ADHD FRIENDLY METHOD TO ENTER THE VOID STATE !

Intertidal Zone

♱⋅── rafayel x reader

♱⋅── about: Nightly Rendezvous card, but now we finally understand why rafayel was so desperate when he came back to the hotel room.

♱⋅── word count: 6.7k

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, porn with some plot, the belt scene, slight exhibisionism, fem! masterbation, sooo much kissing, slight oral fixation, Lemurian mating bond, needy raf

art credit to @/khouxy on instagram

You swear Rafayel is doing this on purpose. 

The first time it happens is right after your flight, the two of you only just managing to check into your hotel and change for dinner.

It's a fancy restaurant overlooking the vast desert, and the outdoor patio offered a clear view to gorgeous sunset. Furious spirals of orange and vermillion cast their light across the sand, making it appear to glow as winds kick up waves of golden dust along the horizon.

It’s beautiful, almost as much so as the man across you, who is still staring longingly into the distance as though committing every color to memory. As if repainting it entirely in his mind. 

Not hues of warmth, but those of the deep sea. Blues and purples and colors so dark they’d only come to life in the night. 

“How’s your drawing?” 

Rafayel sighs at your voice, tossing his pen across the dinner table with a huff before leaning back against the sofa. A stack of crumpled sketches litter your table among half-finished plates of food. He insisted on traveling here to relax, and yet he seems to be doing everything but. 

“If a few lines count as a drawing, then wonderfully.” Sassy as ever.

He sighs again, but this one sounds more pained, and you notice the red tinge highlighting his ears and neck as he leans against your shoulder. 

“You still don’t feel good?” You ask, voice hushed as you place a kiss against his temple, the skin burning beneath your lips. Raising a hand, Rafayel immediately nuzzles into your palm as you pull his chin up towards you, feeling the rising temperature along his cheek and forehead. “We can head back if you’d like. Take a bath, or shower?” 

You hoped the together was implicit by now.

But Rafayel only nods, placing a chaste kiss against your exposed shoulder. “What about the sunset? I saw you admiring it, and squandering a beautiful view is unacceptable for an artist. It’s one of the greatest offenses.”

Rafayel’s breath is minty and dry against your ear, and when you turn to look at him, his face is doused in the fiery hues of the sunset, each one casting deep purple shadows that only make his features all the sharper, half his face veiled in darkness. 

Some days you wish you were an artist as well, if only to capture moments like this—to show Rafayel just how gorgeous he was. 

Perhaps it’s only natural for a god. After all, no mortal could ever need beauty so violently arresting, so worthy of worship. 

You’re leaning in despite yourself. 

Rafayel meets you halfway, one hand on your waist as the other traces your jaw and bottom lip. But as soon as you feel the brush of his lips across yours, he pulls away. 

You open your eyes in confusion. Rafayel’s never denied you before. 

When you look at him in question, he only gives you a tired smile and pulls you to your feet with a chaste kiss on your cheek. “Sorry. I’ll feel better as long as I’m close to you like this.”

The second time it happens is when the hotel reception mixes up your and Rafayel’s rooms, leaving you to deliver some sort of formal invitation to him. 

But the letter is soon forgotten; you can’t be bothered thinking about it, not when Rafayel still looks so absent.

He’s right next to you, knees brushing yours as you sit side by side on the couch, and yet he seems to be miles away, gazing out the window as the dunes shift and rise like waves under the moonlight.  

"I used to really enjoy scenic spots before," Rafayel says, voice barely rising above the hum of the heater. "Catching sights of subtle things that might be easily overlooked used to feel like enough. More satisfying than finishing a painting, even."

A laugh. Dry, humorless. 

His fingers grazed the edge of his glass, tracing the condensation absentmindedly. A droplet trails down his wrist. "But now, sometimes, I forget why I even decided to travel in the first place.” 

You watch him, waiting. He doesn’t meet your gaze.

"I think," Rafayel continues, "somewhere along the way, I stopped just... noticing things. And I started needing them. Like the world wasn’t worth looking at unless I could turn it into something. Capture it, hold it in my hands, and call it mine." He shakes his head, a shadow of a smile crossing his lips. "It’s not a very generous way to live, is it?"

"You don’t need to be generous with everything," you say carefully. "Some things are just... for you to enjoy."

"Enjoy," he repeats, like the word doesn’t quite fit in his mouth. A pout. "It doesn’t feel like enjoyment anymore. It feels more like... hunger.” 

Like he’s always fucking starving.

Rafayel finally turns to look at you, eyes eclipsed in the dark. Nearly dilated black. 

“Sometimes I’m afraid that if I feed it, it’ll only grow worse.”

You turn to face him on the couch, sliding your leg between his thighs before perching yourself on Rafayel’s lap. It’s not lost on you how his heartbeat picks up, chest rising and falling rapidly as each shallow breath hits your lips. Perhaps it’s cruel, but you can’t help but touch him again, fingers tracing his full lips, up his jaw, fluttering against his eyelashes and into his hair.

“You think hunger gets worse when you feed it?" You finally ask, voice quiet, slow, daring to push back. "Doesn't it stop when you're full?"

Rafayel’s mouth quirks, a sharp, fleeting twist of a smile. "Not always. Sometimes it makes you realize just how much more you want. Or how much more you could take."

You frown. “You’re not demanding anything. Not from the world, not from me."

"Maybe not yet. But, if one day, I become someone who only takes… If I were like that, would you leave me?"

The confession hangs for a moment, the truth of it hidden. Something about the way his shoulders tense under your touch— like he's bracing for something, but it hasn’t yet arrived. A phantom pain from centuries ago, and a pain to come for a thousand years more. 

“Silly fishie, I’d never leave you.” 

Rafayel smiles in a way you know all too well, lopsided and teasing and empty.

“Thank you…” he hums, finally pulling you closer as his lips skim alongside the curve of your neck. “for accepting me the way I am.”

His breaths come out in desperate huffs against your skin, and he inhales sharply, freezing, before finally placing a kiss against the crook of your neck. And then another, and another. 

“You’re just anxious,” you whisper, sucking a mark into Rafayel’s neck as he moans so sweetly against your ear. “I can help you relax.”

You wiggle your hips to better balance yourself on his lap and Rafayel looks almost near tears, one hand forcing you still while the other grabs your wrist, trailing kisses from your fingertips back up to your neck.

More. You need more. Rushing, your hands fly up into his hair, about to tug Rafayel to lay down on the couch when a crack echoes behind you. 

The glass lays shattered against the floor. 

Panting, Rafayel stares at the spilled water for a long moment before pulling away. You feel his erection digging into your thigh, the warmth of his fever spiking yet again as his skin burns against yours, yet he still refuses. 

“As you said, I’m anxious…” Still panting, Rafayel picks you up, gently lifting you up as he stands from the couch. “Or, more like restless. In every sense of the word.” 

The need in his eyes almost makes your knees buckle. He looks at you like you’re the only thing he could ever crave, like a bite would both be salvation and leave him hungry forever. 

“But see, now I can’t stand the idea of letting you go again, and you don’t want me to either.” He sets you down just a little farther than necessary, but his hands don’t leave your waist, trembling, waiting. “What should we do?”

“Rafayel…” You want him. You want him so badly it hurts. 

“Fuck.” 

You nearly jump at that. Rafayel curses again, his head falling onto your shoulder as his breath hitches. “I can feel your concern. That and…” another convulsion, his body burning up. “Fuck. You have to leave.”

You don’t even have time to retort before you’re pushed out of his hotel room, and the door slams shut behind you. 

By the third time, you know something is wrong. 

It’s not that you and Rafayel haven’t kissed yet. Hell, you’ve had sex before. The last time was quite literally on the night before you were supposed to leave for this trip. Obviously, Rafayel suggested that you stay at his place for the night—insisting he was closer to the airport and getting an Uber would be quicker this way—and one thing led to another, as is what happens nearly every time Rafayel and you are left alone for too long. 

But now it’s been nearly a week and Rafayel has barely touched you, let alone picked up on your not-so-subtle clues. 

So yes, it's safe to say you’ve become rather pent up. 

You’ve fallen asleep in the off-roader the two of you rented out for the day, bobbing up and down the dunes like waves flecked white not with seafoam but snow. There’s a chill as you drift off, but your dreams are anything but, plagued with memories of Rafayel. 

His hands, deft and talented with a brush, are even more so when teasing your skin, knowing exactly how to trace delicate circles against your thighs before roughly curling into your cunt. His tongue, every smartass comment and teasing grin now silenced as he licks and sucks against your clit. His body, the warmth of it, bearing down on you with every thrust, or perhaps writhing beneath you as you take him again and again and again— 

It’s the cold that wakes you up. 

Your eyes flutter open, first noticing the dim light of the hotel parking lot, and second, the burning desire still aching between your legs. 

“Rafayel?”

A shuffle makes you turn, and you find said man still seated in the driver’s seat, unbuckled as he sits with his head resting on his hand. 

“Yes, cutie?” Rafayel’s tone is teasing, but the way he stares down at you feels like anything but. The hunger is back. 

Sitting up, you clear your throat. “How long have I been asleep? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You seemed like you were having such a nice dream, I didn’t want to disturb you.” 

You inhale sharply. Glaring, you try and see if he’s teasing again or being serious, but Rafayel doesn’t let you read him for long, already leaning over the middle console. 

He places his lips gently on your temple, brushing over the skin, and then moves down to your cheek, his breath warm against your neck. He whispers your name, so softly you almost think it was a trick of your imagination.

Your mind goes blank when he kisses your jaw, a small noise escaping the back of your throat as you feel his hair tickle your skin.

"Raf," you mumble under your breath, but you know he hears it because he exhales sharply against you.

Rafayel trails a series of kisses up your neck, "I know, I know. I'm sorry, cutie." His body temperature is rising again, and the air in the van feels dangerously thin as he sways in your grasp. "I'm trying."

The hunger is back, all-consuming and hot as you genuinely fear you might burn up. A wave of dizziness washes over you, and you finally cup Rafayel's jaw, leading him towards your lips.

Yet again, he stops you halfway.

“Do you want to go back to your room first?”

At first you think he’s suggesting moving there before continuing, but you know better at this point. 

“You’re not coming with me?” 

Rafayel pulls out the invitation from before, waving it between the two of you as if all this was the letter’s fault. “I still have to attend my friend’s salon thing.”

“But you’re still burning up! Forget this, I can’t let you go out to who knows where when you’re still acting strange. Maybe we can see a doctor—”

“Cutie…”

“—No, no. Or maybe I can come with you.”

Rafayel says your name this time. Firmer. Cutting off your rambling as he places his forehead against yours. 

“Do you want me to turn into a sea creature that’s beached on the sand after the ocean recedes? Leaving me to suffocate when I come out of the water?” 

You don’t quite know how to respond to that, feeling his desperation in every word even as you struggle to make sense of it.

Rafayel continues, pulling away from you again. “Don’t you trust me? How about we make a promise?”

“What kind of promise?”

A smile. “I promise… I’ll be okay without you tonight.”

There’s no joke, no hidden meaning, just Rafayel who so violently hopes that this promise will hold true. 

So you relent. “Okay, just take care of yourself.”

