Buddy, we’re just warming up.”

Nanami’s elbow struck the exo-suited leader’s side, a blow meant to disable, but the man pivoted with an agility that shouldn’t have been possible. Gojo, seeing an opening, aimed a strike at the man’s helmet, his baton swinging with purpose.

The crack echoed as the face shield shattered, pieces scattering to the ground.

The room seemed to freeze. The operatives hesitated, glancing at their leader, while Gojo and Nanami stood stunned. The man’s face was visible now—sharp features, familiar piercing eyes that could cut through steel.

Nanami’s breath caught in his throat. “Haibara…” he whispered, his voice shaking.

The man flinched at the name but didn’t lower his guard.

Gojo's usually flippant tone uncharacteristically quiet.

Nanami took a shaky step forward, lowering his hands slightly. “Haibara… Is it…?”

The man’s brows furrowed, but his face hardened again, but there was a weight to it, as if he’d carried the name like a burden.

Nanami staggered back as if the words had struck him physically. The resemblance was uncanny—too much so. If Haibara had lived, this man could have been his mirror. The same age, the same eyes.

Gojo finally found his voice, though it was softer than usual. “So, what, you’re family? Explains the talent.”

The man didn’t respond immediately, his gaze shifting between the two of them. “I was told about you. About both of you. You were… important to him at that cult school.”

Nanami clenched his fists, his voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. “And you’re here to fight us? Why?”

The man’s lips pressed into a thin smile, his expression cocky. “Because it’s my job. Nothing personal.”

“Nothing personal?” Nanami snapped, his composure fracturing. “You wear his face, carry his name, and you think this is just another job?”

The man’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t reply.

Gojo tilted his head, a slow smirk creeping onto his face despite the tension. “Well, this just got a lot more interesting.”

Haibara—if that was truly his name—moved like a shadow, slipping through Gojo and Nanami’s strikes with a precision that bordered on inhuman. Every dodge, every counter, every attack felt surgical, as if he knew exactly where to hit and how hard.

Gojo growled, swinging his baton in a wide arc. The exo-suited man sidestepped smoothly, grabbing Gojo’s wrist and twisting just enough to force him to release his grip. The baton clattered to the ground, and he delivered a sharp kick to Gojo’s ribs, sending him stumbling back.

“Damn it,” Nanami muttered under his breath. He lunged at the man, aiming for a takedown, but the man anticipated it. He caught Nanami’s arm mid-strike, using the momentum to flip him onto the floor.

“Sloppy,” the exo-suited man said, his voice low and dispassionate.

You watched it all unfold on your monitors. A smirk played on your lips as you spoke into the comms only the exo-suited man could hear, your voice calm and instructive.

“His Infinity is predictable. He relies on it too much—press him into close quarters. As for the other one, his technique is strong, but he’s methodical. Exploit his rigidity.”

The exo-suited man didn’t respond verbally, but his movements shifted immediately. He closed the distance between himself and Gojo, moving faster than the sorcerer could react. Gojo’s smile faltered as the man’s fist connected with his jaw, followed by a brutal sweep that knocked him off his feet.

“Focus, Satoru,” The man said, his tone clipped but mocking.

Nanami pushed himself to his feet, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead. He met the man’s gaze, his expression a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “You’re too good at this,” he said, his voice low. “How do you know exactly where to hit?”

The exo-suited man didn’t answer. He simply turned his attention back to Gojo, who was already preparing for another assault.

You leaned closer to the mic, your tone carrying a hint of amusement. “He doesn’t need to know where to hit. I’m telling him.”

Haibara, or whoever he was, his lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk, though he didn’t say a word.

Meanwhile, Gojo and Nanami exchanged a glance, frustration etched on their faces. They couldn’t hear you, but they could feel the weight of your absence.

Their attacks grew more desperate, their frustration boiling over. The man, however, remained calm, his movements fluid and unyielding. He fought like a man with nothing to lose and everything to prove.

“You’re really doing this,” he said softly, more to himself than anyone else.

But you didn’t waver. You leaned back in your chair, watching as the fight unfolded.

They had come to find you, but they weren’t prepared for the version of you they’d left behind—the one who had learned to fight back in ways they couldn’t anticipate.

“Who’s calling the shots now?” Nanami muttered, ducking a blow and countering with a sharp jab.

Gojo grabbed an incoming rifle mid-swing. “Whoever it is, they’re good. Like, scary good.”

A faint laugh echoed through the comms, just audible enough for them to catch.

Gojo’s grin vanished entirely. “No way…”

Nanami’s jaw tightened.

The operatives pulled back, forming a tight defensive line. Over their comms, your voice rang out clearly for the first time.

“Enough. Stand down.”

Gojo’s eyes widened, and he turned to Nanami. “Is that—?”

Nanami didn’t answer, his expression grim.

The operatives held their ground, weapons still raised but no longer firing. The tension was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words.

Gojo blinked, and for once, he had nothing to say.

Until an ominous whistle cut through the air, stilling the gunshot sounds.

Higuruma Hiromi stepped into the lobby, his presence commanding. The police officers flanking him raised their weapons, but Higuruma looked in charge. “Stand down,” he ordered. His hand itching to bring out his sword if Gojo and Nanami didn’t comply. Bastard was crazy enough to expose them.

Gojo straightened, his smirk fading slightly as he turned to face Higuruma. “You’re late,” he said mockingly, though his voice carried a hint of exhaustion.

“I’m right on time,” Higuruma replied, his gaze steady. “Unless you’d like to escalate this further?”

Nanami placed a hand on Gojo’s arm, his voice low. “Enough.”

The operatives moved in cautiously, their rifles trained on the duo. Gojo and Nanami didn’t resist as they were cuffed, their expressions unreadable. Even as they were both hit hard with the machine gun’s back square on the face, making them bleed a bit.

The employees emerged slowly from their hiding spots, their whispers filling the air once more.

“Did you see that? They fought armed guards with their bare hands.”

“Yeah, but like… hotly.”

“They actually got arrested.”

“I thought they’d fight their way out,” another replied, munching on a croissant stolen from the cafeteria during the chaos.

As they were led away and shoved into the back of the police car, Gojo’s voice broke the silence, low and filled with a bitter determination. “She’s hellbent on not letting us find her.”

Nanami’s expression was unreadable, his tone flat. “Wouldn’t you?”

Once shoved inside, Nanami leaned back in the cramped police car, his face shadowed by frustration, like a brooding hero in a low-budget action flick. The distant wail of sirens echoed in the background, but it felt more like a soundtrack to his existential crisis than an actual emergency.

“I knew she was capable,” he began, his voice low, almost like he was convincing himself. “But this... this is something else. No tech CEO operates at this level of... preparedness. Even Tesla doesn’t have an Exo-Suited Special Response Team. I mean, what’s next? A drone army?”

Gojo, for once, was silent, his eyes fixed on the streaks of light flashing past the windows, probably imagining himself in a high-speed chase. Finally, he scoffed, his tone uncharacteristically bitter. “She directed them like she’s been doing this her whole life. Like she was trained for it. But she wasn’t. Was she? Did we miss the memo on her secret ninja training?”

Nanami didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightened as he replayed the fight in his mind—the way her voice cut through the comms like a hot knife through butter, her precise commands, the exo-suited leader’s unerring strikes. “No, she’s never been formally trained,” he murmured, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. “But she definitely had a PowerPoint presentation on it somewhere.”

Gojo laughed, but it was humorless, almost self-deprecating, like he was trying to laugh away the absurdity of it all. “We spent all that time together, and what do we know? She likes her coffee and hates hot weather. And apparently, she moonlights as a tactical genius.”

“She’s running a gaming empire,” Nanami said quietly, his tone heavy with realization, like he’d just discovered the meaning of life. “Of course she’d know how to fight. She built this company from nothing. I mean, have you seen her spreadsheets? They’re practically battle plans.”

Gojo leaned his head back, staring at the car ceiling, then suddenly looked at Nanami with wide eyes. “Wait… she runs a gaming company. Man, that’s why she knew how to fight. All those late-night gaming sessions were just her training montages!”

Nanami sighed, rubbing his temples as if trying to massage away the absurdity of the situation. “Still, she was too prepared. I never expected her to be into all this. Tactical shit. I thought we were just going to fight a few ex-military guards, not engage in a full-blown ‘Operation Entebbe.’”

“Next time, we should bring snacks,” Gojo said, deadpan. “You know, for morale. Nothing says ‘we’re about to face armed tactical teams’ like a good box of mochi.”

“Yeah, because nothing calms the nerves like diabetes in a firefight,” Nanami replied, rolling his eyes. “Maybe we should just ask her for a tutorial on how to survive higher-ups warfare while we’re at it.”

“Right? I can see it now: ‘How to Negotiate with Hostile Takeovers and Tactical Dinosaurs.'” Gojo chuckled.

After a moment, Gojo spoke with a dark expression. “We’re not stopping.”

Nanami nodded once, his gaze fixed ahead. “No. We’re not.”

//

You’d underestimated them.

A few more weeks into your quiet life in this distant city, the first ripple of their presence reached you: a phone call from your old assistant. Her voice was strained, awkward as she tried to navigate the message she had to deliver.

“Your… husbands,” she said, as if she couldn’t bring herself to say the word, “are here looking for you.”

You didn’t let her finish. You hung up before she could speak another word, your heart pounding, panic clawing at your throat as you got on a call with the COO and handled it.

Now it was a couple of hours later that you leaned back in your chair, one hand resting on your heavily pregnant belly, the other typing furiously.

“Alright,” you began, your voice calm but firm as you addressed the executive team over an audio call. “Here’s how we’re handling this.”

Compensation for Injured Staff: “Each affected employee will receive a one-time payment equivalent to ten times the maximum insurance coverage, along with full medical and rehabilitation coverage. Paid leave until they’re fully cleared by their doctors. If they choose not to return, offer severance packages generous enough to ensure their future security.”

Security Upgrades: “Increase armed security personnel across all locations—minimum 45 per site. Implement biometric access controls for high-level areas. I want Fushiguro Sentinel Security Solutions contracted by the end of the hour. Get Megumi Fushiguro himself to oversee it.”

Mental Health Support: “Offer optional counseling for all employees affected by the incident. Trauma doesn’t vanish just because we’ve handled the threat.”

Legal Proceedings: “Gather all evidence. If either of those men steps foot in any of our offices again, treat them as threats immediately. Coordinate with external consultants to reinforce all protocols.”

Additional Measures: “Expand pension plans to cover additional contingencies. This company thrives because of its people. Their safety is non-negotiable.”

Your CFO cleared his throat. “And the cost implications?”

Your expression unyielding. “The cost of doing nothing is far higher. Do it.”

You addressed the CHRO. “Prepare an official statement. No names, no details. Just reassurance that we’re handling the situation.”

“And what about...” the COO hesitated, “...them?”

Your lips thinned. “That’s already being handled.”

With a final ‘later,’ you ended the call, exhaustion creeping into your posture. Your hand lingered on your belly, a silent promise to the life you were protecting—not just your own.

//

Soon the police station buzzed with the kind of energy reserved for high-profile cases and celebrity sightings. Rows of employees from your gaming company sat awkwardly on long benches, clutching half-empty specialized beverages and wearing various levels of workplace chic—some in sweatpants, others in blazers that screamed, I might be a startup founder someday.

The detective in charge, a middle-aged man who looked like he had seen everything and regretted it, pinched the bridge of his nose as the first employee was ushered into the interrogation room.

Employee #1: Kyle from Game Dev

Kyle slouched in his chair, his hoodie emblazoned with “I paused my raid for this?” barely containing his indifference. He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and gave the detective a bored stare.