Finally, Rafayel opens the car door, letting the desert night winds sweep in with a biting chill as he leans back against the driver’s seat. He lets out an almost inaudible sigh. “You can head back. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Rafayel promised he’d be okay without you tonight, but you don’t think the opposite could hold true. 

Not when the dizziness Rafayel caused remained. Not when you still feel the phantom touch of his lips and hands all over your body, burning you up, leaving you cold and empty and aching. 

You’ve been burning for the better part of a week now.  

Something stuck between a laugh and a cry of pure frustration leaves you as you fall onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “This is pathetic.”

Even the damned sheets smell like Rafayel, pillows deeply laced with his shampoo and the smell of his cologne—amber, yuzu, and something salty like the ocean—surrounding you as though this were his hotel room and not yours.

Desert nights were cold, but even the room's chill could do nothing to quell your desire, arms shaking with it as you quickly stripped yourself of your shirt and bra. The room spins as you stumble around, leaving your clothes on the floor, another delirious whimper seizing you as you sprawl against the silk sheets. 

You need him. 

Fuck, you need him, and you hate him for leaving you while the growing ache between your thighs threatens to swallow you whole.

The sheets are deliciously cool against your flushed skin, and you turn your head to rest your cheek in the cool embrace of the pillow. But it only needs a second to heat from your desire. 

And then the room is all too hot once again. 

Kicking off your pants, your hand snakes down your bare torso, leaving half-hearted squeezes to your breasts and hips, failing to replicate the touch Rafayel already has you addicted to. The memory only makes you more frustrated. 

A hand slips beneath your soaked underwear, and fuck, you’re dripping enough to ease your fingers in already. You force yourself to slow down, rubbing slow circles around your entrance, the mere friction enough to have your hips bucking up against nothing. 

Inhaling sharply, you slide a finger into your weeping cunt, a moan pushing from your lungs as you do. Not enough. It’s not enough.

You force yourself to draw each movement out, the curl of your wrist accompanied by your muffled cries and the slick, obscene sounds echoing alongside your ragged breath. Withdrawing your finger nearly to the fingertip, two plunge back in this time, and your back arches off the bed with violent tremors as you imagine it was Rafayel's hand instead.

How he’d tease you in the early mornings to wake you up, how he’d take special care of every sensitive spot on your body, how he’d draw his fingers along your clit just the way that will make you come undone.

And as your fingers find that sensitive bundle of nerves, the way you cry his name into the empty room is no different.

Your head is spinning, falling, your thighs shake, and it's not long before you're gasping out, "Rafayel, please.”

Still not enough. Every rough thrust of your fingers brings you higher and higher, but without the pressure of Rafayel's chest pressed to yours, or his hot breath ghosting across your ear, his voice, his lips, his touch—

Without him.

A sob rips from your throat, your hips bucking uselessly against the air as you fuck yourself harder, deeper. But your fingers are only so long, and your free hand, fisting the sheets, is unable to make up the difference. "No, no please," a whine, and your free hand rushes to circle your clit, the other picking up pace.

You're close, so close, sobbing his name when the dizziness from the car returns tenfold, overtaking your body in waves as your eyes roll back. "Please, ah! Rafayel, m’cumming-"

The world goes silent as pleasure surges through you, muscles convulsing, a choked, garbled sound escaping as you come. Collapsing back against the sheets, you struggle to catch your breath, the stickiness of both the heat and your orgasm coating your thighs. 

There’s another tug, a violent pull against your chest, but the dizziness remains. 

You know you should change the sheets or at least move them aside, but you can’t manage to do either as you rush to shower before Rafayel returns from his friend’s exhibition. 

It’s only when you stumble into the bathroom that you notice it. 

Shit. This is Rafayel’s room. 

You must be trying to kill him.

Surely, this is the gods' cruelest trial—a final test of his resolve—to see if he’d bow once more, forsaking divinity and succumbing to the temptation of you.

Because it’s been barely an hour, and Rafayel has already resigned himself from the party, passing blank smiles and empty compliments as he quietly counts down the minutes until he can return to the hotel, when suddenly he feels it.

The tug of your bond flashes through his body as his dick aches.

Rafayel freezes mid-sentence, the polite smile he'd been wearing slipping from his face. The conversation at the bar around him, something about chiaroscuro in the artist’s latest piece, become muffled static as the chains tighten, digging into his heart. 

It’s unmistakable now. The rhythm, the rising intensity, the waves of pleasure that don’t belong to him but still manage to spark delirious heat up his veins.

Rafayel’s breaths quicken, body temperature rising as his Evol flickers out of his control. He glances around the room, feigning interest in the conversation, the glittering glasses of champagne, the faint hum of the crowd. It doesn’t work. The only thing he can focus on is you.

He should leave. Go outside, breathe in the night air, and let the tether between you both loosen, just to regain control. Just to prove to himself it’s not too late.

But the bond tightens, as invasive as it is intoxicating, demanding Rafayel’s attention like a leash coiled around his neck. It’s not gentle. It’s not kind. It’s primal, every nerve in his body pulled taut like you’re screaming his name over and over into the depths of his soul. 

It’s not fair.

No god can deny the prayer of a worshipper.

Your pleasure becomes his, and when Rafayel closes his eyes, he swears he can feel your phantom hands on him, dick already heavy and throbbing, leaking through his expensive trousers.

Are you in bed, thighs trembling as you grind against your own palm? Or maybe the shower, steam curling around you as you chase release? Or worse—are you riding something of his? His shirt? His pillow? Is this vengeance a cruel punishment meant to shatter what little resolve he has left? 

Shit. He’s hard.

“Hey man, what’s wrong? You good?” 

The slam of a glass brings him back. Gods, he hates these rich socialites. 

The champagne glass Rafayel was holding is now covered in cracks, blood trickling down his ring finger. He’s unraveling, composure fracturing with every pulse of your pleasure surging in and out as violently as a full moon’s tide. 

Rafayel looks up, smiling. “Stress. And apparently a very needy pet.”

The man laughs at what he assumed was a joke, but Rafayel sees his hesitation, the type animals give when they pick up rustling in the bush. Fear. 

Rafayel’s grin only widens, all teeth. “I should probably go check on her. Wonderful party,” he adds, lifting his glass in a half-hearted toast before setting it down with a sharp clink.

As he steps outside, the desert air does nothing to soothe him. If anything, the dryness makes it worse as the pull becomes sharper, like you’re reaching for him, your need coiling tighter around his chest.

A growl, almost feral, rumbles low in his throat as he staggers down the cobblestone streets. He doesn’t need directions. He doesn’t even need to think. His body moves instinctively, guided by the bond, by you. 

Rafayel swears he can feel you all across his body, your heartbeat picking up as you get closer, the smell of your skin and arousal, the cries of his name that only become more and more desperate as you fail to bring yourself over the edge without him. 

You’re begging for him in a way his bond mistakes for worship, because Rafayel’s body feels like it’s burning. Like blood spilled on his altar, an offering of yourself to your god, your husband.

The thought that you might be doing so unintentionally only drives him further into madness.

But, beneath the frustration, there’s something else. A glimmer of something Rafayel hates to name but knows all too well: relief.

Because as much as he might deny it, Rafayel could never leave you. And now that you’ve reciprocated, now that you’ve begged for him oh so sweetly, he would gladly submit to his bond and become chained to you once again, forever at your mercy, unable to escape the inevitability of his fate.

He doesn’t even knock when he reaches the hotel room door. It swings open under the force of his hand, and the sight of you standing there—wide-eyed, startled, only in a bath towel—hits him like a blow to the chest.

There's a soft click as Rafayel locks the door. A hurried shuffle of shoes as he all but stumbles toward you, closing the distance between you in one hurried, unstoppable motion. A startled gasp as he grabs your face in his hands.

It's the last breath you take.

An arm wraps around your waist, blocked by only a flimsy hotel towel as Rafayel violently spins you around. Your surprise is swallowed by his lips as you’re pinned against the window, the chill of the desert snow, frosted against the glass, a harsh contrast to the burn of his touch. His hand pins yours at the wrist as he stares down at your fingers.

“Rafayel? What are you doing here?” 

The question barely gets out, not before he rushes forward to claim you in a kiss, if it was even that. A desperate, consuming need overtakes him, Rafayel pushing you back so insistently that your head hits the window with a thud, pain immediately distracted as his clothed knee grinds up between your bare thighs. 

Holy fuck, just a towel. Right.

You try to push him back, one hand pressing against his chest as the other flies back to tighten the towel. “Wait–”

Rafayel kisses you again. And again. And again. 

You can feel the cloth slipping.

But Rafayel makes it very hard to care. His hand traces your throat, your heartbeat, then drags you closer by your hips as he thrusts forward in time, still caging you against the window. He’s relentless, every kiss only broken with a ragged breath or gasp as though he’s given up on breathing entirely, content to consume you instead, his tongue sweeping against your lip before it coaxes yours to meet it halfway, licking and sucking into your mouth.

It’s obscene, animalistic, and you swear that there has to be something wrong with you because the dizziness is back, and this time it’s enough to make your knees buckle, the two of you blindly stumbling across the hotel room.

So you bite him. 

“Why–” Breathe. Remember how to breathe. “Why are you here?”

Rafayel almost looks offended, thumbing his bitten lip before licking away the smudge of blood with a lopsided smile. 

Fuck, he’s hard. You feel the heat of his cock jolt against your thigh, pressing into you as he surges forward again, kissing you as his hands squeeze and cup your waist, lifting you up.

"Why?" Rafayel laughs, roughly grinding up against you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his hips. "This is my room, remember? You’re the one who decided to come in here." He growls the last part, licking, biting, sucking at your throat. 

“Or was that intentional?”

The look in his eyes is feral. 

There’s no hesitation left, no half-riddled questions, no sweet praises, no semblance of your devoted lover. Just hunger. He’s rushing, pushing forward even with nowhere to go, almost in revenge. In punishment. Your teeth click together, foreheads bumping, unable to talk because when you try to open your mouth his tongue only slides in deeper. 

The wet sounds echo against your ears alongside your racing heartbeat, only causing you to grind harder, rougher, before Rafayel ungracefully drops you onto the bed. 

Your body bounces on the mattress, but it gives you a moment, and you scramble to cover Rafayel’s lips with your palm before he can begin devouring you again. 

“What I meant was, shouldn’t you still be at that art salon?”

He all but collapses into your touch. Lips parted, he grabs your wrist, tongue darting out as he licks up your middle and ring fingers, moaning against your skin. 

“I tried. I tried going, leaving.” He's panting, breathing in your scent before biting your palm. “But you called me back, you cruel, selfish human. And now I’ll never leave again.”

Your words come out between moans, unable to look away. “I called? I didn’t do—” You’re cut off as Rafayel licks up your skin, sucking lightly at your fingertips as his eyes, half-lidded and blown out stare down into yours. 

Oh.

A hot flush of embarrassment seizes you and Rafayel must sense it because his eyes flutter closed. His hips snap forward, grinding his erection into the side of the bed, and he lets out a low whine.

Gods, the taste of your cum lingers in Rafayel’s mouth. Every dry swallow, every inhale, every damn breath tastes like you, and it makes him want to submit to every horrid urge and simply consume until—

“You don't think I know? Don't think I can’t tell?” Rafayel goes back to kissing your wrist, needing something more, something stronger. His hand ventures to the edge of your towel. ”Can feel everything you do, no matter how far away I go. Gods, I feel it, feel everything, and it drives me insane. Need you so bad, need to hear you, feel you, taste you..."

A shudder runs up Rafayel’s spine at the mere thought, and he can't stop himself anymore, leaning down to suck your fingers into his mouth, tongue curling around the digits, saliva coating your fingertips. He rips the towel from your body.

"Say you need me too," He’s begging, sinking down to your knees. "Say you need me just as badly. I–ah fuck—I can smell how much you want me."

Throwing the towel to the floor, Rafayel runs his hands down your chest, rougher, long fingers cupping and massaging your breasts as his mouth trails wet kisses down your stomach, his tongue dragging against the smooth skin, a clear goal in mind as he settles between your thighs, looking up at you as though you were a thing worthy of worship. His Goddess. 

He’d offer himself to your alter time and time again. So long as he was the only one who got to bleed for you. 

“Yes.” You’re already soaked, the sight of Rafayel panting between your thighs enough to have you babbling, ”Yes, Rafayel. I needed you so, so badly all week. Couldn’t help m’self, please.”

He freezes at that, pouting. “Right, you already came, didn’t you. So mean, cutie. Leaving me out.”

Before you can argue, Rafayel dips his head, dragging his tongue up your cunt before sucking roughly at your clit. 

Your legs thrash above his shoulders. “Ah– wait, not so!” It’s too much too soon. Still sensitive from your prior orgasm, your back arches violently off the mattress, but Rafayel pays it no heed, deaf to your cries as he sloppily makes out with your pussy, drool and slick connecting his lips to you in sticky strands even as he pulls away just far enough to talk. 

“She’s already so sensitive, s’not fair,” he pouts, mouthing against your thigh as he flicks your throbbing bundle of nerves. You jolt, gasping at the sharp jolt of pain. At the same time, Rafayel fucks his tongue into your cunt, just barely dipping in before he moves back to rub nonsensical patterns on your clit. “But this is mine. I don’t want you touching it without permission anymore.”

Fuck, if you had any semblance of a coherent thought you would have argued, maybe even laughed at the sheer audacity of the man.

Instead, all you can manage is a pathetic whine of his name, because the strange swirls and harsh lines he’s licking into your clit aren’t patterns at all but letters, spelling something over and over and over again. 

R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y—

The ring of the hotel phone buzzes from the nightstand. It’s the artist whose party Rafayel left only minutes ago.

“Tch,” Rafayel scoffs in annoyance, whiping his chin as he goes to decline the call.

But this gives you a moment to breathe, and all you can think of is getting revenge. Especially on the bastard who tried to take Rafayel from you tonight. 

“Wait,” you grab his wrist. “You’re just going to hang up? What if it was something important?”

Rafayel turns to you with narrowed eyes, knowing there’s no good intent behind your wicked smile. It turns you on more than you can admit, the sight of his glare, mad at both the call and you interrupting his feast. But Rafayel can't deny you anything and does as he’s told, pressing accept. 

“The guest of this room is unable to answer. Please leave a message.”

Instantly, you have Rafayel on his back. 

His neck looks far too bare, and you climb onto his lap, enjoying the way his pulse kicks up under your palm.

Ripping his shirt’s buttons off, you begin biting dark spots down the pale expanse of his chest and neck. You’re about to aim right for the glowing mark on his chest when the phone beeps again, playing a voice recording of a clearly very drunk man. 

“Why did you leave, bro? Come back here r’now. One more round of drinks a—” Incoherent laughter and sounds of clinking glasses. 

No. No, Rafayel’s not allowed to leave you, not again. 

You don’t know where the fear comes from, but you force yourself closer on top of him, breasts pressing into his abs as Rafayel shivers beneath you. Leaning down, you kiss the glowing mark atop his heart, admiring the way it flickers and glows when Rafayel bucks into your touch, moaning as you begin to nip and suck in earnest. 

And then you’re flipped onto the mattress once more. 

Rafayel’s heaving, arms trembling to keep himself up. Away. “...Are you sure?”

“If I don’t, then you might actually leave. What will you say if you’re asked why you didn’t go back?”

Rafayel smirks, and you catch a glimpse of fangs as he sits back on his knees. There’s a click, the rough sound of metal on metal as he undoes his belt, unzipping his trousers with one hand as the other cups the inside of your thigh, yanking it over his shoulder as he drags you down the bed. “I’m busy.”

And then he’s kissing you. 

You’re lost, so hopelessly lost in each other that you fail to notice the phone beep once again, the monotone voice of the machine saying, “Please leave a message at the tone,” before flashing twice, still running. 

Again, Rafayel seems to forget the concept of breathing, gasping into your lips as he ruts his hips into yours. “You’re not leaving me, right?” Fuck, he’s leaking all over his stomach, pre-cum splattering across your thighs.

“Never. I’ll never leave you, Rafayel.”

“Then tell me you’re mine. Tell me, please, please—hah—tell me and I’ll do anything, promise cutie, promise.” He’s all but gasping between kisses, cock trapped between his body and yours as he grinds forward, voice a pitch or so higher than it usually would be. “Say it, say you're mine, tell me, I need to hear it again."

He's talking in circles, rambling, the desperation in his voice palpable. Grasping the base of his cock, he sloppily fisting himself once, twice, before thumping against your entrance.

“I’m yours, Rafayel.” You writhe, grinding yourself up against him in hopes that he’s just hurry the fuck up.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, yours Rafayel.”

“Again, ah—again,” he’s nuzzling into your neck, lifting your leg higher and higher, pinning it to your head as he folds you into a matting press. Still, he refuses to press in, cock throbbing against your clit as he hugs you tight, every muscle in your body screaming in protest and pleasure. “Again, please, please.”

“I’m-” You’re either gasping or crying, words flooding out, ”Rafayel’s, I’m Rafayel’s.”

At that, Rafayel’s entire body convulses. He sobs, finally thrusting forward, bullying up into you bit by bit, forcing you to count every inch as the entirety of his weight bares down onto you. 

You can feel the way his muscles shift, the way his arms bulge and contract as he holds himself above you, hips flush against yours. The desert air must be infecting him, because Rafayel is dripping sweat, flushed from his ears to his chest as he begins to pull out and slowly grind himself back in. 

His voice is wrecked, breathless as he tries to kiss you, missing slightly as he sucks against your bottom lip, drooling. "I'm yours too, I'm yours." At the same time, his cock jerks in you, burying deeper with every filthy roll of his hips, throbbing against your sweet spots. 

Then something snaps, Rafayel’s lips sealed back on yours, and the rhythm he sets is brutal.

Rafayel's cock drags over your walls, molding you in ways you never thought possible. Each thrust is hard, deep, and leaves you gasping, eyes rolling back into your head as you arch off the mattress, nowhere to go as his body folds yours damn near in half, weight bearing down on you.

It's all you can do to wrap your arms around him, nails scratching into his back, drawing thin lines of blood across his shoulder blades as you try to stay grounded, keep your mind from being swept away as the dizziness returns.

But the pressure building up in the pit of your stomach makes it hard.

Harder still as Rafayel begins mumbling into your lips, the filth pouring from his mouth making you clench, cunt fluttering around his cock as he pounds into you.

He can see and feel everything like this. Unable to look away from your face only inches away, watching every expression with love-drunk eyes, hugging you closer, fucking you harder.

"Can feel you, can feel you getting tighter. You're close right? Say you're close, please, mhm fuck." he's panting, and if you focus hard enough you can hear the sloppy noises of him sliding in and out, wet and obscene, the harsh slap of his balls against the curve of your ass.

But then Rafayel’s pushing himself lower, your legs dangling uselessly in the air as his chest is pressed so tight against yours you can barely take a breath.

"You're mine, only I can touch you like this, feel this. My wife. Say it, say you're mine, wanna hear it, please. Please, ah, I’ll do anything, say it."

He's barely pulling out anymore, resigning to quick, deep grinds as though he can’t bear to part.

Too uncoordinated to kiss you, Rafayel's head falls to your neck, sobbing into your marked-up skin before messily kissing atop the bruises.

"Yours. Yours. I'm yours, your wife," the words spill from your lips before you can even think, and Rafayel nearly passes out trying to stop himself from cumming then and there. 

It’s like you’re trying to milk him, hugging him closer and ankles wrapped around his neck as he’s lifting your hips right off the bed. But now he needs to see it.

Needs to know the way you'll cry out his name, how your eyes will glaze over and roll back into your head, the way your chest will heave, the sweat that will pool at the valley between your breasts, the way the skin will flush from a soft pink to a burning red as you lose yourself in the feeling. To him.

It's the only thing he's able to concentrate on, the only thing he's able to think of. The feeling of your body beneath him, the sound of his name on your lips. 

And that alone is enough.

Rafayel’s orgasm is sudden, a jolt of pleasure that surges up his spine with enough intensity to have him collapse, pinning your body beneath him. You can feel it, the way his cum splatters against the walls of your womb, painting your insides, filling you up until the excess squirts out around his cock and your intertwined thighs. He can't stop his hips, can't stop the way he grinds his pelvis against yours, trying to get deeper and deeper still. 

"Mine, mine, mine," is all he can say, eyes wide and pupils blown out as he watches the way your body twitches, a mixture of sweat and cum painting your body as you nearly pass out in exhaustion. "Gonna- gonna fill you up, fuck, so pretty, my pretty girl, pretty wife, gonna make sure it sticks, so I’ll never leave. So you’ll never leave me again."

You're cumming.

He can feel the way your cunt spasms, the way your walls lure him back in, the way you tremble and shake as you throw your head back with tears. 

Rafayel can't stop himself from leaning down and biting, teeth sinking into the crook of your neck, his hands grabbing at any bit of flesh he can find. All the while he fucks you through your orgasm, the mess of fluids creating the most obscene noises as they squish and bubble out, pooling out from between your bodies. 

As you’re swaying in and out of reality, you think you see it. A field of red flame lilies, a poison so sweet that when you drink it, you lick your lips and thank the gods. 

God. Just one, the one of the sea and the flaming sun. 

The one who's still kneeling before you. 

The one who you love. 

"Maximum voicemail length reached, recording sent."

♱⋅── a/n: Uber now canonically exists in the lnds universe, thanks. Also, I would have included the absolutely gut-wrenching aftercare included in the card with MC asking Rafayel to sing for her, but honestly I would not change that scene in the slightest and am content to believe that is exactly what happened next.

Oh the things I’d give to hear Raf sing~

How I manifest

Hey guys! I’m gonna be sharing how I manifest personally 💗

Now I use SATS/Lullaby method to manifest, as I find using “sleep” methods much easier.

THE STEPS:

1. I choose my desire. It can be anything because I am powerful! For example, let’s say I was manifesting a new phone.

2. Get comfy and relaxed. You can relax in any way that you please, me personally I like to do deep breathing, imagine myself in a serene jungle or forest, and just think of scenarios in my head. It can be anything! Maybe drink some hot beverage, ☕️ or watch a movie?

3. Get into SATS. I like to vaunt about my desires rather than visualize, because vaunting is more “fulfilling” in my opinion rather than visualizing.