“So, you’re telling me you saw two men—your CEO’s husbands—engage in what can only be described as a brawl royale with armed guards?”

Kyle shrugged. “Yeah, but like… it was kinda sexy? No homo.”

The detective blinked. “Sexy?”

“Yeah. Like, Mr. Nanami was giving off ‘dad who knows how to use a grill but also owns a sword’ energy, and Mr. Gojo? He’s got that unhinged hotness. Like, he’d ruin your life, but you’d thank him after, y’know?”

The detective stared at him, unamused. “No. I don’t.”

Kyle sighed, leaning back. “Look, I don’t even know why you’re asking us. The CEO is fine. She’s probably somewhere sipping an iced tea, plotting how to save the company from whatever PR disaster her husbands bring next. She’s like the gaming industry’s Tony Stark, but nicer. And hotter. Wayyyy hotter.”

The detective grimaced on your behalf.

Employee #2: Mia from Finance

Mia swept into the room, her oversized blazer barely concealing the “I heart NPCs” T-shirt beneath. She placed her iced coffee on the table like it was a prop for a monologue.

“Let me just say,” she began, her voice dripping with theatrics, “that our founder is an icon. THE queen. The moment.”

The detective sighed. “Can we focus on the incident—”

“Icon,” Mia repeated, cutting him off. “She’s literally married to the human equivalent of menace incarnate and a tax auditor (or my floor manager)’s wet dream. Like, opposites attract, am I right?”

The detective raised an eyebrow. “Did you actually witness the fight?”

“Oh, I saw everything. Mr. Nanami broke a guy’s body like he was folding a paper plane, and Mr. Gojo? He threw someone into a wall, and it was like—BAM! Pure art.” She paused, sipping her coffee. “Honestly, I was rooting for them.”

The detective scribbled something on his notepad. “You realize this isn’t a sports match?”

“Okay, boomer,” Mia replied, waving a dismissive hand.

Employee #3: Jay from HR

Jay adjusted his pastel tie, his laptop bag slung awkwardly across his chest. “First of all, let me just say, as the HR liaison, I do not condone violence in the workplace.”

The detective nodded approvingly. “Good, someone reasonable.”

“That said,” Jay continued, “Mr. Gojo and Mr. Nanami are, like, built. I wonder how much they bench press. Did you see their arms? I don’t even like men, but I get it. You know what I mean?”

The detective dropped his pen. “No, I don’t. Can you please just tell me what happened?”

Jay frowned, pulling out a tablet. “I made a PowerPoint, actually. Slide one is a detailed breakdown of Mr. Nanami’s fighting stance—very efficient. Slide two is Mr. Gojo’s ‘feral cat energy.’ Slide three is a pie chart of how many employees think they’re hot versus terrifying.”

The detective’s fist hit the desk.

Employee #4: Fatima from Legal

Fatima entered, heels clicking against the tile, her expression unreadable. “I’ll keep this brief,” she said, setting a stack of papers on the desk. “These are affidavits from the employees. They’re… unhelpful.”

The detective flipped through them.

Testimony 1: “Mr. Nanami looks like he drinks black coffee and hates fun, but man, can he punch.”

Testimony 2: “Mr. Gojo has main character energy. Like, if life were an anime, he’s the guy who shows up shirtless for no reason.”

Testimony 3: “Madam Founder’s taste in men? Impeccable. Very disturbing, but impeccable.”

Fatima crossed her arms. “Frankly, I think this whole thing is a waste of time. Our founder will probably pay off the damages and add a bonus to everyone’s paycheck for the inconvenience. She’s that kind of person.”

The detective looked up, incredulous. “You’re saying she’d reward people for being attacked?”

Fatima smirked. “Welcome to corporate, Detective.”

Employee #5: Emma from Sales

Emma, the youngest employee, clutched her bubble tea like it was a lifeline. “Okay, so, like, are we getting extra PTO for this? Because I was traumatized. Like, literally.”

The detective pinched the bridge of his nose. “You saw the fight?”

Emma nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, Mr. Gojo threw a guy into the cactus I named Greg. Poor Greg. RIP.”

“And Nanami?”

“Oh, he broke three ribs on that big guy from the response team. It was… beautiful.” She sighed dreamily. “Honestly, our CEO is living the dream. Two hot men fighting over her? Dream.”

Break

As the employees filed out, the detective stared at the pile of testimonies, his faith in humanity dwindling.

One officer leaned over, muttering, “So… what do we do with the husbands?”

The detective sighed. “Honestly? Let’s just hope their CEO comes back before they burn the city down.”

//

News segment played on TV in the station.

Anchor:“In a shocking incident at a company’s headquarters in Japan today, two unidentified men stormed the building, engaging in what witnesses describe as ‘Hollywood-level combat’ with security forces. Eyewitness footage shows the men, dressed in business attire, taking on armed guards with hand-to-hand combat skills that defy explanation.”

A clip plays, showing Gojo disarming a guard with a grin while Nanami methodically neutralizes another.

Anchor:“Social media users have been speculating wildly about the identities of these men, with theories ranging from disgruntled employees to members of organized crime. However, sources have confirmed that the men are not affiliated with any criminal organization.”

Tech Analyst:“What’s even more surprising is the revelation that these two men are reportedly teachers at a private academy—one known for its... unorthodox curriculum. And here’s the kicker: they’re allegedly married to the CEO.”

Anchor:“Married? To the CEO? Both of them?”

Tech Analyst:“Yes, it appears to be a polyamorous marriage, which was previously undisclosed to the public. Social media is now ablaze with debates over how two ‘regular teachers’ possess such combat skills—and why they would confront a company known for its impenetrable security.”

Anchor:“This story keeps getting stranger. Are they former military? Yakuza? Or something else entirely? And why storm your own wife’s company? Stay tuned as we dig deeper into this unfolding drama.”

The internet had already imploded.

It started with a single tweet.

@GameNewsNow:“BREAKING: Chaos at a gaming company’s Japanese HQ as unidentified intruders engage in combat with security. Witnesses report hand-to-hand combat, shattered glass, and… exosuits? Details unfolding. #TechWars”

Replies:

@PixelPrincess: “Wait, isn’t this the gaming company with the smart CEO? What is happening?

@CoffeeAndCode: “Nah, this is real. My friend works there. She said the intruders were FIGHTING SECURITY WITH THEIR BARE HANDS.”

@KDramaKween: “Exosuits?? Is this a promo for their next FPS game?”

Reddit was next.

r/TechDramau/InsiderGameDev: “Two guys stormed the Japanese HQ, and apparently, they’re just… teachers? One’s a blond with weird goggles; the other looks like a pissed-off salaryman. They fought like action movie stars. Who are they?”

Top Comments:

u/YakuzaWatch2024: “Teachers? Yeah, right. This screams Yakuza.”

u/CyberNerd93: “Plot twist: They’re her secret bodyguards.”

u/TinfoilHat47: “Jeff Bezos definitely paid them.”

Then TikTok exploded.

@HQBaristaVibes:“POV: You’re hiding behind the coffee station while two men in suits literally suplex security guards.”

The video shows Gojo vaulting over a desk while Nanami delivers a brutal elbow to an operative. A whisper in the background: “I’d show up to their Magic Mike Show!”

Comments:

@GamerGorlly: “This is giving Halo vibes. Is this a movie?”

@BossLadyFan: “WAIT, a woman can marry two hot men and not get arrested?! Plot twist of the century.”

@BigYakuzaEnergy: “Teachers don’t fight like that. I’m sticking with the Yakuza theory.”

Another TikTok showed Gojo yelling, “YOU’LL NEVER KEEP US FROM HER!” before being tackled by five armed men.

Caption: “These men are TEACHERS. At a school. Who TF approved this hire?!”

Comments:

@CultLeaderSuguru’sUnwashedSocks69: “Okay, but how do I apply to this cultist school?”

@WeedFinanceBro420: “Nanami can destroy my 401k; I’d still say thank you.”

@MommyIssuesInc: “Gojo screaming like he’s in a shonen anime is sending me 😭😭😭.”

Then came a shaky, vertical video posted to TikTok under the caption: “Me watching the CEO’s husbands wreck the office like it’s WWE 🫠 #CorporateDrama #TheyHotTho”

The video opened with Gojo throwing a security guard into a potted plant, the sound of shattering ceramic audible over the chaotic screaming in the background. Nanami steps into frame next, calmly adjusting his cufflinks before delivering a devastating elbow to another guard.

Text overlay read, “Who are these men?? And why are they fine while committing felonies??”

The video cuts to a shaky zoom on Nanami’s face, looking utterly unbothered while dragging another guard to the ground like a trained killer.

Caption updated to, “Is he single?? Asking for my friend (it’s me).”

Comments:

@Financically Challenged: “HR would never approve.”

@CorporateTea: “She really deleted her account before the tea spilled.”

@ILoveMyGamerBoysLite: “THEY’RE FINE, BUT WHY DO THEY FIGHT LIKE STREET FIGHTER CHARACTERS?”

@Man-whore: “I’d like to thank whoever recorded this masterpiece. My serotonin levels are soaring.”

Fan accounts dedicated to your company were flooded with reposts of TikToks and blurry images from the incident.

One post, in particular, gains traction: a screenshot of Gojo being escorted out by Higuruma, still grinning like a maniac. The caption reads: “Find you someone who looks at you the way Gojo looks at the camera. 🥰 #CoupleGoals”

Meanwhile, Reddit threads dissect the entire event like it’s a true crime case.

r/CorporateDrama:

u/ThrowawayEmployee123:

“I work in the cafeteria, and I swear one of them stole a cherry tomato before elbowing a guard.”

Top Comments:

u/NoHRLeft: “This has to be staged, right? Like a marketing stunt? No way two hot dudes just... do this.”

u/DefinitelyNotNanami: “They do. Trust me.”

r/GamingGossip:

AlphaDaddyInumaki69:

“CEO’s SECRET MARRIAGE EXPOSED!”

Top Comments:

u/BlueEyes6’5”Simp: “Gojo Satoru is a whole ass menace. I respect it.”

u/CoffeeAndGuilt: “Nanami could throw me through a window, and I’d thank him.”

u/TakadaChanSimp9000: “Focus, people. What does this mean for her company’s next game launch???”

//

After Break

The detective’s patience wore thinner with every passing second, while Higuruma Hiromi, now leaning casually against the wall with a cup of tea in hand, watched with the faintest glimmer of amusement in his otherwise stoic demeanor.

Employee #6: Lily from Social Media

Lily adjusted her oversized cat-eye glasses and placed her iced matcha latte on the table. “So, like, first of all, you should know this isn’t the worst thing they’ve done. Did you hear about the time they took Madam Founder to karaoke? There’s a whole thread about it on our company’s internal social media site. It trended for days there. Someone recorded it while they were there too.”

The detective rubbed his temples. “Miss, this isn’t about karaoke.”

“I’m just saying, they’re iconic. Like, I don’t condone violence or whatever, but when Mr. Gojo ripped that baton out of a guard’s hand and spun it like a lightsaber? I mean, c’mon. That’s main character behavior.”

Higuruma took a slow sip of tea. “Main character behavior,” he repeated dryly.

“Exactly!” Lily pointed at him like he’d just validated her existence. “And Mr. Nanami? He’s the broody love interest with a tragic backstory who you know secretly listens to metal while making cute teddy bear bento for his wife. You can’t be mad at them.”

The detective glared at Higuruma, who raised an eyebrow in return. “Don’t look at me,” Higuruma said. “I’m just here for the tea. Literally.”

Employee #7: Vikram from Quality Assurance

Vikram, who looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, slumped into the chair with a half-eaten bagel. “So, here’s the thing. I respect the CEO, right? She’s like the mom who brings donuts to the office but also could fire you with a single email. But her husband's? Absolute gremlins.”