4. Do the method. Then, I just vaunt about my desires like I am having a conversation with someone! Example: “I love my new phone, I got a cute phone case too! It works so fast and it’s such a good phone!” And I really feel it real, I feel as if I have it because I do. Then, I fall asleep in the state of wish fulfilled! 💗

Then I have my desire the next day! Yay!

How I use the lullaby method for the void state:

1. I do the vaunting method that I stated above. And I vaunt about how I am a void state master and I really feel it real.

2. I stop vaunting. When I feel like no longer vaunting, I start affirming for the void state. Here are some affirmation ideas:

I am a void state master

I am in the void state

I am aware of the void state

I am pure consciousness

3. I fall asleep saying those affirmations. Then BOOM! I’m in the void state!

I really hope you guys enjoyed this post. This is how I personally manifest, and I think we should all find something that works and resonates with us! 💗⭐️

Saw this on Reddit, if this helps anyone (credit to OP)

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

Need that luck!

you noticed me ⚾︎

{mlb!megumi fushiguro x f!reader}

summary: megumi fushiguro is one of the best players on the major league baseball team, and when you finally spot him on the big screen after practically dozing off at every game you went to with your girl friend? you were absolutely IN LOVE, but IN DENIAL that he could ever like you back… but he does, and bad.

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, NASTY NASTY MEGUMI, oral sex, SMUT, pussy eating in locker rooms HEH, mentions of drinking but like tiny just once, reader is oblivious to the way megumi wants her, DOMINANT AF MEGUMI PHEWW, cursing, flufffff!!, barely any angst, DIRTY TALK, pet names, aged up characters.

word count: 12.1k (IK IM SORRY ITS A CUTE ONE THO)

authors note: you GUYSSSS i love megumi fushiguro i want him so bad and i LOOVEEE this fic!! i worked like a little worker bee for days and i really hope it makes you guys happy :] MWAH!!

want more? you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

megumi fushiguro was the hottest baseball player you had ever seen in your life.

and you didn’t even like baseball to begin with, dozing off at every game your girl friend dragged you to because her boyfriend was on the major league team— but the one time you decided to open your eyes and pay attention to the big giant screen in front of you?

there he was in all of his emo glory.

number eighteen.

focused, half lidded eyes resembling borderline boredom as he waited for the pitcher to throw, his forehead glistening with sweat, flushed red cheeks, and his jet black hair slightly peeking over his forehead from underneath his baseball cap.

“my god—” your hand flew and you gripped your girl friends arm tightly, your jaw to the fucking floor as your eyes were gorilla glued to the screen, her quirking a curious eyebrow at you as she matched your frantic nature.

“what? what is it? who did you see? whats happ—”

you pointed your finger up at the screen, him swinging and hitting a fucking grand slam as he proceeded to get four runs with one hit, the one thing you knew about baseball besides a home run.

“that’s a— that’s a grand slam!” you pointed frantically, probably looking absolutely insane as you stood and screamed your fucking head off.

your girl friend laughed loudly, “you like fushiguro? megumi fushiguro?”

you jumped up and down, your girlfriend astonished and laughing as this was the first time she’d ever seen you energetic at a baseball game.

“he’s friends with yuji!” she yelled over the hollering of the crowd. “we can go to their locker room after and you can say hi! i heard he’s kind of mean though—”

“no!” you spun around, eyes wide and terrified. “i already know he’ll eat me alive then! i’m a loser, i can’t talk to him i don’t have game i—”

she rolled her eyes. “you’ll be fine—”

“no i can’t!” you shook your head frantically. “please he looks like the type to love bomb me and then leave me i don’t think i can handle that—”

she snorted. “are you sure?!”

you hesitated for a moment, biting your bottom lip as your eyes trailed back over to the screen, seeing megumi breathing a little heavy from running the field, his hands on his hips as he scanned the arena.

you sighed through your nose. “yeah i’m sure!”

“suit yourself!”

a year. a year you spent continuing to tag along with your girl friend to their games, staring lovesick and sad at the big screen over megumi, and standing outside far far away from the locker room once they scored another big win and not going in like you used to, waiting for your girl friend to finish up speaking to her boyfriend as you tried your best to avoid the chance of running into megumi.

she finally emerged from the locker rooms one day, a knowing smirk on her face.

“i told yuji.”

you blinked. “told him what?”

“that you like fushiguro.”

“no!” you gasped, a hand flying and smacking over your mouth. “please no im about to experience the biggest heartbreak of my life—”

“oh relax!” she grabbed your arm and practically dragged you towards the locker room doors. “he’s not even here megumi already left, but yuji wants to talk to you.”

“why?!” you exclaimed. “to let me down easy? to tell me he’s sorry on his behalf—”

your girl friend just about threw you in and went in after you as you stumbled, eyes blown wide as the air became humid and heavy, several of the players lounging about and refreshing themselves as the sound of lockers slamming shut echoed through the space— deep, broad voices laughing filling the room as yuji spotted you, his eyes friendly and polite. “y/n!”

you relaxed and smiled, “hi! you guys played really well today!”

“megumi also played really well today.”

“oh my god—” you groaned, throwing your head back as you spun around, heading straight for the exit.

“wait wait!” he laughed loudly, jogging up to you. “sorry sorry.”

“what do you want with me..” you mumbled.

he gave you a half smile. “i wanted to tell you that megumi’s weird.”

you snorted, “elaborate please.”

yuji threw an arm around your girl friend before continuing.

“you know we support your feelings and what you want…” he began.

your eyes narrowed. “why are you guys talking to me like you’re my parents—”

“but—” yuji cut you off. “i’m just gonna be straight with you. i’ve never ever seen megumi interact with anyone, let alone another woman, besides the team.”

“i don’t think i’ve ever seen him have a proper conversation with anyone on the team besides you actually…” your girl friend muttered to yuji.

yuji winced. “yeah…” he turned back to you. “back when megumi and i first got signed, he was really popular and a lot of girls would come up to him after games for his number or just to talk to him.”

“well obviously he’s a greek god,” you grumbled. “this is hurting me man get to the point.”

he sighed. “he basically scared all of them off. didn’t give a single one a chance and was kinda mean... he would either ignore them or straight up just tell them he wasn’t interested without them even being able to get a word in.”

you stared blankly.

“i tried to tell him that he needs to be nicer but he’s just not interested.”

you kept staring.

“that’s why i’m telling you this because we don’t want you to get hurt and i feel like if you try and talk to him he’s gonna be a dick and it might…” yuji looked at you sadly. “it might be a lost cause.”

you blinked.

“y/n?”

“that’s fine!” you squeaked, hands tight at your sides. “a part of me already knew. i read about it in an article, and i’ve seen his interviews.”

your girl friend looked at you with concern filled eyes. “are you okay?”

“yeah!” you waved them off. “why wouldn’t i be?”

“because your eyes are red.”

“ppffttt!” you blew out. “i’m fine! seriously. i never intended to talk to him anyways, i’m too much of a scaredy cat.”

you extended your arms out and engulfed the both of them, squeezing tight. “thank you guys for telling me though, i appreciate it.”

“y/n…” yuji trailed off.

“i’m gonna take off though, i’ll see you guys later, okay?” you waved and opened the door. “love you!”

and you scrammed, your heart in a million pieces.

it’s not like you didn’t already know. you knew, so why were you sad? why did you feel like you just got ran over by a double decker bus? why did you pathetically feel so sad?

this was the reality. you never stood a chance.

so why were you crying?

you continued walking down the hall and towards the main exit, utterly embarrassed at your sobbing and trying your best to hide it as you navigated through several groups of people, your vision entirely blurry as you were basically drowning in your tears.

you had barely escaped the crowd when you spotted a little secluded area in the lobby, trudging over pathetically and plopping down on the coushy seat as you wiped your cheeks, staring at the wall in front of you— a huge glass casing proudly decorated with the teams trophies and awards, gigantic portraits of the players on the team adorning the walls with megumi’s serious beautiful framed face right in front of you just making you feel worse.

you already knew, but regardless of megumi’s stand off ish personality, you liked it. you had curiously browsed his interviews and quotes in articles, and you always laughed at his responses, him almost every time offending the staff without even trying or knowing, and you found it so so funny, it only making you admire him and want to get to know him even more, even if it was just a friendship.

megumi fushiguro was one of the best players on the team in history, and as you closed your eyes, silent pathetic tears still slipping down your cheeks?

he never felt so out of reach.

“here.”

your eyes opened, but you literally could not see jack shit as your tears were still blurring your line of sight, you completely and utterly mortified that a stranger caught you sobbing as you wiped your face quickly in response.

“put on my sunglasses if you don’t want people to see you crying.”

the voice was gruff and lazy, but you could not care less as you took the sunglasses and settled them over your eyes, the lenses so freaking dark that you couldn’t see a single thing— your sight worse than before.

but it relieved you, as you figured no one could see your bloodshot eyes and therefore thankfully not notice you losing your mind over something so stupid.

“thank you,” you mumbled. “sorry.”

“for what.”

you felt the plush of the bench shift next to you, figuring that the stranger man sat beside you as you refused to look in their direction out of embarrassment.

not that you could even see in the first place.

“for looking like a loser.”

the stranger man snorted. “s’fine.”

you wiped your nose with your sleeve, sniffling.

“how do you see in these?” you muttered softly. “they’re making me claustrophobic i can’t see a thing.”

“that’s the point,” he hums.

“how come?”

“i get migraines everyday. they help.”

“oh i see.” you responded softly. “have you ever run into a wall because of them?”

you hear him huff out through his nose. “i did once, when i first got them.”

you giggled gently. “did you bleed?”

“no,” he spoke calmly. “i got a bump on my forehead.”

you snickered, “what? loserrr.”

you stood up and carefully tried to walk around a little, testing out how to guide yourself through the dark lenses and trying to be careful and not bump into a wall (which was literally impossible), your hands out, feeling around.

“jesus christ i’m just kidding now i feel bad. i think im gonna bump myself into a wall too so we can call it even.”

you couldn’t see, but the stranger man’s lips twitched at your comment.

“don’t do that.” he murmured. “sit back down.”

you listened and started making your way over, feeling him reach out and wrap his fingers around your wrist carefully and guide you to the bench, you plopping down on it once you felt it.

“thank you!” you responded sweetly. “…i’m actually glad i can’t see a thing right now.” you perked up, pushing the sunglasses back up over the bridge of your nose.

“why is that.”

“so i don’t have to look at megumi fushiguro’s big portrait in front of my face.”

the stranger man stopped.

“…why?”

“because he indirectly broke my heart.”

you heard a little audible laugh, and you smiled to yourself.

at least someone is having fun right now.

“how did he indirectly break your heart?”

“my girl friend’s boyfriend is yuji itadori. she spilled the beans against my will about how i have a crush on him, and yuji told me that he’s mean and he’ll basically bite my head off and tell me to scram.”

“did he?”

“uh huh,” you nodded. “they were trying to let me down easy, but it’s not like i was gonna try and talk to him anyways. i’ve gone a year without saying anything i can go on and on and on.”

the stranger man hummed.

“he’s so cool though…” you murmured, dazed. “he’s gonna be a hard one to forget about.”

“why do you like him?”

“i feel like im being interrogated,” you giggled.

you felt the stranger man lean back against the wall. “sorry, just curious.”

you copied him and crossed your arms, “mmm… because he’s really good at what he does. i admire that most of all.”

you tilted your head. “everyone berates him for being mean but i like that he’s supposedly mean for some reason…. he’s just serious about his profession and he doesn’t want to waste time. he’s also the hottest man i’ve ever seen so that definitely helps.”

the stranger man laughed a little.

“i don’t know,” you sighed sadly. “maybe i’m just demented. i am demented.”

“if yuji itadori told you the exact opposite about him, would that have encouraged you to go up to him?”

you sat in thought for a moment, but ultimately shook your head. “no. it’s too embarrassing for me and i’m also a big fat wuss so…”

you slid your fingers underneath the lenses and rubbed your stinging sore eyes. “maybe in the next life if i’m lucky, ill be reincarnated as a cool baseball man too and i won’t have to deal with this shit.”

“cool baseball man.” he repeated, tone seemingly amused.

“yup.”

the stranger man sighed. “is this why i found you crying?”

“maayybeee?” you dragged out shyly, your cheeks flushing.

it was silent for a moment, your vision completely black but his on your rosy cheeks, oddly staring that if you could see right now, you’d probably call him a creep.

“i’m sorry i made you cry.”

you jumped back.

“no not you!” you huffed. “have you not been paying attention? catch up man—”

you felt a shadow reach up and tug the sunglasses slightly away from your face, your eyes constricting against the bright lights of the hall as they tried to adjust.

and when they did?

megumi fushiguro was sitting right next to you, a tiny smile on his face dressed in all black with his teams baseball cap on.

your eyes widened dramatically and you slapped both hands over your mouth, beyond horrified as everything you had thought you were telling a stranger about him, you were telling him directly, your brain short circuiting and your body heating up like a fucking hot flash.

“oh my god i’m so sorry!” your voice was muffled, you shaking your head in absolute denial.

you immediately sprung up and grabbed your purse, slowly backing up further and further away from him.

his smile widened.

oh my god.

megumi fushiguro was smiling, a sight you’ve never ever seen during his games, practices, interviews, articles, or magazines as your cheeks increased in shade— wanting to mentally take a picture and remember forever as you knew you’d probably never see him smile like that again.

but he was smiling.

“pretend i don’t exist!” you stammered, “pretend this never happened i’m sorry this is so embarrassing keep winning your games okay and i’ll keep being an idiot far far away from you—”

“where are you going?” he chuckled lowly.

“—you’ll never see me again i’m going home and i’m going on lockdown—”

he laughed through his nose, his lips in an amused smile.

“you don’t have to do that.”

“yes i do—”

“you don’t have to forget me either.”

“that i definitely do—”

you were halfway out of the main entrance doors.

“hold on y/n—”

megumi stood, his long legs walking over to you and you froze.

y/n?

you slowly turned around, your face pale and afraid.

“how do you know my name?” you asked softly.

“your best friend is dating yuji, is she not.”

you nodded, eyes blank.

“i’ve been seeing you inside the locker room after our games for like… two years.” megumi mumbled.

oh.

oh that’s right.

you didn’t actually notice megumi until last year, when you decided to finally open your eyes for once during a game and that’s how you spotted him for the first time on the big screen in front of you, in all of his gorgeous handsome entity.

“oh.”

he raised a hand and pressed his index finger to your forehead, nudging you softly.

“dummy.”

“s-sorry..” you gave him a wobbly bashful smile, your cheeks pinky as you rubbed your red eyes.

his eyes slightly softened and he shook his head. “s’fine.”

megumi continued to stare at you, a stone cold face that always seemed to scare off the teams entire fan base, but only made you feel numb and giddy all over every single time.

you smiled wider then, and megumi’s lips twitched.

cute.

“i’m— i’m gonna go now.”

“do you have a ride home?”

you stopped. “no i was just gonna call an uber—”

he shook his head and walked past you, his shoulder brushing gently with yours with his hands stuffed in his pockets as you turned and stared at him.

he paused and looked over his shoulder.

“you coming?”

your eyes widened. “coming? w—where?”

he rolled his eyes. “i’m taking you home.”

“no!” you shot your hands out. “it’s okay! really! thank you thank you i appreciate it but—”

he stared lazily.

“come.”

you pressed your lips into a thin line and tipped your head down, taking tiny painful steps as you followed after him to the parking lot.

megumi led you from the public parking area to a secluded section around the back of the arena, one you assumed was for players and crew members only as you nervously gnawed on your bottom lip, feeling absolutely sick.

you both continued to walk down until you arrived to a private parking garage, megumi slipping out his keys from the pocket of his hoodie as you approached a shiny black luxurious car sitting neatly in a spot.

his car was really fucking nice, and you figured so being as he was one of the most popular players and probably had more than enough money in the bank— your fingers trembling as you gripped the passenger side door, settling yourself inside his plush cool leather seats and all black interior.

megumi pressed the ‘start’ button and his engine roared to life, the motor echoing through the structure as you clumsily tried to put on your seatbelt, your cheeks growing pinker with each passing second that you just couldn’t get the stupid damn thing to— click—

he reached over across the console and took the seatbelt from you, pulling it over your body and clicking it secure without a word.

“thank you.” you said softly, eyes trained to your lap.

megumi gave you a small nod and backed out of his parking space, driving around a couple of rows before making his way out with the night air softly breezing through your hair as he drove, his dash illuminated with blue lines that ran smoothly across.

“can you put your address in—”

“oh yeah!” you jumped. “sorry—”

you reached over and tapped in your address on his big touch screen, watching the way the gps registered the location and gave him the estimated time of arrival.

forty fucking minutes.

“megumi..”

his eyes looked over at you for a second before turning back to the road.

“hm?”

“i live kinda far from here and i don’t want you to drive the opposite way from where you live.”

you leaned a little, eyebrows pinched. “i can take an uber seriously, this is too much trouble i—”

“you’re already in my car.” he deadpanned.

“i’ll jump out.”

he pursed his lips, trying to suppress a smile.

“i have child lock on.”

“child lock?!” you gawked. “is this what you think of me?”

“you’re a little helpless… and you’re a crybaby.” he mumbled. “child lock stays on.”

you giggled after, your eyes shining and filled with mushy feelings for him as you nodded. “you’re probably right.”

he looked over at you then, and he smiled, softly.

“what do you do?”

you fidgeted. “h—huh?”

“do you um…” he ran his thumb over the top of his gear shift. “do you work? do you go to school?”

he’s asking you?

“i go to school!” you responded shyly but kind. “i go to a college that’s about fifteen minutes from your stadium. i usually go and meet up with my best friend after class if there’s a game.”

he hummed. “are you a big baseball person?”

you grimaced.

do you lie? do you tell the truth? do you roll down his window and attempt to jump out of the car that way?

you played with a strand of your hair. “i— i um—”

he raised an eyebrow.

“i— don’t?”

he cocked his head. “you don’t?”

you shook your head no, completely ashamed of who you are as a person as you covered your eyes.

“i knoww i suuucckkk,” you whined. “the only things i know about baseball are home runs and grand slams— which you did!”

you pointed at him excitedly. “last year! i remember you hit a grand slam! i got so excited that for once i knew what the fuck was going on and why everyone was going crazy…”

you fiddled with your fingers nervously, your eyes trained to the road. “i felt so included.”

he chuckled, and unexpectedly, reached over and gently ruffled your hair.

you then stared at him as he did so, doe eyes wide and cheeks pink.

megumi was truly just beautiful— his smooth face that didn’t have a single blemish on his skin shining under the moonlight, his black spiky hair peeking from under his cap that you had no doubt in your mind was soft and velvety.

you hated that you’d probably do anything for that man.

“i’m sorry i made you cry,” he repeated, you recognizing his words from before.

your eyebrows furrowed.

he was still thinking about that?

you shook your head furiously, “you didn’t! i swear it’s okay. i’m just crazy.”

he huffed out a laugh.

megumi thought you were odd, but in a good way. he thought everything you did was a little funny, as you were jumpy and clumsy and a crybaby and helpless, but he also took note of how polite you were. he noticed how considerate you were of him even though you were really upset, and you were kind of sweet… really sweet actually, your personality something that was totally different from the usual girls that came up to him.

well, the usual girls that used to come up to him back when he first started.

megumi pulled into your driveway and shifted the gear into park, the doors automatically unlocking.

you opened the door and stepped out before leaning down and peeking your head in.

“thank you for the ride!” you said sweetly, a cute smile on your face. “i’m sorry you had to listen to my confession against your will.”

he shook his head. “it’s alright.”

you went in to close the door.

“y/n.”

you leaned back down, “yeah?”

“are you gonna stop coming to our games?”

you gnawed at the inside of your cheek, your eyes darting around the interior of his car nervously.

“i— i don’t think so.”

“good.”

megumi watched you close his door and walk back a bit, him shifting his gear into reverse as the corners of his lips turned a tiny bit upwards.

“i’ll see you then.”

as you watched him pull out and drive away, his engine roaring down the street, you could not stop or simmer down the way your heart raced against your chest, so much so that you were afraid it was going to burst through your chest and literally kill you.

the next time you went to a game, you hadn’t told your close girl friend yet as she led you through the crowd and down to the v.i.p. lower level seats like always, a kind courtesy of yuji’s that he did whenever he could.

as you watched, you embarrassingly spotted megumi almost the minute you arrived, stars and hearts in your eyes as you watched him do his thing and work magic through the field with his absolutely insane batting, strong and purposeful as he barked orders or observed the opposing team for leads.

once his and the opposing team switched sides, megumi looked up as he jogged, his eyes seemingly scanning the v.i.p. front sections until he spotted you.

he raised a hand and gave you a little wave, and your eyes widened as you timidly, hesitantly, gave him one in return— your cheeks turning pink.

“who are you waving at?”

your girl friend pressed a cheek against yours and looked.

“who is- fushiguro?!”

you looked at her sheepishly.

as you recounted the story to her, her eyes bulging out of her sockets and screaming her head off every two seconds, her head snapped to the field.

“i have to tell yuji—”

“no!” you gripped her shoulders. “it’s literally nothing! he drove me home and he probably just feels bad for me.”

“megumi isn’t the type to make a crying girl feel better or drive her home.”

“it’s because he knows that we know yuji.”

“mm i don’t think so..” she scowled, crossing her arms in eventual defeat as she stared straight ahead.

that’s how it went for about a month.

you would come to their games, megumi would wave at you from the field or you would catch his attention and wave at him, and you would briefly speak to him casually just after his games, your conversations with him usually lasting no more than three minutes as he was often pulled by his coach or a crew member.

but even though the conversations were short, they were really nice, and the both of you never seemed to notice the people around you wanting his attention until he physically had to get pulled away.

but you still refused to go inside the locker room, knowing that was surely the place where you had to talk to him for longer than three minutes. you were too scared, embarrassingly so as you bid your girl friend and yuji goodbye from just outside the door before leaving every time, completely unaware of the way megumi would stare expressionless at you from inside.

when your girl friend invited you to the team’s yearly banquet, you flat out said no, decision firm and unmoving as she begged you over and over and over again.

“please please you have to go! you can’t avoid megumi forever!”

“what is the purpose of me going though?” you sighed, shaking your head with a smile at the sight of her dramatically on her knees over you. “for you it makes sense because you’re with yuji but what’s the excuse for me? i’m not anybody’s plus one.”