The detective perked up. “Finally, someone reasonable. Tell me about the fight.”

“Right, right.” Vikram gestured vaguely. “So, Mr. Nanami’s out here breaking bones like he’s crinkling bubble wrap. Efficient. Terrifying. Meanwhile, Mr. Gojo? He’s musically laughing as he bashes people’s stomachs in.”

“Did they say anything about why they were there?”

Vikram frowned, taking a thoughtful bite of his bagel. “Not really. But I did hear Mr. Gojo call one of the guards a ‘budget James Bond,’ so there’s that.”

Higuruma chuckled softly, earning a glare from the detective. “What? That’s objectively funny.”

Employee #8: Nina from HR

Nina walked in like she owned the place, her heels clicking with purpose. She set her iced Americano down and crossed her arms. “Look, I’ll make this simple. Mr. Gojo Satoru and Mr. Nanami Kento are walking red flags. And I say that as someone who’d climb those flags like a jungle gym.”

The detective choked on his coffee. “Excuse me? Aren’t you from HR? What happened to your policies?”

“You heard me.” Nina adjusted her blazer. “Do I think it’s unprofessional that they destroyed company property and assaulted multiple guards? Sure. Do I also think they’re the human equivalent of the ‘Enemies to Lovers’ tag? Absolutely.”

“Ma’am, this isn’t Wattpad,” the detective said, his tone exasperated.

“Could’ve fooled me,” she shot back.

Higuruma leaned forward slightly, his expression neutral but his tone amused. “Did they say anything about their intentions while breaking noses?”

Nina tapped her chin. “Mr. Gojo said something about how he’d ‘burn the world down’ to find the CEO. Very dramatic. Mr. Nanami, though? He just glared at people. I think four guys quit on the spot and then never sent the resignation letter because of our amazing pension package.”

Employee #9: Ramirez from Accounting

Ramirez looked unbothered, scrolling through her phone as she sat down. “Can we speed this up? I’ve got a meeting in fifteen.”

The detective sighed. “What did you see?”

“Mr. Nanami snapped someone’s arm in half like it was a breadstick. Mr. Gojo threw a guy into a cactus. Typical Tuesday.”

“Anything unusual?”

She glanced up, smirking. “Unusual? Detective, our CEO is married to the human embodiment of a power imbalance and a walking midlife crisis. Nothing is unusual anymore.”

Higuruma stifled a laugh behind his tea, earning another glare from the detective.

Employee #10: Li from Design

Li leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen like it was a baton. “So, here’s my hot take: Mr. Gojo’s like that guy who talks shit in the group chat but shows up to the fight in Crocs. Mr. Nanami? He’s the one who silently carries the whole team.”

The detective rubbed his temples. “What does that even mean?”

“It means Mr. Gojo’s unhinged but sexy, and Mr. Nanami’s the Dilf who actually gets things done.”

“Why does everything come back to their attractiveness?” The detective snapped.

Li shrugged. “Because it’s distracting. You ever seen a man fix his cufflinks while choking someone out? It’s an experience.”

Higuruma nodded, thinking of Nanami. “It really is.”

Employee #11: Emily from PR

Emily entered, visibly stressed, clutching a planner filled with color-coded tabs. “I’m just here to confirm that the company’s official stance is ‘no comment.’ Also, the CHRO would like everyone to know that all damages will be covered, and the guards are being compensated handsomely.”

The detective leaned forward. “Does the CEO have anything to say about her husbands?”

Emily hesitated, flipping through her planner. “She said… and I quote, ‘They are on their own.’”

Higuruma snorted, setting his tea down. “Smart woman.”

The detective groaned, slumping in his chair. “I give up.”

Emily adjusted her glasses. “Oh, and she also said the cactus will be replaced.”

From somewhere in the station, a faint cheer could be heard. “Greg lives on!”

Break Again

As the employees filed out, the detective stared at the mess of notes on his desk, each one more absurd than the last. Higuruma stood, brushing imaginary lint off his suit.

“Well,” Higuruma said, his tone dry but amused, “at least we know one thing for sure.”

“What’s that?” the detective asked wearily.

Higuruma smirked faintly. “Your suspects might be unstoppable, but their PR game? Immaculate.”

After Break

The interrogation room had become a revolving door of chaos. Higuruma, sipping tea like he was on vacation, had taken over the questioning, his demeanor a sharp contrast to the detective’s rapidly fraying patience. The employees were less helpful than ever, and now more of the game dev, product launch, and sales teams had joined the fray, bringing their own flavor of madness to the mix.

Employee #11: Kevin from Game Dev

Kevin slouched into the chair, his hoodie covered in suspicious crumbs. He adjusted his gamer headset like he was about to stream instead of give testimony. “Okay, first of all, can I just say? The way Mr. Nanami handled those guards? That’s the kind of realism we need in our combat mechanics. Man’s a walking motion-capture studio.”

The detective groaned. “We’re not here to discuss combat mechanics.”

Kevin shrugged. “I’m just saying, if we had that level of precision, our next release would bankrupt Mojang Studios.”

Higuruma leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. “And what about Gojo?”

Kevin snorted. “Mr. Gojo? He’s the kind of guy who’d spam the emote wheel mid-fight. You know, hit you with a ‘Haha, loser’ after parrying your attack, just to flex.”

The detective slammed his notebook shut. “This isn’t a video game!”

Kevin blinked. “Tell that to the cactus. That thing got ragdolled.”

Employee #12: Maddie from Product Launch

Maddie walked in wearing oversized sunglasses and carrying an oat milk latte like she was on the front row of a fashion show. She flipped her hair before sitting down. “So, let me get this straight. You’re asking me to snitch on them?”

Higuruma raised an eyebrow. “We’re asking for facts, not snitching.”

“Facts?” Maddie laughed, leaning back. “Here’s a fact: Mr. Gojo Satoru is the moment. When he threw that guard into the no-sweetener coffee machine? I felt seen.”

The detective pinched the bridge of his nose, which was reddening now with all the pinching. “Did you actually witness anything useful?”

“Useful?” Maddie repeated, looking offended. “I’ll have you know I was taking notes.Mr. Gojo’s movements? Chaotic but controlled. Mr. Nanami’s? Pure tactical perfection. They’re like the yin and yang of violence.”

Higuruma smirked faintly. “And the CEO?”

“Oh, she’s living the dream,” Maddie said, twirling her straw. “I mean, married to those two? Goals. Sure, they’re a walking HR violation, but I’d take one for the team.”

“Noted,” Higuruma replied dryly, while the detective muttered something about needing a vacation.

Employee #13: Jake from Sales

Jake swaggered in like he was pitching a deal. “Alright, gentlemen, let’s talk ROI—Return on Insanity. Those two? They’re the best marketing campaign we’ve ever had.”

Higuruma tilted his head. “How so?”

“Think about it,” Jake said, gesturing wildly. “We’re a gaming company, right? And now everyone’s talking about us. I mean, sure, there was some... collateral damage. But viral marketing? You can’t buy this kind of exposure.”

The detective’s pen snapped in half. “People got hurt!”

Jake nodded sagely. “Yeah, but did you see the way Mr. Nanami disarmed that guard? That’s brand synergy right there. We could use that in our next trailer.”

Higuruma chuckled softly. “You’re not wrong.”

“Thank you,” Jake said, winking at Higuruma with reddened cheeks.

The detective groaned. “Stop encouraging him!”

Employee #14: Aiko from Game Design

Aiko plopped into the chair, her arms full of sketchbooks and concept art. “Okay, so I’ve been working on a character design inspired by Mr. Nanami. Picture this: a stoic modern-day Viking, his suit pristine, his tie a weapon—”

“His tie is not a weapon,” the detective interrupted.

“Not yet,” Aiko countered, flipping open her sketchbook to a detailed drawing of Nanami mid-fight. “But it could be. Look at these sketches. Imagine the animation potential.”

Higuruma leaned over to examine the art, nodding thoughtfully. “Impressive detail.”

“Right?” Aiko beamed. “And Mr. Gojo? He’d be the chaotic rogue archetype. I’m thinking glowing six eyes, a blindfold that doubles as a grappling hook—”

The detective banged his fist on the table. “This isn’t a brainstorming session for your next game!”

Aiko shrugged. “Could’ve fooled me. This whole situation is giving side quest energy.”

Employee #15: Ellie from HR

Ellie, the most normal-looking person yet, sat down with a clipboard. “So, I’ve compiled a list of damages and injuries. It’s... extensive.”

The detective perked up. “Finally, someone useful.”

“But,” Ellie added, flipping through her notes, “I’d also like to propose a company-wide Mr. Gojo and Mr. Nanami Appreciation Day. Morale has been low, and honestly, they’ve brought us closer as a team.”

The detective stared at her, speechless.

Higuruma chuckled, setting down his tea. “I like the initiative.”

Employee #16: Alex from Marketing

Alex entered with a PowerPoint presentation. “Okay, hear me out. A new ad campaign: ‘Work Hard, Fight Harder.’ We feature Nanami and Gojo as the faces of the brand—”

The detective stood abruptly. “We’re done here.”

“Wait, there’s a slide on cactus replacements!” Alex called after him.

As the employee left, the detective slumped into his chair, glaring at Higuruma. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Higuruma shrugged, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “I find it... enlightening.”

The detective groaned. “Enlightening? They’re turning this investigation into a fan convention!”

“Better than a riot,” Higuruma replied, his tone mild.

“Barely.”

Another video on TikTok popped up, as these things often did now, apparently. As the grainy, zoomed-in footage of Gojo and Nanami leaving the station hit every corner of social media, the internet collectively lost its mind. Fancams were already being made. The soundtrack? A slowed-down, reverb-heavy version of Britney Spears’ “Toxic.”

Caption: “Gojo Satoru—chaotic, probably rich, can’t keep his mouth shut. Nanami Kento—stoic, terrifying, boss you wanna fuck. You—genius CEO, hot.”

Memes too -

@FinanceBroFails: “Poly relationships are for the weak. Imagine being married to two dudes, and neither answers your calls. Couldn’t be me.”

@HimboAppreciationSociety: “Y’all are simping over these men, but what about the poor employees??? My guy, salaryman Kenjirô Tsuda, is still unconscious in the corner.”

@PolyKaisen: “We need a new game where Gojo and Nanami fight for love and also commit tax fraud. #FreeTheHusbands”

@PolyAmoristsUnite: “This is why we can’t have nice things. People ruin it by marrying two hot men and leaving the rest of us to suffer.”

@FanCamForLife: [Fancam of Nanami disarming a guard in the office fight, set to Billie Eilish’s “You Should See Me in a Crown.”]

By evening, the hashtags were trending.

#PolyPanic2024#TwoHolesForAReason#PolyKaisen

But it wasn’t all jokes. Hate comments rolled in too.

@MoralHighGround: “Polyamory is unnatural. No wonder this mess happened. Pick one partner and stay loyal.”

@TraditionalValuesStan: “This is what happens when corporate culture goes woke. First, it’s diversity hires, then it’s this.”

@PolySkeptic99: “Imagine running a billion-dollar company and thinking two husbands was a good idea. Peak bad decisions.”

Higuruma, scrolling through Twitter, raised an eyebrow at a tweet:

@InLawerDaddyWeThurst: “Higuruma Hiromi in a suit? Is he single? Asking respectfully (not respectfully).”

Hiromi sighs, muttering to himself, “Why does this always happen?”

The detective beside him groaned. “Stop reading it.”

Higuruma continues, hiding a smirk as another notification pops up:

@FiddlingWithBothLawAndOrder🍒: “Hiromi can prosecute me any day 😏.”