“yes you are,” she got back up on her feet and wiggled her eyebrows, “you’re megumi’s plus one.”

“bye i wish,” you mumbled, plopping down on your bed.

“okay you’re my plus one, or yuji’s! so he has two plus ones!”

she walked over and sat down next to you, resting her head against your shoulder as she sighed. “please come. you don’t have to talk to megumi okay? fine. but just come with me, i’ll have a better time if you do.”

you gave her a silly smile and thought for a moment, her sad tone swaying you as you finally gave in.

“only if you swear you won’t force me to talk to him.”

she nodded eagerly.

“i swear!”

so you stood there, nervous and biting your thumb as you frantically looked around, dressed in a pretty black off the shoulder mermaid style gown with a high slit exposing your leg— fiddling with your styled hair as you waited and waited and waited for your girl friend to come back from the dessert table with yuji.

you hadn’t seen megumi yet as you were trying to keep on a look out, because the moment you did see him all dressed up? you were sure you were going to start pathetically bowing for him on your knees in front of all these people and end your social life forever.

finally, she came back and handed you a little pastry, you thanking her kindly and taking a small bite.

“wait no!” she gasped, turning her pastry around. “fuck, i got the wrong one. i meant to get the vanilla one this is coconut.”

“i can get it for you this time.” you smiled kindly, her looking at you gratefully as you patted her shoulder, making your way over to the dessert table.

your eyes lit up like stars at the sight of it, grand and luxurious as any kind of pastry you could ever possibly think of was present— neat and gourmet-like, each adorned with elegant toppings as multiple huge chocolate fountain stations ran from the sides.

“hi.”

you jumped and looked to your right, megumi standing there beside you with a bored expression, clad in a polished black button up and slacks, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

you gulped.

“h—hi.”

“i didn’t think you’d come.”

he lazily picked up a tiny slice of chocolate mousse cake and looked at it.

“i was dragged by my best friend,” you puffed out a laugh. “she said i was her and yuji’s plus one or something like that.”

he nodded, biting his cake slice and swallowing.

“you stopped coming inside the locker rooms.”

you faltered.

he noticed that?

“oh yeah! i just—” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “i’ve been really busy with school so i study right after…”

for some reason megumi eyed you carefully, and your cheeks grew pinker the more he blatantly stared at you as you fidgeted.

“are you—”

“fushiguro!”

you both turned your heads to the source, and you spotted an unfamiliar guy, one who you assumed was on the team with them, smiling enthusiastically and throwing a heavy arm around megumi’s shoulder.

“who’s this? i’ve never seen you talk to anyone besides us!”

megumi only spared him a nonchalant glance before he looked back over at the dessert table.

the unknown man extended a hand out to you, and megumi’s eyes snapped to it.

“hi! i’m takuma!”

you cheerfully took his hand. “y/n!”

“are you megumi’s girlfriend?”

you gawked, guilt and embarrassment already filling your body at the thought of megumi finding that comment uncomfortable and being uncomfortable because of you.

at his own banquet.

“n—no!” you shook your head, eyebrows pinched. “i came with my best friend and yuji.”

takuma unhooked his arm and let it rest beside him. “oh nice! you know yuji as well?”

you nodded, “mhm!”

the rest of the crowd began to take their seats for the awards ceremony segment, and the three of you walked over to your designated table by yuji and your best friend, who’s eyes widened at the sight of you next to megumi.

you all sat, and takuma pointed to the empty seat next to you.

“is anyone sitting here?”

“oh no!” you smiled politely. “it’s empty you can—”

“take mine ino.”

megumi pulled out the chair next to you and plopped down on it, scooting up. “it’s closer to the front.”

huh?

“o—oh!” takuma scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “okay! thanks fushiguro.”

he only nodded in response and stuck his face in his champagne glass, sipping.

and he was right. you watched as takuma navigated through the circular tables before sitting in a seat that was right smack dab in the front.

“that’s really nice of you megumi!” you chirped. “he has such a good view now!”

“mhm.”

your best friend smacked a hand to her forehead with a shake of her head, and you looked at her quizzically.

the awards ceremony was the most fun you’ve ever had, as you were over the moon for all of the players that were awarded prestigious titles and recognitions, and even more excited for yuji and megumi, the both of them combined taking award after award that by the time the event was done, your table was filled to the brim with frames, medals, and trophies.

your doe eyes glowed over megumi’s earnings, pride and admiration bubbling in your chest as you took in the result of his hard work, feeling like he was the most talented person you ever had the privilege of knowing.

he stared at your enamored look.

“you’re so cool, gumi..” you gushed, not even noticing the little nickname you gave him.

but he did.

“cool baseball man?” he responded softly, referencing your words from when you first met.

your eyes snapped to his and you gave him the shiniest smile, nodding quickly. “yeah! cool baseball man.”

megumi looked down at his awards, and after a couple of seconds, picked up a shiny gold medal hung on a baby blue striped lanyard, holding it out for you.

“here.”

your eyes traveled down.

“what?”

“for you.” he pushed the medal forward.

shock crossed your face, and you frantically shook your head, pushing the medal back to him. “no! no megumi that’s yours you earned it—”

megumi rolled his eyes and held on to the edges of the lanyard, effortlessly setting it over your head and around your neck, the medal clinking and twinkling against your chest.

“i have four others. it’s fine.”

“no but—”

he carded his thumbs underneath your hair and gently slid your hair out from beneath the lanyard, setting it delicately over your bare shoulders.

yuji and your best friends jaws were on the floor, but you didn’t notice, too busy ogling over the fact that megumi fushiguro was the kindest person you had ever met, utterly amazed that he selflessly gave you something so precious. you.

your gaze trailed down to the medal, and you softly touched it with the pads of your fingers.

“t—thank you gumi…”

his lips twitched.

you realized then that the music had started and the crowd had already dispersed to celebrate, some dancing in the center while others mingled on the sidelines or hogged the dessert table.

and you spotted your best friend with yuji, the both of them smiling adoringly at each other, laughing and dancing— something bashfully wished for yourself as you grinned softly at them.

megumi followed your gaze, and he huffed an amused small laugh through his nose.

“they met at a party didn’t they?”

you looked to him and nodded, “uh huh! i was with her. she was so scared to talk to him and i literally had to throw her in.”

he scratched his cheek. “i remember. i was there.”

your jaw dropped. “you were?!”

he nodded. “and i remember you too.”

you sat there in silence.

how long had megumi been around in your life without you knowing? how didn’t you ever freaking notice?

before you could press any further, megumi squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers to his forehead in pain, groaning softly.

you jumped, “are you okay? what’s wrong?”

he shook his head. “migraine. the lights are fucking with me a little.”

“oh!” you frantically looked around the table and around him. “where are your sunglasses? the dark ones the ones you ran into a wall with!”

megumi snorted and shook his head again, eyes peeking at you a bit. “it’s fine. i left them at home.”

your eyebrows rose, “you left them?”

he nodded and dropped his hand, sitting up straight and trying to open his eyes fully to seem normal, but his lids only dropped again and his forehead fell to rest against the table.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled. “just give me a minute.”

“don’t be sorry gumi…”

you figured the rest of the night was going to be like this, and if megumi stayed, he was going to end up dealing with the dull ache in his head for hours on end and not enjoy his banquet.

but you wanted him to enjoy it. this was his night, and you didn’t want him to spend it pissed off and writhing in pain.

“do you want to leave?”

he turned his head to the side and looked at you.

“we can um—” you fiddled with the medal around your neck. “we can go outside? or we can go for ice cream…”

you tilted your head to the side cutely, and you were oblivious to the way megumi’s cheeks went a little pink at the sight.

“ill pay though!” you smiled sweetly. “it’s the least i can do for the medal you gave me.”

he gave you an endearing half smile and nodded.

your eyes lit up. “really?! okay!— wait let me just say bye to my best friend and let her know—”

you quickly stood and walked over to the dance floor, megumi watching after you before picking up his black blazer and holding it underneath an arm, wondering how the fuck he was gonna pick up all of his awards himself.

“y/n!” your best friend gushed. “you’ve been talking to megumi for hours what the fuck is going on—”

you laughed. “nothing! it was nothing but i’m gonna go get ice cream with him!”

“what?!” her and yuji said in unison.

“did he ask you?” yuji pushed.

“no!” your eyes narrowed. “of course not i’m a big fat loser why would he? i invited him because he has a migraine so—”

your best friend hummed, a smirk on her face. “oh i see... use protection.”

“huh?!” your jaw dropped. “no! that’s not—”

“y/n!”

you turned and saw takuma walk over to you, a big smile on his face. “you enjoying the banquet?”

“oh yes! it’s really great!” you smiled kindly. “the dessert table is absolutely insane.”

“right?!” takuma stepped closer to you. “they go all out every year, it’s what everyone looks forward to.”

“i can definitely see why!”

he chuckled and nodded but then turned to you, speaking quieter. “listen um… i was wondering if you were uh— well if you wanted to dance? with me? y’know… maybe get to know each other better and then—”

yuji shoved his lips to your best friends ear.

“he’s stealing megumi’s girl.”

“i know!” she whispered harshly. “what the fuck do we do—”

“i don’t know!”

“well call megumi over—”

suddenly, a tall broad figure walked in between you and takuma, your vision blocked by his back.

“sorry ino,” megumi stepped to the side a little and placed a hand on the small of your back, ushering you towards the exit. “we were just leaving.”

yuji and your best friend gave each other a low high five before their eyes darted around, putting on false ignorance.

“sorry!— it was nice meeting you takuma!” you called from over your shoulder before the both of you stepped out of the venue and into the cool night air.

megumi’s car was parked right out front, him unlocking the doors with a button just like he had done the last time, you noticing how all of his awards were set neatly in the back seat.

“oh i’m sorry gumi! did you carry these over by yourself? i was gonna help you—”

you sat yourself on his passenger side seat, the leather creaking with every movement you made.

he shook his head. “i had my publicist team do it. it’s fine.”

“oh okay…” you mumbled, still feeling a little guilty that you didn’t help him.

you went to reach for your seatbelt when megumi’s arm flew in front of you and grabbed the strap, pulling it over your frame and clicking it securely before his hands wrapped back around the steering wheel, just like he had done a month prior.

you couldn’t make out his expression, as it was blank and stone-like and not a word was coming out of his mouth as he backed out from the parking space, but you smiled at him cutely nonetheless and thanked him.

the nearest ice cream shop was literally down the road from the venue, and the drive took less than three minutes before megumi pulled in and parallel parked on the side of the street.

you both stepped out and walked inside, the shop colorful and vibrant as what looked like twenty different assortments of ice cream were on display, your eyes launching across each flavor excitedly.

“i haven’t had ice cream in a fat minute…” you murmured as you pressed your hands against the glass.

“me neither.”

“which flavor do you want megumi?” you asked him sweetly, your eyes still glued to the flavors that it made him chuckle.

“um…” he stepped forward and scanned the different colors. “i’ll take whatever you get.”

you looked at him and your eyebrows softened, “are you sure? what if you don’t like it?”

the corner’s of his lips turned upward, the sight making your heart skip a beat.

“it’s okay. i trust you.”

you ended up getting your all time favorite flavor that you never skip— cake batter, one that tastes different depending on who’s palette it is, and something you anxiously thought over as you gnawed on your bottom lip and stared, waiting for him to try it as you both sat on a park bench not too far from the shop.