The detective, who’s fully checked out, whispered to Higuruma, gesturing at Nanami and Gojo, who were sprawled in a cell quite beaten up by the armed guys who’d arrested them. Gojo’s long legs Sprawled awkwardly over Nanami’s lap, who rubbed them absentmindedly as they both stared at the bulb like they were mothmen, "Do they know they’re walking memes? Like, are they self-aware? Or is this just how they live? Because I’m five seconds from retiring and starting a blog called ‘Hot Men, Bad Decisions.’”

Yaga stormed into the station, his face a mask of barely contained fury. He zeroed in on Gojo, and Nanami sat in the holding area; they were cuffed but unbothered.

After the paperwork was done, Yaga shoved the station doors open, leading the way. Behind him, Gojo and Nanami stepped out, walking with the kind of swagger that screamed, ‘We did it, and we’d do it again.’

A crowd had gathered outside the station, barricades barely holding back a mix of paparazzi, reporters, and what could only be described as the thirstiest group of people Tokyo had ever seen.

“Nanami, are you single? Rearrange my guts, please!”

“GOJO, MY THROAT IS AWFULLY EMPTY!”

The cameras went wild. Gojo smirked like he was on the Met Gala red carpet, tilting his head for the best angles. “Ladies, please,” he said, his voice dripping with charm. “I’m married. You’re breaking my husband’s heart.”

Nanami, trailing behind, adjusted his disheveled sleeves and shot Gojo a glare. “Don’t involve me in your theatrics.”

“You’re literally my husband,” Gojo quipped, tossing his hair dramatically. “You’re involved by default.”

As the reporters’ questions grew louder, Yaga finally snapped. “Shut up, all of you!” he roared, spinning around to face the two men. “Married?! Since when? To each other? And the CEO?! What the hell is going on?”

Gojo looked entirely unbothered, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You didn’t know? Thought it was obvious. We’re very progressive.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “It wasn’t exactly public information, Satoru.”

“Well, it is now!” Gojo said cheerfully, waving at the crowd like a pageant queen.

But the crowd didn’t care about the details. The thirst was too real.

“Nanami, I’ll be your wife!” Someone screamed, holding up a sign with his name in glittery gold letters.

“He’s mine!” Gojo muttered under his breath.

“Satoru, I love you!” shouted another.

Gojo paused, smirking at the camera. “Thanks, but I love my husband. And my wife.”

Yaga shoved both men into the back of the car, the force rattling the frame. He slammed the door so hard it was a miracle the glass didn’t shatter. “Unbelievable,” he muttered as he climbed into the driver’s seat, his voice a low growl.

Gojo sprawled out immediately, legs taking up more space than necessary, his hands resting lazily on his lap. “That wasn’t so bad,” he said, tone light and airy, as if the past five hours hadn’t been a descent into insanity. “Honestly, I think I handled it pretty well.”

Yaga’s hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. “Handled it well?” His voice cracked like a whip, sharp enough to slice through the air. “You turned it into a goddamn circus! And I just found out my students are married. To each other. And someone else. What the hell is wrong with you two?”

Nanami stared out the window, jaw tight. Gojo, of course, couldn’t resist. He turned to Nanami, a pout tugging at his lips. “See? No one appreciates me.”

Nanami didn’t look at him. “You did turn it into a circus,” he said flatly, his voice calm but laced with quiet exasperation. Then he glanced at Gojo. “But that’s your specialty.”

Gojo grinned, the pout vanishing instantly. “Aw, thanks, baby. That’s why I married you.”

Yaga slammed a hand on the steering wheel, the car swerving slightly. “Are you serious right now?!” His voice was dangerously close to a shout. “You’ve drawn too much attention. The higher-ups are done with your antics. Indefinite leave. Effective immediately.”

Nanami’s head whipped around, a flicker of surprise crossing his usually stoic face. “Indefinite leave?” he asked, though there was no disappointment in his voice.

“Do you even know what indefinite means?” Gojo chimed in, leaning forward with mock curiosity.

Yaga glared at him through the rearview mirror, his expression thunderous. “Shut up, Gojo. You’re lucky they didn’t lock you both in the basement for the next decade.”

Nanami, however, was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed, looking... content. “Perfect,” he said quietly.

Yaga blinked. “Perfect? You’re suspended!”

Nanami glanced at Gojo, a rare spark of energy in his eyes. “Finally. Time to focus.”

Gojo’s grin widened, somehow more unhinged. “On finding her.”

Then behind Yaga’s back, Gojo raised a fist. “C’mon, Nami. Forced vacation means forced bonding time. Fist bump for the road?”

Nanami sighed, clearly annoyed but humoring him. He bumped Gojo’s fist lightly.

“HEY!” Yaga barked, catching the exchange in the mirror. “What the hell is wrong with you two?!”

Gojo shrugged, throwing an arm around Nanami’s shoulder. “A lot, apparently.”

Nanami shoved him off. “Don’t touch me.”

//

You sat in your small apartment, the television blaring the evening news as you unmuted it.

“Today, the gaming world was shaken by an incident,” the anchor said, barely hiding their glee. “The CEO’s secret polyamorous marriage was exposed when her two husbands—yes, you heard that right—stormed the office and engaged in physical altercations with security personnel.”

The screen cut to shaky footage of Gojo grinning smugly as police cuffed him. “Ladies, I’m married,” he said, winking at the camera. “And no, I won’t entertain such things. Besides, Nanami here, my husband would de-ball me.”

Nanami, standing beside him, glared at the reporters and muttered, “You have no tact.”

The news continued: “The CEO, known for her philanthropic efforts and innovative leadership in the gaming industry, has yet to comment. Sources suggest she is out of the country. Social media has been ablaze with reactions.”

For a split second you saw them—Gojo and Nanami; they were staring at you directly like they knew you’d be watching. It made your skin crawl.

You turned the TV off, unable to watch anymore. The words echoed in your mind: “secret polyamorous marriage” and “shaken the gaming world.” You buried your face in your hands, the stress of it all threatening to overwhelm you. The twins inside you shifted uncomfortably, as if responding to your distress.

They don’t even know what they’ve done to me, you thought bitterly. They didn’t even care enough to notice me begging for their attention. And now this?

Your eye flicked to the news flashing on the corner of your laptop screen, “Genius CEO Married to Chaotic Duo? Security Incident at Gaming HQ Leaves Internet Thirsting.”

Your head falls into your hands as you mutter, “This is why I deleted social media. They’ve turned my life into a meme.”

The twins kick inside you, as if to remind you they’re still there, and you sigh deeply. At least someone in your life listens to you… sometimes.

Megumi had come through, and by the end of the night, your offices worldwide were in lockdown, with new measures being implemented to ensure this never happened again. Your heart ached for the lives that had been disrupted because of you, but you refused to let their suffering be in vain.

Later, as you sat in the quiet of your new home, far from Shibuya, you stared at the screen of your phone. The urge to reach out to them lingered, a phantom ache you couldn’t shake. But you knew better.

They had chosen this path, and you had chosen yours.

For now, all you could do was protect the people who relied on you and hope they found their way back to themselves, away from you—without destroying everything in their wake.

But no one could outrun Gojo Satoru and Nanami Kento.

The second time, it would be worse.

//

Later that evening, Gojo slouched on the couch, lazily scrolling through his phone. Nanami sat across from him, surrounded by maps and books, his hoodie’s sleeves scrunched up.

“So, she’s somewhere cold,” Gojo said, tossing his phone onto the table.

Nanami didn’t look up. “We don’t know that.”

“Sure, we do,” Gojo replied, leaning forward. “Her assistant said she was cold. And she hates being cold indoors. That means she’s somewhere where the cold is... unavoidable. Nordic country vibes.”

Nanami frowned, flipping a page in his book. “That’s a stretch.”

Gojo grinned. “Is it? Think about it. Quiet, isolated, and full of tall, serious people. People who mind their own business and won’t notice a powerful CEO roaming around. Won’t snitch to the Gojo clan. She fits right in.”

Nanami’s brow furrowed as he considered it. “She’d hate the lack of convenience.”

“Which makes it the perfect place to hide,” Gojo countered, already standing and stretching. “Pack your overcoat, Nami. We’re going to Scandinavia.”

Nanami closed his book with a snap. “You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot with good instincts,” Gojo quipped, heading for the door. “Let’s go find our wife.”

A/N: Fanart by @Todo269 on Twitter - https://x.com/todo269/status/1834376289526186336 The bomb meme was made by yours truly and the other one I found randomly on pinterest. Did anyone see Special Grade Nanamin™ coming? I sure didn’t, but here we are. Also: Haibara or his lookalike? Yes, that’s for the one person who asked. @sxlfcxst

Cast your vote in the poll, and don’t hold back in the comments. Let’s hear those unhinged takes! 👑 Because your girl needs validation. Bonus points if you paid attention to the usernames.

Chapter 4 - The Gravity of Running (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

Sweetener - C.K.

Synopsis. You, hit by your heat cycle and accidentally calling your best friend over in a daze. Choso Kamo, your utterly sweet best friend - and totally not an aIpha, right? Right?

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! oméga! reader, alpha! Choso, heats, best-friends-to-lovers, pining, creampíes, bréeding, Choso goes FÉRAL, OMÉGAVERSE AU, overstím, knots, MARATHONS, making him cúm blanks, MATÍNG BÍTES, cúmplay, first times (Choso), pússydrúnk Choso, oraI (fem), proposals, p talking, pet names, swéaring. 

Word count. 8.1k

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

“Open up f’me, beautiful.”

Choso Kamo was approximately four seconds away from kicking down your front door and tearing your apartment down in search of you. Or, at least, he would be if he didn’t know how much you’d huff at him afterwards.

Because it’s not everyday that his precious best friend wakes him up at 3AM with a hazy, six-second call. Mumbling nothing but an adorably sleepy “Cho— come over?” 

So what if Choso had instantly thrown on the first t-shirt he saw and broken about seven traffic violations on his motorbike here? 

“Come on, come on-” he’s hissing underneath his breath. Weight shuffling nervously between his two feet, he raps on your door once more. Twice. Thrice. “D-don’t make me use that spare key again.”

It was a half-threat - really, it was. 

But the louder your answering silence grew, the tighter his fingers curled around his own metallic key. Breathing out a low, “I’m- I’m coming in.” And slowly - ever-so-slowly - he’s cracking your door just an inch open before-

Oh. 

Oh. 

It hits Choso like a wave - hard enough to knock him down onto his knees. 

“What-” he’s gasping, heaving. Words tumbling out drunkenly in rasping ahs! that he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t even register the bright, blossoming pain sweeping his knees with the way his lungs felt like they were scorching - and Choso just couldn’t get enough. 

It wasn’t a new candle of yours, and Choso already memorized every one of your perfumes for this to be one. This was just so…carnally sweet. 

He was drinking in every drop, every ounce, every waft of that candied air inside your cozy apartment like he couldn’t breathe if it wasn’t that.

And something in the sugary scent makes Choso twitch. 

Oh, shit. 

Hastily swiping away a translucent mess of drool that’d somehow made its home by the rosy corner of his mouth, he’s straining out once more. For his sanity, more than anything. “Beautiful? Anyone home?”

Still no answer. 

Absolutely nothing. 

It takes him a few more sloppy seconds swimming his melty mind to even consider stumbling back up onto his two unsteady feet. Blinking away the bleary film over his gaze, Choso slams! your door shut with the back of his foot - cutting off the heady perfume from emanating into the corridor. 

Noise complaints from your neighbors be damned - he’ll apologize to them all personally later. 

But right now, something about the way that mysterious essence was all his, his, his scratched at such a dangerously primal itch in his brain. 

Shit- what was he even thinking?