“why do you look like you’re about to cry.” he snickered lowly.

your eyes snapped to his and you giggled. “i might if you don’t like what i picked out.” you plopped a little spoonful in your mouth, the cold ice cream melting and spreading over your tongue as you swallowed. “cake batter is a hit or miss for different people…”

he hummed, “how come?”

“it’s either too sweet or just nasty.”

“i have a sweet tooth.”

your eyes lit up, “so do i! i’m a big sweets person. i love love desserts and chocolate and ice cream… but i’m not the biggest fan of candy.”

“you’re not?”

“i love candy but not how i love sweets… and i wouldn’t randomly pick it out like at the store because i wanted to. most likely i would get a cookie.”

megumi liked how much you talked.

“have you always had a sweet tooth?” he pressed on, looking at his ice cream cup.

you nodded. “have you?”

“not really,” he shook his head. “i didn’t pick it up until i met—” he stopped. “…my dad.”

met his dad?

megumi spotted your confusion and continued.

“my actual dad disappeared. dunno where he’s at. all i’ve heard is that he had a bad gambling addiction so i’m guessing it had something to do with that.”

your eyes softened.

“gojo is kind of like my dad…” he mumbled. “he’s supported my sister and i financially ever since i was maybe five or six.”

“you have a sister?” you murmured, eyes big.

he nodded. “i do.”

he scooped a bit of cake batter ice cream up with his spoon and plopped it into his mouth, smiling softly. “gojo gave me a sweet tooth. he can’t go a day without it.”

you’d never heard megumi open up so much before, and you felt incredibly lucky and special to be the one to hear about his family and share a precious moment with him over eating ice cream, something you wanted to treat delicately and remember for as long as you lived.

“do you like it?” you asked softly, gesturing to his cup.

“i love it.”

you beamed, and he took in your cute smile for a minute as you ate some more on your end.

“i’m sorry about your actual dad… but i’m glad you and your sister got the support you needed when you were young.”

he nodded.

“did he encourage you to do baseball? or was it you?”

“he did initially.” he shook his head. “he was annoying at first, was a cheerleader at every game and was so loud.”

you giggled.

“but i grew to like it… and that’s what i wanted to do for a career. if it wasn’t for gojo’s funding i wouldn’t have been able to.”

you hummed, savoring the ice cream a bit before swallowing. “that’s really nice, gumi. i’m really happy you got the opportunity to grow your skill out like that…” you swirled the ice cream around your cup with your spoon. “what you have is a solid gift, and i would hate to see it not get the recognition it deserves when you’ve worked so hard to make it what it is now.”

you looked at him. “so i’m really, really glad that it does get it.”

megumi stared at you, face blank and a scoop of yet to be eaten ice cream on his spoon, his cheeks growing hot.

“i don’t know why you think so highly of me.” he murmured.

everyone thinks he’s rude.

your eyebrows furrowed. “i don’t think megumi, i know. you’re not a mean person, you’re honest and serious about the important things in your life. and if the medal around my neck that you gave me selflessly doesn’t tell you otherwise? i might have to kill you.”

he laughed, loud, his eyes sparkling. “you might?”

you bit your lip to refrain yourself from freaking out over his smooth laughter. “i might.”

you subconsciously rubbed your hands over your chilling arms then and megumi eyed it before he put his cup down, reaching next to him for his blazer and opening it up as he gently placed it over your shoulders.

you looked at him like he was the world then, doe eyes big and round and shimmering, and megumi felt like he could do anything with that look as long as it came from you— a permanent red tint on his cheeks that was entirely your doing.

“thank you..” you mumbled shyly, your eyes glued to your now empty cup of ice cream on the bench as you clutched the sides of his blazer, the smell of him wafting in your nose that made you absolutely weak.

megumi timidly, slowly, reached up and moved a strand of hair from your eyes then, and you looked up.

“pretty…” he murmured, dazed even.

his hand fell and landed gently on your exposed thigh from the slit of your dress, but instead of moving it, he let it stay there, his hand smoothing over your plush soft skin as he was completely entranced by your heavenly face, his body pulling his lips closer to yours as megumi’s breath quickened with absolute need the higher up his hand trailed up your yummy thigh.

you couldn’t say a word, he practically didn’t let you as his lips pressed delicately and timidly against your plush ones, his mouth moving so slowly and his tongue parting your wet lips for the purpose of devouring more of you, all while his fingertips reached and felt the side straps of your panties— the material alone making him erratic and desperate while his other hand gripped your waist tightly.

your mouths moved faster now, the sounds of wet smacking and lips separating to reconnect with more greed than before muffling your ears as he breathed heavily through his nose, his eyebrows pinched together in pent up everything as he finally had you with him after months of you avoiding him.

and then you pulled away with a wet pop.

“i—i’m sorry!” you covered your mouth. “i didn’t mean to kiss you!—”

what?

megumi’s eyebrows furrowed, both of your chests heaving as his cheeks and lips were blushed red.

he shook his head, “no i kissed you—”

“don’t cover for me gumiii,” your shoulders slumped, your brain so in denial that he could ever like you back that it tricked you into thinking you were the one kissing and all over him. “fuck i’m sorry… that was so disrespectful and— and weird of me and i—”

megumi’s hands slipped away from your body and he shook his head, his eyes dead locked on yours with his eyebrows pinched together. “y/n no you’re not understanding—”

“i’m the biggest creep on the planet man i understand if you don’t ever want to speak to me again—” you covered your face and leaned forward.

megumi stared at you astonishingly as he listened to you ramble apologies and dramatic insults for yourself continuously, his shoulders slowly relaxing and his lips turning into a soft knowing smile, your random speech starting to make absolutely no sense at all and his heart aching at the fact of how naive you were.

“y/n.”

you stopped. “what.”

he reached over and pulled your hands away from your face. “you’re helpless, you know that?”

“helpless and a creep.”

he laughed and shook his head. “stop it.”

he stood and offered his hand out for you.

“it’s getting late, i’m driving you home.”

megumi decided he would properly speak to you about it the next time he saw you… except he didn’t.

you started avoiding him like the plague again, horrendously horrified about what you believed you had done, thinking that it was better if you stayed away from him and fulfilled your initial task of forgetting him, no matter how much it hurt you.

you didn’t want megumi to ever be uncomfortable or experience what you believed he experienced with you. he didn’t deserve that. he didn’t deserve a pathetic little fan girl that never left him alone and hindered his work on the field, even though you wished so badly you could see him again, as the taste of his lips and mouth never left your fuzzy mind.

you kissed megumi fushiguro.

“oh my god y/n, you’re so stupid.”

“no i’m not! do you really believe megumi could ever like me back? no! absolutely not. i kissed him and i fucked up and that’s it. i’m staying away from him.”

your best friend ran her fingers through her hair and almost tore a chunk out in frustration. “it sounds like he kissed you! he had his hand on your thigh—”

“that was for stability! he—”

“no it was to feel you up!”

you shook your head side to side with your arms crossed. “nope nope nope nope—”

“y/nnnn!”

as for megumi, the next game he had he looked for you while on the field like he always did, looking forward to seeing your precious face and giving you a little wave… except he couldn’t find you. after the game, he went around the stadium and towards the locker room, inside and back out, the parking lot, his parking lot—

and he couldn’t find you.

this went on for a full three weeks of game after game nearly every day him doing the same exact thing— him getting increasingly more confused and a bit upset at your disappearance, going as far as to staying hours after his games still in his sweaty baseball uniform and cap with hopes that you’ll turn up.

except you never did.

and at the end of the third week, he had had enough.

“oh hey megumi!” your best friend greeted him, her hand fixing around yuji’s hair in the locker room after a game.

“hi.”

he stood there and said nothing, and your best friend eyed him skeptically. “…yes?”

megumi shifted awkwardly. “have you um… have you seen y/n?”

she sucked in a breath. “uh yeah. i saw her this morning.”

“this morning?” his eyes narrowed. “is she okay? why hasn’t she been coming to our games with you?”

“because—” she stammered. “well because—”

“is it our place to say?” yuji muttered.

“is it our place to know?” she whispered back harshly.

“i don’t know!”

“let’s just tell him!”

“but what if!—”

megumi rolled his eyes and huffed. “nevermind. please tell her to come tomorrow, i need to talk to her.”

your best friend gulped and nodded, both her and yuji watching the way he walked away and snatched his cap off, throwing it inside his locker and slamming it shut with his foot before picking up his duffel bag and leaving, not even bothering to change out of his dirt covered uniform.

“i’ve never seen him so stressed,” yuji commented.

“it’s because he likes her and she’s being an idiot…” your best friend sighed sadly.

so when she came to you the next day and told you megumi needed to speak to you, she amplified how upset he was to get you to feel bad and feel the urgent need to come to the game tonight, which you of course did.

and you were worried. so so worried and scared that he was finally going to tell you off for kissing him, to tell you that you sucked and that he never ever wanted to see you again in his life and that you were a disgusting human being—

but the roar of the crowd pulled you from your thoughts, the team winning once again as many began to pack their things and take their leave. you were completely and utterly shitting yourself, petrified and already heartbroken over the fact that megumi was officially going to cut you off as a friend when you hadn’t even had the chance to try and win him over yet.

and the way he played on the field tonight was way more aggressive than normal. he was louder, meaner, and didn’t take his eyes away from the ball or his opponents as he nearly got into a fight with another player, yuji and a few others needing to pull megumi apart and set him aside to cool off— the cameras and reporters having a field day in regards to him.

and that bothered you like nothing else. why the hell were they so excited over him getting angry? to amplify the brand that he upholds as the teams meanest player? as if they’ve never had a bad day a day in their lives? what was the point?

and it was all because of you, you realized.

you made him upset.

you covered your face with your hands and groaned, feeling like you wanted to cry.

“y/n…” your best friend patted your back. “it’ll be fine… he just needs to talk to you! you don’t even know what it’s about.”

“i can take a wild guess.”

she looked at you worriedly before picking up her things. “whenever you’re ready babe… i think he’s in the locker rooms by now.”

she left you there to gather yourself, and you sat there for a couple of more minutes before finally getting up and making your way to the locker rooms.

most of the fans had cleared out by now, and the sun was beginning to set as you passed and squeezed through crew members and news reporters, gnawing at your bottom lip as you turned a corner and spotted the locker room, many of the players already leaving.

just as you had reached your hand up to open the door, a firm voice called out to you.

“y/n.”

you froze, retracting your hand as you turned to look.

megumi stood there at the end of the hall, his baseball uniform still on and his cap dangling from his belt loop, hands in tight fists with his chest rising and falling, an agitated look on his face that you had never seen before.

“h—hi-”

“are you trying to forget me? is that what’s going on?”

your eyebrows furrowed.

“what?”

megumi took stride full steps towards you. “you finally talk to me, you confess to me, you disappear for a month, i wait for you, you finally show up at the banquet looking like the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen in my fucking life—”

he stopped in front of you. “takuma tries to steal you from me, i get pissed off, i fall for you at the park, i kiss you—“ he threw his arms up. “and you disappear again!”

your eyes bulge out of their sockets.

fall?

“you what?—”

“so i’m asking you again,” megumi bent his knees to look at you at eye level, his hands coming up to cup your pink cheeks and his face so close to yours you can make out the exact color of his eyes.