Choso was here for you and only you. 

He’s running a jittery few digits through the sweat-dampened valleys of his hair, tugging in a stinging little pull to try and snap some sense back into him. Clearing the strangled mess in his throat, Choso smacks! his palms against his burning cheeks before calling out once more, “I’ll be coming in–”

Because it’s not as if Choso’s never been in here before - he has. Many, many times, in fact. And during every one of those hangouts you’d made it a point to pout about how he should really “let loose” and treat this home as if it was his own, too. 

Honestly, it was hard to feel anything but comfortable after knowing each other for so long - even despite those embarrassing, mushy feelings that he always drowned in around you. 

But that was a conversation for another time. 

And right now, Choso couldn’t even dream of any “comfort” when every step deeper into the saturated cloud of scent made Choso gulp. Every blink had his eyes watering even more - and his pants- fuck- Choso’s biting down on his rawly worried lower lip, eyes flickering anywhere but where he could feel his achy cock stirring. 

Something about this smell was so…hypnotic. 

And if he didn’t know any better then he’d have sworn he was practically floating down that familiar pathway to your bedroom. Feet padding down anxiously along the mahogany-covered floors, it was becoming so much harder and harder to breathe in the fragrant air without getting fucking addicted.  

Or, Choso swallows, one arm balanced on the wall, the other feeling for his thundering pulse. He probably already was. 

But what if you were sick? What if you needed help? Fuck, if he didn’t live every waking moment dancing along to your heartbeat.

That is, when he hears it. That.

Filtering from inside your bedroom…a moan. ”Ch-Choso–”

.

.

.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

You didn’t know what you were thinking, forgetting to take your monthly dosage of suppressants - you’d blame it on all the time you’d been spending studying for finals with Choso lately, but you’d never put the fault on your sweet best friend like that.

After all, he was a fellow omega like you at the end of the day. Right? 

“Fuck” You’re scrambling to clasp onto a sodden sweatshirt of his on your bed, nose burying into the slightly sunny vanilla scent. You knew it was wrong to think about him this way, you knew it was made even worse considering his second gender. But- but fuck, if he didn’t have your hands slipping and sliding guiltily down towards the slick-lathered spot between your legs. Concentrated puffs of heat stifling from between your lips, “Ch-Choso–”

Honestly, you wanted him so badly you could reach over for your phone and call-

No, no, no, no - your fatigued eyes flick over to the winking clock by your bedside. 3:26AM.

You couldn’t call him over for help now. Choso was so sweet that he’d probably rush over in his pajamas and rack up a fair few tickets on his motorbike. 

Which was why you preferred to spend your heats without his help - it had been that way since you’d both presented back in high school. 

You’d met Choso after your family had moved to the cutest little suburb in Tokyo, stumbling across the tiny boy-next-door with wide honeypool eyes and a chubby hand that waved shyly your way. Even at the wise old age of eight, you remember thinking how he was so pretty. 

Pretty enough that something your health teacher had taught in your last school clanged throughout your mind - this boy was probably an ah…what was the word? Omega. 

A quiet, comfortable understanding - and it wasn’t something that the two of you never quite had to talk about too in-depth. At least, outside of sneaking the answers to pop quizzes on secondary genders, and giggling when another classmate sauntered to school with a garish bitemark on their neck. 

But, often, you wondered whether you’d ever see Choso with that type of mark. 

He never looked at another alpha - not even another omega, or beta, for that matter. You knew that society was stepping towards a more accepting environment for rather “unconventional” pairings - but Choso Kamo seemed well and firmly intent on rejecting every single one of them. 

Instead, staying by your side. Unpaired. 

Even when he followed you all the way to university - two peas in a pod, so tightly intertwined that most wondered whether you two were mated for life. And he never bothered to disagree - but then again, neither did you.

Even when the years treated him well and he grew so tall, so unfairly attractive. All prettily timid smiles, glinting piercings marrying his ears, and dark, droopy eyes tinged with the slightest kiss of dark eyeliner. Rivalling even the most cocky alphas on your entire campus with his sheer stature and ambience. 

Like he was right now. 

Towering at the very edge of your unlatched bedroom door. 

And only one word registers in your mind - alpha. 

Choso - a Choso that was so utterly real and in the flesh - jumps once those startled syllables spill from your mouth. 

Fuck, you didn’t even realize you said that out loud. 

Not until he’s slamming! one massively spayed-out palm by the side of your doorframe. Shattered pieces of wood crumbling beneath him, you’re unabashedly ogling the flex of his curvaceous biceps. Another hand covering the lower half of his handsome face, Choso rasps. He whines, “You called, m-my omega?”

Oh.

Your entire shivering body bolts upright, like you were being electrified with a thousand voltages of bliss that make your drooling cunt gush. Treacly wafts of pheromones clouding out from you all over again - and the look on Choso’s face is just drunk.

Thick lids so heavy that they were practically falling half-closed, it’s as if his entire body was flushed a prespired red. Lips all ruddied and laminated thinly with spit, his teeth were drawn back into such a wild snarl. 

Like he was about to tear something into bits and it might be you.

So…pretty. 

It almost hurts you to dart your eyes away in an urgent glance at your suspiciously open call log - did you…really call him in your haze? Fuck. 

“Y-you’re-” You swallow a few times - and even then, the words don’t come to you. They can’t. Too stuck on what a delicacy your best friend looked all slumped over by your doorway like he was begging for you. Like he’d crawled all his way to you and would do it all over again. “You’re an alpha, Cho?”

As if you had any doubt now. You could smell the sheer power on him, the thrumming strength threatening to rip through that clingy white undershirt of his. So transparently thin that you could still count every ridge of his washboard abs. And his velvety black boxers hung low-

“Shit-” he gulps. “Yes- fuck! Y-you’re an omega?” 

You can only nod. Brows raising when Choso plants another slam right onto your doorframe, indenting all slender lanes of his digits onto it this time. “And is that…mine?”

With a sudden inhalation, you’re snatching behind that sweatshirt of Choso’s that you’d still been holding. Heart thumping - but there was nothing more to say. What could you say?

Turns out, Choso is the first to break. “L-Let me prove it.”

You’re blinking, squeezing your thighs together at the bittersweet throb. You didn’t know what had your honeyed head reeling more - the sudden reveal of Choso’s secondary gender, or his answer. His sheer need. “Prove it?”

Choso’s head hangs low, chestnut bangs covering his greedy gaze, but you could tell that he was looking at you. Really, really looking at you. 

Words dripping with something you’d never heard of before. Hoarse. Tight. “Can I…can I come in, beautiful?”

You know you should say no to letting him inside your nest - you know it. 

But oh, how it looked like it was taking him every shred of will to keep standing there. To not fucking collapse at the way your gooey pheromones have him spellbound. And he likely would have had it not been for your small, trembling answer, “Yes.”

Choso whimpers - if there was ever a singular moment that would have him crawling back from the afterlife just to re-experience all over again, then it would be this. 

When he feels something in the back of his mind switch.

Senses sharpening almost painfully with one step inside your humid bedroom. Two. 

Until Choso’s stalking so languidly towards you like a predator cornering his prey, foot by foot. He takes his dreamy time prowling towards you - all the way up until your flushed best friend is looming across the foot of the bed.

There’s something vicious in his eyes. Something that has him salivating, “Can- can I?”

You’re breathing out, “Y-yes.”

Slow, sultry fingers unfurl out to draw a steady line along your ankle - he walks. Fingers blazing up your twitchy thighs, up your drenched excuse of shorts, up, up, up to smear that delirious line of your dribble. 

“T-tell me what you want, beautiful.” He pecks an innocent kiss on your forehead, then another to your throat - heaving in your perfumed air. “Anything- I’ll give ya hah- anything.”

His words are low. Hot against your face. 

And just about the only thing you can do is slither your unsteady hands down to toy with the hem of your pants. A sight that makes Choso swallow thickly with a rasping grunt. 

“I want you to…” you’re trailing off. Fingers dipping down to where you haven’t been able to satisfy for hours now. Your inner omega yelling - screaming that nothing was enough, but he might just be. “-touch me here, Cho.”

SWAT!

Instantly, you’re letting off a saccharine mewl at the way your hand is being oh-so-rudely thwacked away by one of Choso’s own. The slight sting throbbing - but not as much as your poor cunt is when meeting his digits. 

Sliding just between your cottony shorts- oh? Choso’s heart stutters. No panties? You really are going to be the death of him. He’s lingering a dewy stroke down your teary slit, honeying his ringed fingers in all your slick juices. 

For a second - just a second.

Lightning-fast, Choso’s trailing away with a slew of spatters left behind, and it makes his skin feel ten times hotter. Ten times dirtier in only the best way.

Even more so when those very digits end up slipping easily into Choso’s mouth. One by one.  Eyes trained darkly on yours, his long pinkish tongue ends up lazily lathering up and down up and down up and down every beaded gleam of your juices.

“Y-you’re so-” your voice cracks embarrassingly - pathetically, in a way that makes every copious ounce of blood in his body sprint south. “-filthy.”

Pulling off with a waterlogged pop! Choso’s tongue probes between his two long fingers, smacking his lips open and shut with the sticky dredges. And you swear you catch a whiff of smugness in his scent. Yet, he’s blushing, “All for you- only for you, my girl.”

And you can’t even complain - you can’t even tease him about the way that just another mere touch up against your feverish pussypound has Choso gasping. Eyes crinkling with something like delight and sheer awe.

Because he’s crashing his mouth into yours, suckling on your lips like his favorite berry lolly-

“Sh-shit-” Choso’s rich tone cracks into shattering lilts, and you can hear him laugh against your lips. Laugh. Humorless and crazed - pure desperation bleeding out with every swash of his intoxicating vanilla scent. “Beautiful— you taste even sweeter than in my ngh- dreams, y’know that?”

No, you didn’t - you didn’t even know that Choso dreamed of you in the first place. 

And you don’t get to pay it any mind because before you know it, the swirling edge of his rounded fingertips tuck just past where your puffy folds were pursing in a ready pucker. Cold metal rings making you gasp.

And Choso’s greedily snuffing out the sound with a sinking bite of his sharpened canines into your wobbly bottom lip. Drinking in every noise from his pretty girl. His pretty girl. 

Cratering dimples notching prettily at the ends of his lipbite, he’s practically begging them out with every slow gyration of his fingertips around and around your peaked clit. Tracing over every tiny ridge and sensitive bundle like he was trying to fucking memorize it. “H-has any other- fuck-” Ringing out a thundering growl at the back of his throat that makes your skin coat in tiny goosebumps. “-has any- other- made you feel this good?”

No no no - your inner omega purrs, and you can practically feel yourself groaning lowly at the back of your throat when you pull away. 

Trying - failing, when Choso’s chasing your kiss-bitten lips like he was hooked. Slurring after the syrupy strings of spit that smear the traces of your mouth, he’s meshing his lips in a dramatic smooch. Again. And again. And again and again-

“L-look how wet ya are…” And it wasn’t even a command, but you can’t help lolling your head down to blink at the way his pale wrist was glistening with all your laminated juices. Musing, “Gonna make ya feel so fuckin’ good. So good.”

Two deft fingers pinch your clit. Hard.

“Ah! N-no!” Your spine bends into such a pretty curve off the bed, perfectly in position for Choso to slide his massive palm underneath and massage away your tensely knotted back. Your fingers are trekking up the clamoring hike onto his broad deltoids to feel the droolworthy jolt of his back muscles. Babbling belatedly, “N-no other alpha has made me feel s-so…”

So…what?

Hypnotized? Addicted? Gone?  

But whatever it was, the sight of you being ruined into a few shattered jumbles of limbs is enough to make Choso’s alpha hum. 

Whispering out, “Can I…” And with a steep inhale of the thick surrounding air, he’s gulping. “C-can I-”

Before you’re gracing him with an answer, you’re helping inch those sleep shorts down. Snailing an almost-blasphemous slicked coat that seeps into your skin. He’s twirling his thumb over the remaining excess left behind - not wasting a single drop. 

And it takes only one saturated hit from where your pheromones were the most concentrated - only one shy peak down at your drooling cunt - before Choso can feel his mind shattering. Gasping. 

The top half of his body all but collapsing on top of yours.

It’s not even on purpose the way he flinches at the thick curve of your thumb floating upwards to tenderly glide away the swab of drool that was flooding Choso’s mouth right now. 

His neat brows quirking upwards, heaving chest choppy - you’re so lustily trapped against the bumped-up planes of his pecs. Feeling the rumble of his heated words, “I-I’ve never…” 

Sounding so utterly worn-out already, Choso’s planting a few firm pecks at the corner of your chin. He’d meant for it to reach your lips - but he couldn’t. Too in a trance to even think about it. And as if to make up for it, he’s kissing your neck, the valley of your thighs, your tummy. Every and any inch he hasn’t been blessed with reaching for the past few years. 

Shuffling all the way until he was practically lips to lips with your sloshing pussy, eyeing down directly at the way your sloppy entrance was welcoming him with another fresh bout of clingy slick. Choso heaves in a long breath.

“Been waitin’ a looong time f’you, y’know? Can I make a mess?” Choso’s whining sweetly, greedy gaze still trained firmly downwards. Tenderly rubbing over your glossed-up folds, “Can I m-make you break?” And those grasping begs of his are barely even audible over the sheer squelching resonating from your slobbery pussy. Your jaw falls slack at how they only make Choso nod. “Y-you’re right- s-so right–”

Talking. And before you know it, the filthiest French kiss is being placed right on your cunt. 

He’s not even hesitating, not even easing you into it - because Choso Kamo has waited so long for this. And he was going to have his fill.

“This is what y-you taste like- this good?” Dragging the very pointed tip of his pretty button nose down your plump clit, he’s smushing it in place with a firm kiss at the very edge of your snug hole. “Th-think this cute cunt can take my fuckin’ cock, beautiful?”

So fucking impatient. 

You’re tangling one set of fingers into the stray strands of his hair, bucking up to drag a slow glide down the lower half of his pretty face. 

And, usually, with an alpha you could be expected to be snapped at with a snarling command. An instruction to just stay put. 

But Choso’s only letting his sharp jaw comfy against the silken sheets, head nuzzling drunkenly into your thighs when you’re pushing and pulling him as you please. Leveraging the vice-like grasp on his scalp to drive steady grinds just the way you like it. 

Whining, “Need you so bad, baby–” 

“Yeah- yeah, use me-” Choso snickers around a teasing bite against the fattened edge of one of your pussy lips. Sucking. “R-reach your pretty high on my face, omega- need you to cum all over me till I-I’m dripping.”

Fuck.

Was this really your nervous, sweet best friend? His words were so dirty, as if he didn’t even realize he was saying them. And they almost make you embarrassed. Shying way just an inch-

“Oh- no. No no no-”  His words come buzzing around your clit, and with a final bite of his elongated canines, Choso’s frantic. He’s scrambling. He’s grasping his powerful arms to loop your thighs and dragging you to him like some ragdoll down the protestingly creaky bed. “S’gonna go to waste- can’t- can’t let it.”

And it’s only about then that you’re dredging up the courage to angle your head further downwards - immediately hit with the sinful sight of Choso in heaven between your limp legs. 

His hair a disheveled curtain, eyes narrowed and smudged with eyeliner. Damply bleeding down onto the regal apples of his high cheekbones at the way your meady slick was reaching his blushing cheeks. It masks his coral pink lips, his jaw, his fucking chin. 

So sopping wet that it’s forming a little puddle down below him that Choso could never even imagine being disgusted by. No, in fact, he was disappointed with himself for not lapping it up even sooner. 

Pumpish lips jutting out in a pout, Choso’s pushing away the hair from his eyes sexily. “Wh-why are you runnin’ away- don’t run away, my girl.”

With a slight giggle, you’re veering your scent to tinge with something comforting. And oh, does it do the trick - because Choso’s eyes swoop downwards drunkenly. Almost closed, almost ruined, he’s huffing out a drawled-out mantra of your name, “Lock it.”

“Wh-what?” You’re choking out.

Soft palms massage gently down your legs, wrapping them around the back of his head. “Lock it.”

Oh.

That was a command, and it has your body pulling taut. Every sensory spot all down your skin screaming to obey - yet, this is something you would have done anyway. Ankles tying together, it’s jostling Choso’s hotly open mouth against your pussy so deeply that you wonder whether he doesn’t have to breathe. 

Whether he doesn’t even want to. 

Because your dear best friend looks so satisfied to die right in the heaven between your legs right now. And he would go such an utterly happy man, too. 

Rosy red lips rubbing rawly against your clit, you’re left a puddle of a needy mess when the roughened tastebuds of his tongue swirl in meticulous little circles. Cheeks hollowing as he sucks, your whines can’t even be heard over the most oozy squelches.

“Heheh- she’s talkin’ back ta me-” Choso’s sputtering out peck after peck. In awe. “She’s talking. Th-think she wants ngh- more.”

More. 

More, more, more. 

Choso’s beginning to think that your dripping pussy’s speaking for himself with the way that’s exactly what he wants right now. Teasing the mushy outer lips of your puckered hole with his fat fingerpads, before bullying in. Inside. 

You’re taking him so well - hips careening even further downwards when he’s feeding your greedy cunt with every long inch of his digits. Slow enough that you could count it - just about six, ringed inches all the way to his knuckles. 

Shit- it’s so hot inside, as if your pretty pussy was practically melting around him. Molding to his every shape as Choso’s driveling swirling around in rummaging little stripes down your gummy walls. Slow. Slick. 

Slender cylindrical intrusions that bump up deftly against your battered g-spots. The chilling stretch of his banded metal rings was too much. Your eager cunt is splattering out a pornographic little gush of your sweet, sweet juices all over again at the way he’s teasingly fondling over that magical spot. 

“J-jus’ a little higher, baby–” you’re spewing out. Deprived. 

And oh, Choso’s darkened eyes are practically lighting up. He doesn’t pull away from your bruised clit to answer - not even to breathe before vibrating out a keening, “Here?”

So desperate. 

Even needier than you. 

You’re blinking through large, globular tears that occupy the space behind your lids. Nodding, “A little more- jus- oh!”   

And Choso didn’t need to hear it from your lips. Hell, he didn’t even need to hear it from the way your snug channel was all but milking his fingers dry. Clinging on in a soppy kiss when he’s probing into your g-spot harder. Meaner. Because the way your intoxicating scent changes - concentrating ever-so-slightly makes Choso realize that you’re cumming before even you register it.

Slamming headfirst into your high, you’re plowing out a belated cry of “I- fuck- m’cumming, Cho. M’cumming, m’cumming-”

Sparks of white splinter your vision, and your knees find themselves just wrenching free from the lecherous comforts of the bed - but Choso won’t let you escape so easily. 

No. 

Barely batting an eye, he’s straining his biceps deadlocked around your legs. Pinning you to the bed until you could barely squirm, barely do anything but take his punishing little clashes against your g-spot head-on. Bumping in. Over and over. 

Choso suckles on your clit like his favorite little gummy, stretching and nibbling until you see stars with your orgasm. 

“Don’t run away-” he’s puffing out into your cunt, the very idea of parting with drizzling pussy making him yelp out a pained grunt. “P-please don’t run away- I promised to make a mess. O-one more f’me, beautiful?”

You’re just molten at his touch. Ravenous and overwhelmingly greedy for you as much as you were for him. Something carnal inside you screaming for more-

“H-hear her?” His eyes are drifting closed at the pulpy little noises your cunt mashes on. Dangling ear piercings twinkling when he’s leering even closer to hear. “Tellin’ me she’s gonna give her- hngh- alpha one more.” Fuck, Choso’s features decorate with the most blazing blush at his own words. How embarrassing. “Wontcha use my mouth all over again? I didn’t get fuuuuck- messy ‘nough last time…”

And as if to prove his point, Choso traces a slow glide of his worked tongue across the sloppily wet coating that drips down his lips. Just for a second.

Your veins bubble sensitively with need at the broken whine sounding from the back of Choso’s throat when you drag him even snugger between your legs. Puffs of leaky pheromones driving the two of you wild, making your hips stutter out a slurring pace up and down his face. 

“Th-this pussy is all f’me- isn’t it, my girl? S’all f’me?”

Even sloppier once you battle out a nod.  

Your cunt is extra slobbery because of your heat anyways, but Choso’s making such a mess on purpose. 

Eyes running away to the back of his head, tongue lolling out even messier. He’s planting such dousing draws of saliva, lathering your sweet spots mercilessly. And his fingers- oh, his fingers were relentless. Shovelling up in solid, wet nudges until you’re able to feel every circular indent of his digits on your g-spot. 

Every run of his manicured nails across where you’re sure you were beginning to get bruised. And every-so-often whenever his eyes glaze green with raw greed - with slight, stupid jealousy over his fingers - you’d peek at Choso plunging his digits into his mouth and sucking.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Matching the lecherous sound of your thundering heartbeat, you can feel yourself squeal at the overstimulating touches. Sobbing out the cutest little whines that make Choso chuckle, “Easy– easy there, my girl.” Letting your cunt free with a sodden pwah! only to spit. Once. Twice. A sticky wad of his thick saliva that blusters its way to coat your puffy pussy lips, “You’re cumming again, right? A-all over my face?”

You’re nodding - nodding and nodding so hard, but that wasn’t enough for Choso Kamo. 

He wasn’t satisfied until a slow pull of your clit right from between his pearly whites had you bawling out. The backs of your hands dipping upwards to hide your face - which he quickly, and calculatedly spanks away with his free hand. “M’gonna cum soon- ngh- please- Cho- don’ stop.”

Hah, if this was any other time then Choso might’ve laughed. 

Might’ve teased you until you were begging for him in that cute voice once more. But maybe it’s the way his alpha was clawing at his chest from the insides to give you whatever you want, maybe it was the way seeing you fall apart on your heat like this all over him had his cock twitching-

Because Choso only smiles - drunk. Dazed. “Cum f’me, p-please. Ruin me, ma’am..”

He was ruined alright. 

Absolutely sugar-coated with your overlaying juices - it’s dripping down his bed and disappearing into the now see-through fabric of his undershirt like a badge of honor. A badge to say that he’s made you cum for the second time on his mouth. 

That he’s made you squirt. 

Splattering out all over his face with every slurping taste - and yet, Choso still couldn’t get enough. Sweeping up the milky droplets, Choso’s boring his heady gaze right into your widened eyes when he’s leering his mouth agape to make you spy the way each splash slides down his throat. 

God- you’re seeing white all over again. You’re seeing spots, having you gulp in necessary gasps of the soiled air to once more regain your steady heartpace. 

“Ch-Choso-” you’re struggling, voice brittle and gone. Frantically trying to haul - to force - Choso from his favorite home between your cunt, to stop his greedy tongue. “S’enough- can’t cum anymore can’t- ngh-”

“But, beautiful–”

Shit- it would be so easy to get swept up all over again. Because Choso was parched, and he was still far from having his fill. 

Words tinting with a slightly commanding tone, you’re making something dark and primal rear its head when you manhandle him upwards with one hand in his locks, and another on his undershirt. So heavy but pliant. 

Up, up, up-

“Choso–” you’re mumbling out. And before you know it, Chosos hands had toppled you over into the cushiony mattress, and yours were tracing the edge of his too-tight boxers. Tugging. Needy. “I-I want these- off-”

“Anything.” He’s echoing, like it was all that he could right about now. Dewey brows scrunching up into something of a beg, you’re catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs. Deprived. “Anything f-for you-”

Fuck- in your currently woozy state you’re not sure if Choso removed his pants or if he ripped them off. Stumbling and tripping to let the few scarce tatters droop into the floor in a sullen pile. 

With a gulp, your fingers skitter across the planes of his useless undershirt - letting his pretty, bulging muscles peek out at you from underneath when you slide them off of him. Palms smearing in gluttonous little touches across his push pecs, down his rippling abs, down that lusciously dark happy trail and oh-

“S-something the matter, beautiful?” Choso’s heaving in a struggling gulp at the way your gorgeous eyes widen, maw slacking into a soft oh! Head tilting innocently, “M’your hah- best friend, you can tell me a-anythin’.”

“You’re just so…” Comes the whirling answer, your voice slow and alcoholic. He was getting drunk on your words already. “...big.”

Not only was Choso big - he was massive. 

The fat, rotund circle of his head ruddied a strawberry pink, gradiating all the way down his shaft to meet blend into his creamy base. He was so hard that it looked painful, visibly throb! throb! throbbing, bumpy lightning bolts of his veins hammering up at you cheekily. He was so pretty - thick enough that you’re feeling your cunt clench already. Even the burn of your stare has Choso’s reddish divot weeping out a few ropey spurts of pre. Making you dizzy with the incredible size and that musky vanilla scent of his. 

And was that-

Oh. Fuck.

It was.

Through the honeyed slew of precum pooling at Choso’s thick tip, you’re gasping at the slight wink of something metallic. 

Without thinking - without even breathing - you’re drifting your hand down to thumb those syrupy globules thin. Discovering the absolute treasure chest that was a studded Prince Albert’s piercing right near the weepy edge of Choso’s shaft. 

“I got if for- you- Gotta a-another one, y’know-” His gentle rasp jolts you out of your sinful reverie, engulfing hands guiding your own to wrap around his flushed tip and peek under. Right on the slippery sliver of his slit, “A ngh- matching one. Th-thought you might like it…”

Oh- two. 

And, embarrassingly, you can feel the way your scent turns headier. Hypnotizing. Enough so that Choso can’t help the way he’s hanging by a bare thread, head falling into the crook of your neck to breathe in. “Y-you act so innocent but…” 

“But m’only l-like this for you.” He’s tucking your tender earlobe between his teeth. “P-promise. I haven’t even…”

Ah, a virgin. 

Sweet and absolutely gifted. 

And something about it was so cute the way Choso was acting exactly like it. Every wordless toy of your fingers up and down his sensitive glans, making him snarl a lipbite. Girthy length fucking up in shuddering slams into the cushiony tunnel of your palm. Weightily muscled abs flexing with heat when you’re running a thumb under his head to press down on that silver piercing. 

“S-so tiny- heh- your pretty hands are so tiny takin’ my cock, beautiful.” he’s giggling - giggling. Perspiration-simmered forehead knocking into yours, Choso’s letting his tired head loll there and bore into your eyes. “You needa ngh- fuck! Needa slow down, my girl, m’already so close jus’ from making out with yer sweet c-cunt out.” Already close. Just from eating you out. “Else m’n-not gonna be able to control it-”

“I can handle it–” you’re pouting stubbornly. Soft digits clenching even tighter around his cock, and shit, Choso lets his head fall into the junction between your shoulder and your neck. 

Finding himself growing more needy. More feral. Tight, hot curdling in his stomach building up and up.

“M’serious.” His lilting voice breaks, teeth skimming over the pulpy flesh of your sweetened pheromone glands. Nibbling. His incredibly shaky fingers wrap around your shoulders, “Please- ngh- please m’gonna break ya.”

And it’s like you wanted him to.

Dick twitching at those filthy fingers of yours - the way they only pump him faster. And faster. Tighter around the hefty base, more teasing up the slippery slope of his tip - like you were trying to milk out something delicious. 

And you can already feel the way your mouth lathers with a fresh coating of saliva, face inching closer and closer to the bawling peak of his swollen cock. Wanting oh-so-badly to taste the silver of his Prince Albert’s. 

“But I want you to, Cho.”

SMACK!

You’re left stupidly stunned when Choso’s behemoth palm coils like a tight shackle around your tender throat. Pulling you away from his achy cock in a flash, you’re being thrown around like his own personal ragdoll. 

And Choso snickers at the way you’re bouncing cutely on the plush mattress, legs drooping wider and wider agape with every sleazy second he really can’t help but leer over you. Wrangling those boneless legs of yours over his shoulder with a sharp click of his tongue. 

“I-I already told you, beautiful–” he’s bending down, down down to nose along your sweat-dotted cheeks, your skin stark hot against the icy chain of his silver necklace. Chest grumbling with a slight purr. “M’gonna make such a mess of you- can I?”

And that drunken look in Choso’s eyes made him look like he would absolutely shatter if you let your lips shape into a teasing no right about now. Like those warm, salted tears spattering from the corners of his half-lidded eyes and right onto your cheeks would only hasten. 

“Can I- please, my girl- jus’ wanna-” His lips wobble adorably when his sobbing cock glides a slow line between the mushy lips of your pussy. A graze for a graze of his mouth down your own. “-wanna make you mine.”

And just the tip - just a single fat inch shoved into your gummy hole is all it takes for Choso to whimper. 

You’re brushing over his precious cheek, “Ch-Cho, are you okay?”

And Choso can’t answer - hell, he doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to. Because that gushing little clench of your clingy walls all around his sodden wet tip absolutely ruins him. Delicate rivulets of slobber streaming down the smiling edges of his tongue, he’s puffing out an open-mouthed, “No- fuck- d-do I look okay?”

He didn’t.

He seemed like he was burning up - fucked-out already, practically. Pecs rippling with a bolting flex, muscled body shirking with violent shivers when with a low keen of your name - Choso’s cumming. 

“No-” he’s crying out, head flailing backwards. Just from putting it inside for the first time. “No no no no- m’not s’pposed to- yet-”

But he was. Hips recklessly meandering again and again into yours - slight, tugging grinds of just his thickened tip like Choso was afraid of sinking into your heavenly pussy anymore. Like he knew it would break him even more. 

Have him flooding out voluminous ribbons of thick seed, splattering against your spongy channel, and smearing around in dripping vertical patterns with every one of his animalistic ruts. 

“Give it t’me–” you’re locking your ankles even tighter. Prattling out such filthy nonsense that you’re sure you’d get embarrassed about had you not been in your heat. “I-I need your cum, baby- wan’ it allll inside me-”

“Ngh-” Choso’s letting off a broken sound at the back of his throat, squeezing your own with that one hand of his happily making its home there. Blocking off your airway, your heady pheromones only struggle to waft out even more. Saturating. “D-don’t talk like that- n-not outta ya pussy, beautiful.”

“But I w-ngh! want it-”

He gulps, “A-are you sure?” Because this is his best friend - this is the one person he’d never even dreamt of having because that was too dangerous. Too fanciful. The one person he’d written about in every diary, and gotten teased for it by his family just the same. Perfect. 

Yet, you’re so stubborn when you’re in heat. “Mhm– wan’ you to…breed me.”

And he loved it.

Couldn’t get enough of it - or you. 

Choso’s scrambling up one of his jostling hands to latch your hips into a perfect almost-semicircle. Lower lip worried underneath his canines when he’s wiping his fat thumb over the dewdrops of seed treacling from your soppy slit. 

That digit finds its way rummaging between your lips, “Lock it.”

This time, you don’t need it said twice - you don’t even need it to be a command.

Because Choso’s reigning up his own hand to pin both your ankles behind his head, and you think you’ll forever remember just how hot he looked this way. Biceps bulging with the strain, simmering with a slick sheen of perspiration, and his hips-

Oh, it’s like any and every slip of restraint in Choso’s hulking body snapped. 

Because with a loud, saturated squelch! you’re being filled up to what it feels like your lungs with every solid inch of his engorged girth. Inflating your tender insides, buttering your poor cervix with a thick stream of pre when he’s kissing it with a wet thwack!

“Oh- oh.” Choso’s head pushes into the crook of your neck, into your pillow until you were sure that it was soaked with tears of absolute bliss. “Th-this feels nothing l-like my ngh- hand. S’so much more heavenly-”

Yet, you weren’t in the right state of mind to be paying attention to the utter filth that was spilling from your innocent best friend’s mouth. Breath choking up in a lead ball in your throat, you whisper, “Ch-Cho…s’that your knot?”

Your slicked-up folds puckering up in a wet snog against the overinflated ring ballooning around his thick base. The sheer thumping circumference of it makes you squeeze-

“Y-yes–” he’s humming out. The sodden base of his cock thwack! thwack! thwacking your bruising entrance when he’s rutting in and out. Sloppy. Slow. Still trying not to see stars. “God- s’even softer than I ngh- imagined.”

And soft you were. 

This is what your sweet pussy felt like? This good? This should be fucking illegal, he was babbling out - but wouldn’t realize until much, much later. 

Being spearheaded open with every unapologetic rifle to fill you up, the leftover dredges of Choso’s seed trickle a slippery pathway leading him to ambush your g-spot head on. Stubbing his cool metal piercing into your sweetened bullseyes so hard, you swear you could feel the indenting divot of that sinful Prince Albert’s.

“There?” Mesmerized, his eyes grow wide. “R-right there?”

And he’s hot - so feverish. 

Glissading body on top of yours burning up with radiating heat, fracturing our rationality just as much as the sweet vanilla scent of his pheromones were. That tiny heart friendship charm on his necklace hitting your collarbones in a dirty staccato. 

You can feel yourself start to drool with how stupid Choso’s cock was fucking you, curling a few neat raking lines down his statuesquely muscled back. It makes him just arch his cock even deeper to jostle your snug insides riotously. 

“I-imagined about me a lot?” Ah, you’re finding it in yourself to smirk.

Something that Choso’s jackhammering out in quick, increasingly sloppy juts of his hips. Slathering the entirety of his cock with your slicked juices. 

“O-of course.” He’s shifting his eyes gingerly away from yours with a boyish blush. But now that Choso had started talking, he couldn’t stop. “Always wan’ed to f-fuck you through a rut or h-heat like this- to-” Couldn’t keep from hiking up a flattened foot to angle his pierced cockhead into every untouched inch inside you. The special upright curve of his shaft driving you mad. “-to absolutely ruin you and-” The hand at your legs hover right over where he was plummeting your insides with gluey kisses - your womb. “-and make you mine. Ours.”

Ours. 

God, just the mere act of confessing those embarrassing little words had Choso’s hulking body practically melting into yours. 

It’s like his abs were made of adhesive, massaging up and down your front. Drowning you into the plethora of wrecked sheets and him when he’s collapsing on top of you - but still going. Still placing pound after pound. 

“I-I want that too-” And you think you hear Choso sharply gasp, but you can’t confirm over your popping ears. “Always wanted it- ah- wanted you to fuck a baby into me, Cho.”

SLAM!

The slowly-splintering bedframe creaks when one particularly harsh rut has the headboard slamming into the wall behind. 

And that’s all he needed to hear. 

A baby - he wants a baby. He needs one - and this wasn’t just his alpha talking - and he was going to get it.

All that Choso thinks he ever could hear all through his honeyed mind for the rest of his life. Replaying it over and over in his mind like his favorite catchy tune. 

You don’t miss the way that he looks so in love above you, gaze practically heart-eyed and gone. Choso’s raw, swollen lips meteor shower your face with peck after peck - just in time with the collisions of his rounded tip into your sweet spots. 

“Boy or girl?”

“H-huh?” you’re questioning, barely-lucidly. 

“Boy or girl.”

And after those senseless little answers are falling from your lips, Choso’s brushing a hand over your lower tummy. Pushing. Hard. Until his twitchy knot was covered in buttery residues of cum, “Ah- a-always wan’ed a daughter with ya first. With your c-cute smile and ngh- eyes.”

Huffing out an embarrassed, “Choso.”

And he’s only scooping back in the leaky sediments of seed that he’s responsible for making a mess of. Turning a slow thumb right over your tight ring of muscle, “Gonna have my- ngh- style of course, heh- you’d be the best momma. D-don’t care if you’re my best friend, m’gonna breed ya until you’re overspilling, beautiful.”

You needed it so badly. Your heat turning up a notch until it felt like you were boiling from the inside out, candied scent drifting more. 

He’s giggling out, dark lashes batting without his permission. “M’gonna- ngh- take care of you-”. The hand caressing your elastic entrance flies upwards to get cleaned off by his own tongue - before prying your jaw sagging open to spit. “Goood fuckin’ care. N’ hopefully you’ll end up p-pregnant…hopefully.”

He’s encircling the dip in your waist and dragging you forwards to smack against his washboard abs. Unable to squirm. Unable to run away. “Gonna be the p-prettiest momma- the ngh- most beautiful.” Other hand restricting your throat so cozily that your vision tinges with black, “Gonna be mine.”

And when you’re cumming, it’s with those exact words in mind.

The way your sopping walls were milking him for all he’s worth - so greedily - shoving Choso to tip over the edge, too. 

Choso’s letting his body sexily cave into yours, not breaking even a mere inch apart when he’s got you trapped and overfilled with every dollop of his cum icing your insides. And right now you could already feel the way your scents were mixing, the way Choso turns slightly cross-eyed- 

Before sharply turning to your glands and biting. 

Hard. 

His predatory canines break through your epidermis layer like butter, a crimson lipstain gushing from the wound and staining his lips a handsome rouge. 

And - only belatedly, once your omega’s snapping at you with her teeth bared - do you realize that it’s your turn to do the same. As if you would want any other. 

Locking your jaw to dig into his pale, dampish throat, Choso sucks in his cheek to muffle the slightest whine when you’re wringing him through every speck of bliss he could possibly ever feel in a lifetime. Furious cock stuttering out a few more lazy wisps of cum at the mingling feeling of finally being yours. 

“Not ‘nough-” He’s eyeing the leftover ring of cum painting his knot, “Can I fill ya up m-more? Please? Please- my girl.”

You’re pulling away with a woozy nod to rub your thumb over the dug indents of your teeth, gently soothing slow circles over the feral sting. 

Filling you up over and over with each pound, he’s fucking you into the mattress like he hates you. And he’s fucking you like every shuddering ram had a creamy ounce of cum pouring into your gummy walls. Glueing in wet splats against your g-spot, your cervix, like a second sloppy skin. 

Generous helpings of cum drifting into almost blanks-

“Heh- haaaah- y’know tha’s makin’ me still c-cum, beautiful.” Choso’s leaving sodden kisses on your own mark, your lips. “M’sorry m’sorry I- I can’t stop- I just- can’t.”

And it’s sheer animal nature in you that’s screaming at you that you don’t want him to stop until you’re sure it takes. That’s bending down a hand as much as deftly as possible to wrap around Choso’s slightly softening cock - that only tuts in impatience. 

“Wh-when I said inside-” You’re pumping his soaked base as much as possible, feeling the stiffening twitch at his tip buried inside you. “-I mean- inside-”

It’s like you’re being split-apart - like you couldn’t be any fuller if you tried. 

And, yet, only the very curvaceous top of Choso’s inflated knot had bullied its way in-between your lewdly stretched hole. Gaping a pathway so incredibly girthy that it makes you scrunch your brows, head tumbling backwards. 

“Oh- oh, my greedy, greedy girl.” But Choso doesn’t look one bit admonishing - not one bit. Slithering a hand down to your cunt, he’s steamrolling two thick pads of his fingers. Rubbing up against your squeamish walls, scissoring your tight entrance so amply open. “I can put it…inside. R-really, really inside?”

Oh, Choso doesn’t know what blessings he’s received in his past lives. But absolutely nothing could have prepared him for how swelteringly hot and cushy you were around his fat knot. 

Swallowing up the bulging circlet, plugging up your seeping slit safely so that you’re not spilling a single glutinous splotch of his cum. So that it will take. It’s such a tight fit. Such a burning stretch. You felt so full you could burst with every throb of his swollen knot probing your walls. 

Ah, you look so pretty this way.

And Choso’s half-wishing he had a camera to capture this moment. With his lips pressing a few syrupy kisses along every inch of skin he could reach. Somewhere near your tummy - so full and slightly inflated with the copious amounts of cum that were dumped inside you. 

He’s murmuring something drunken - something you probably weren’t even supposed to hear. But at the curious tilt of your head, your best friend chews over his lips nervously. 

And a giddy smile plasters across your face at the saccharine love in your best friend’s eyes - the way he was probably mulling over asking you out on a date. There was no turning back at this point, and your omega purred in agreement as you got ready to say yes. For him to say a sweetened- 

“Marry me.”

A/N. You show up at the next Itadori family dinner with a ring and Sukuna has an actual heart attack.

Plagiarism not authorized.

I DREAMT OF SHIFTING I DREAMT OF SHIFTING I DREAMT OF SHIFTING I HAVE ALREADY SHIFTED I DON'T CARE ABOUT WJAT I'M SEEING RIGHT NOW! I HAVE ALREADY SHIFTED,WJAT IM SEEING RIGHT NOW IS NOT MY CR ALSO

I had an exam today which i didn't study for,i manifested it to postpone AAAAHHEHSJWKOS THAT WAS SO EASY

I have been trying to get in the void for a week or something but couldn't but there were signs, yesterday I was so tired but i just went with it saying affirmations,and focusing on the darkness and fell asleep, I dreamt for a while and then boom I WAS IN THE VOID!! IT WAS NOT A DREAM! MY EXAM POSTPONED!! I MANIFESTED!

I am a master shifter! I can enter void easily. I got the most awesome superpower

This is CRAZY!! i didn't even believe I could manifest my exam being postponed but I kinda gaslighted myself and kept repeating the same scenario over and over and guess what? It postponed ,just like i wanted it to be.

Too bad it doesn't matter now

STOP WITH THE NEEDINESS ❦

wanna shift? let me put you out of your misery

This is the only method you need to induce pure consciousness/ tap into the “I AM”/ tap into the void:

relax, deep breathing

affirm “I AM”

relax some more

detach, get lost in the darkness of your closed eyes

you’re done, you’ve shifted

there are no if ands or buts, there’s no “i was so close”, “it just doesn’t work for me”. this method cannot fail, there is no such thing, at all, it’s you who focuses too much on the symptoms, it’s you gets upset when “nothing happens” before rolling over to go to sleep just to endure another day in your shitty reality. it’s you who fails to see your own potential and it’s only you who can change that

this is the basic method that works for anyone with a conscious and subconscious mind,

it’s not anyone’s fault that you’ve decided to overcomplicate it

that’s the basic fucking template you don’t need shit but yourself

stop with the neediness it’s getting kinda pathetic

You dont need to follow some stupid 10k affirmation challenge

You don’t need to follow any challenges lasting weeks

You don’t need subliminals or waves or a guided meditation

You don’t need to ask bloggers the same shit and vent about how you “just can’t do it”

You don’t need to lucid dream

You don’t need any of this

again the basic template is only difficult to you because of the over-complication of it all

Let me give you an example: Imagine you’re a baker and there’s this iconic legendary baker who has this incredible, world famous cake, they give the world a recipe to it and it’s quite simple. how can such a simple recipe impress the taste buds of so many? it doesn’t matter about the how or why, it just does. But so many bakers around the world, including you, are scared of not impressing their customers so they add all this other shit to the recipe that was perfectly fine. And it just makes everything so complicated, all because they don’t trust that the original recipe will be able to impress and satisfy their customers.

That basic recipe is the “method” that Neville gave to us, he didn’t have tumblr, he didn’t have youtube to binge fucking yoga nidra meditation videos. He didn’t have a phone to inhale subliminal after subliminal like it’s a full time job. He didn’t have bloggers shoving 10k challenges down his throat, and guess what, he was just fine! Stop overcomplicating the recipe, all you need is the mind. You don’t need a fucking routine, all you need is you

But I know there are some people who will look at this, scroll past and still scan their feed, scrambling for an “instant method” like some junky. And to that i say, go ahead, waste your days overcomplicating the act of shifting consciousness, waste your days overconsuming, doomscrolling, complaining. The law and the art of shifting was always real and will continue to be real while you sit there with absolutely nothing, so go ahead. Rack your brain to the point of a headache, to the point of insanity trying to understand what’s right infront of you, you’re only doing yourself harm.

shifting consciousness/ the “I AM” state/ the void is a basic ability, it’s like breathing, just fucking do it

IT’S A BASIC ABILITY, YOU DONT NEED POINTERS 🎀💋

everyone is different 🤍❄️

find what you'll be most comfortable with doing

Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and i truly hope that you enjoyed your Christmas! for those who don't celebrate, i really hope that you enjoyed your day today 🩷

one thing that we need to understand is that everyone is different, and there isn't a one size fits all in terms of law of assumption, pure consciousness, etc.. with pure consciousness, i've mentioned before that there are many ways to induce pure consciousness. i personally promote the way how i induced it becuz after running away from an awake method for almost a year, i ended up inducing pure consciousness awake unintentionally multiple times in a row. but that's me personally. i thought to myself that it might end up being the case for some others, so i felt the need to upload my experience.

however, i know a lot of y'all want to manifest your dream lives before 2025 arrive, but one thing you have to know is that YOU will induce pure consciousness someway or the other. whether it is that you do an awake method, a sleep method, wbtb, etc., you will induce pure consciousness.

everyone is different. it have persons who can't focus on anything for longer than 5 mins, and it have people who can focus on one thing for more than 3 hours. it have persons who can stay still for a long period of time, and it have persons who can't stay still for more than 2 minutes. it has people who can easily lose themselves in their daydreams and inner monolog, and it has people who can't. ofc, all of these are circumstances assumptions (that people aren't willing to change), which also means that you have to find something that's most suitable for you!

cuz at the end of the day, it's your dream life that you want the most! inducing pure consciousness is second.

so as i said, there are countless ways to induce pure consciousness. you have:

assuming/manifesting/thinking as if

robotic affirming

askfirmations

meditation

theta state meditation

alpha state meditation

breathwork

wbtb

lucid dreaming

hypnosis

psych-k

subliminals

silva centering method

(and you can find more methods on @voidarchivefiles)

ig seeing people panic in my inbox pretty much changed my heart a lot, cuz i realised that it's not just about inducing pure consciousness, it's about experiencing your desired life in this physical world which matters most to y'all. i know i can be mean at times, but it can be quite frustrating repeating answers over and over, but i know y'all meant it light-heartedly.

from now on, we're going to go put our best foot forward and manifest our dream lives! i'll do my best to provide the best resources for you guys to help y'all, cuz at the end of the day, there's tht ultimate goal y'all have, and i felt like i've been a bit too mean and dismissive at times. my apologies 😭🩷🩷. i still have my boundaries set, but ik y'all just want help.

so guys, YOU got this! and i know you will have that df, db, sp, dream car, dream house, etc. materialised in the physical plane.

looking forward to helping you all! 🩷🎀