“are you trying to forget me? like you said you would?”

you fidgeted.

“i— i was doing it for you—”

“why for me? i never said—”

the feeling of his big hands on your cheeks was making your heart do backflips and trick shots as your wide doe eyes looked at him.

“because when i kissed you i made you uncomfortable and i don’t ever want you to be so i thought it’d be best if i left you alone—”

“okay let’s fix that right now,” his hands tightened slightly around your cheeks and he readjusted his footing, knees still bent. “i kissed you. if anything i should be the one worried if i made you uncomfortable because i put my hand on your thigh like that and for that i’m sorry.”

“no but—”

“yes y/n. i kissed you because you’re polite and you’re sweet and you’re funny, and you don’t see me as rude like everybody else does. and even though you’re naive and helpless sometimes, i like that you are. i like you.”

“but you’re megumi fushiguro…” you squeaked.

“so?”

“and i’m a loser.”

he laughed so cutely and shook his head, his pearly whites fully shining at you so big that it took you back to the first time he smiled in front of you.

“no you’re not you big dummy.”

he let go of your cheeks and placed his palms flat against the brick wall behind you, cornering you in as he let his head hang low, the top of his spiky black hair the only thing in your line of vision.

“i don’t know how else i can make you see…”

he sounded so exhausted, and your heart clenched.

“was it—” you timidly placed your hands on his shoulders. “was it actually you that kissed me?”

he nodded, head still hung.

“and do you actually like me? like— like more than a friend…”

“way fucking more,” he mumbled.

you bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to contain yourself from screaming.

you couldn’t believe it. the megumi fushiguro, number eighteen, the most handsome man you’ve ever seen and the kindest one you’ve ever met… liked you.

“i could’ve sworn i kissed you..” you spoke softly, trailing off.

“you didn’t.” his voice was firm. “i kissed you and i put my hand up your thigh…” his forehead lifted to rest on the crook of your neck as he sighed a deep breath.

“i told— i told takuma to scram at the banquet because i got jealous that you were talking to him more than me. i saw you crying in the hall that first time we spoke and i recognized you and i went up to you because finally—”

he picked his head up slowly, eyes serious. “finally, you noticed me.”

he was so close that your nose brushed gently with his.

“you’re so dense y/n…”

megumi’s eyes flickered to your lips, “i’ve wanted you since the party.”

“the party?” you murmured.

he nodded. “the party where your friend first met yuji.”

your breath hitched as you felt his hands slide down the wall and snake over your hips, holding you tightly against him as the shock of his words made your body numb and tingly.

since the party?

it all seemed to click into place then, every single moment megumi tried to get you to look at him, to talk to him, in his own discreet way that you were completely oblivious to. and you were so fucking caught up in this fog of denial, that a person like megumi could never be interested in a person like you, that it made you push him away for the longest time without even giving yourself a chance.

you were so fucking stupid.

your arms slowly wrapped around his broad shoulders, the rough feeling of his baseball uniform underneath your fingertips and arms as you pressed your nose up against his shoulder shyly, feeling so incredibly bad for avoiding megumi for so long.

“i’m sorry…” you mumbled. “i’m sorry i was so oblivious gumi.”

you felt him shake his head from the crook of your neck silently, the vibration of his heart beating rapidly against you making you sweat and melt at the same time.

“don’t be.”

“i just—” you struggled. “i just thought you didn’t like me like i liked you and i wanted to respect your space…”

“i understand,” he muttered. “but i don’t want you to respect my space anymore.”

you held him tighter.

“and—” your voice was slightly muffled by his shoulder.

“hm?”

“i liked it when you put your hand on my thigh…”

megumi stilled, you playing the night he kissed you over and over in your head again like you’ve done since it happened— the thought making you nervous and timid.

he gripped you tighter.

“did you?”

you nodded, “mhm.”

megumi without parting from you, slipped a hand under your shirt and soothed his fingers over the bare skin of your torso, your breathing stuttering, his rough hand radiating warmth.

“what else do you like.”

you gripped the fabric of his uniform.

“i like… i like the way you kissed me. and how you touch me… like right now.”

your voice was so so soft, practically a whisper as he seemed to shiver under your words, wanting more.

“what else.”

“you,” you mumbled. “your body… your hair… your face… your hands… the way you talk to people.”

“you want me?” he murmured breathlessly.

“more than anything.”

“what else do you like?”

you leaned your head back a little and pressed your lips to his ear. “the way you play ball.”

he hummed, “you like the way i play baby?”

you nodded, your heart hammering.

he lifted his face from the crook of your neck and shamelessly pressed his lips to your cheek, murmuring.

“you wanna see what else i can do?”

“what— what else?”

megumi’s face remained pressed against your cheek as he let both of his hands now snake underneath your shirt and upwards, slowly but roughly groping the cup of your tits over your bra, feeling you up as you gasped.

“uh huh..” he pressed an open mouthed wet kiss to your pink fuzzy cheek. “‘cause i can do a lot more than just be your cool baseball man.”

he roughly spun you around and pushed you up against the wall, his hands coming back up to your breasts to grope you as he shoved and rubbed his hardened clothed dick against your perky ass, your tiny skirt riding up and revealing your pretty pink panties that made him absolutely feral.

“gumi!” you gasped. “s—someone could see—”

“i don’t fucking care.”

megumi buried his nose further into the back of your neck and your hair, him being a little pervert in the most delicious and intoxicating way possible.

he dragged his mouth up against your skin and latched on to the nape of your neck, sucking and biting sloppily against it as he marked you aggressively, no doubt in your mind that a purple bruise would follow soon after as his hands slipped under your bra now, pinching your hard nipples meanly and laughing when you jumped.

you moaned and whined against the wall, your body trembling as you felt your slick arousal slip from your hole and dampen your panties, choked up embarrassment coating your face as he shoved his fingers down your skirt without warning.

“you’re soaked baby…” he whispered. “and all because i grabbed your tits?”

“megumiii…” you whined, and you squeaked as he quickly slipped his fingers in between your pussy lips and pinched your clit.

“gumi,” he corrected. “fix it.”

“g—gumi—”

“good, pretty baby...” he praised, his dick rock fucking solid against your ass at the way his fingers slipped and slid in between your lower lips without much effort, both of your chests heaving and panting as your brains frazzled erotically.

the sounds of footsteps echoed from the end of the hall and you both immediately froze, a gasp slipping past your lips before megumi quickly covered your mouth with the same hand that was just fingering you.

“shh.” he kissed the back of your head.

if anyone were to walk in and see the sight before them— megumi with his crotch pressed up against your ass, a hand pushing your top and bra up, squeezing your bare puffy tit and the other covering your mouth?

they’d drop dead.

without another moment wasted, megumi uncovered your mouth and turned you around, his tongue darting out and licking the patch of wet on your cheek from his fingers before shoving them in his mouth, sucking up your left over juice as he bent down and wrapped his arms around your legs, lifting and throwing you over his shoulder.

megumi was freaky.

your eyes widened as he walked to the double doors of the locker room and kicked it open with his foot, turning around to lock them shut before walking to a corner and setting you down gently on a bench, his palms flat beside you on the smooth wood as he towered over you.

“is— is everybody gone?”

“long gone.” he nibbled at your cheek.

“but— but what if someone wants to come in?—”

he pulled away and got down on his knees. “i’ll tell them to fuck off.”

you panted as he pressed his hands against your thighs and squeezed, spreading them apart slowly with his eyes trained to your drenched cute pink panties.

he slid his hands underneath your thighs and lifted, bending you and pressing your knees closer to you as your back hit the lockers behind you, your hands gripping the bench for dear life.

“has anyone ever seen your pussy?” he gruffed, licking his lips.

you shook your head, embarrassed. “n—no.”

“has any other man touched you the way i’ve touched you?”

“m—maybe in high school?—”

megumi sunk his teeth into your inner thigh and bit you as you yelped.

“thought you liked me.”

“i do!” you sputtered.

“clearly not if you’re being a little whore and letting other filthy men on you.”

your hole clenched.

“that— that was before you!”

he stuck his tongue out and pressed it flat against your pussy covered panties, dragging it slowly and agonizingly up until the tip of his tongue passed and flicked up against your clit, the tip moving around and around your little nub as your thighs shook.

“doesn’t matter.” he let a string of drool fall from the corner of his lips and over your ruined underwear, your eyes fluttering as you felt his warm saliva ooze in between your lips.

“and what about takuma, hm?”

you tried to open your eyes. “ta—takuma?”

“mhm. he was all over you.”

you hiccuped as he wrapped his fingers around the straps of your panties and pulled them down.

“i—”

“bet he wanted to do to you what i’m doing right now…” he hummed. “would you have let him?”

he stuffed his nose into your bare pussy and inhaled deeply, your jaw dropping as you squeezed your eyes shut.

your lack of response caused him to pull away and bite your thigh again, harder.

“would you?”

“n—no!” you shook your head quickly, strands of your hair lightly grazing your face. “i wouldn’t—”

“so who then?” he licked over his bite mark. “who would you spread your legs open for like this and let them see what a nasty fucking girl you are…”

“you gumi!” you hiccuped. “just you—”

“just me?”

megumi finally let his tongue slither itself in between your folds, slowly running over your flaps and clit as your hole continued to squelch out your arousal, pooling on the bench beneath you.

“y—yes!”

he slobbered and spit over your pussy like a starved dog, his face glistening like sugary glazed sweets.

“that’s what i fucking thought,” he hummed. “you gonna try and forget me again?”

“no!” you shook your head. “never! i can’t!”

he gripped your thighs tighter as he absolutely violated your folds then, wet sloshing and slurpings filling the air as he spat and shook his head side to side rapidly on your clit, you squealing and attempting to snap your thighs shut in response, his strong grip not letting you even if you tried.

“i—i can’t!” you cried. “gumi slow please it’s too much—”

“be a pretty baby and stop complaining.” he ran his slimy tongue over your pussy entirely before shoving it inside your hole.

you choked and clasped a trembling hand over your mouth, tears of ecstasy spilling from the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut.

you whimpered and moaned and cried so pathetically, so cutely in his ears that he grinned as he pumped his tongue in and out of you filthily.

“you’re so fucking sweet—” he slapped your cunt and you jumped. “good thing i have a sweet tooth.”

your legs shook violently as you began to see stars, your tight hole clenching and sputtering around nothing as you felt your release approaching.

“gumi—” your hand flew back to the bench and you gripped it. “m’gonna cum! i’m— i’m gonna make a mess—”

megumi’s hand shot up and wrapped around one of your thighs so the tips of his fingers met your clit, his digits proceeding to rub and flick it as you climbed and reached your high, a high pitched scream echoing through the steamy locker room as your pussy leaked your sweet cum on his tongue.

you shuddered and jumped at the way he cleaned up your release and swallowed it, running his tongue soothingly over the bite marks on your thighs before coming back up and wiping his glistening face with his sleeve.

megumi leaned in and pressed a gentle loving kiss to your lips, a complete turn around from the feral beast you had in between your legs— you kissing him back with just as much feel and affection.

he pulled back and got back up on his feet, you watching him ditzy as he jogged over to his locker and turned the lock until it clicked open, him rummaging inside for a little before he shut it and came back with a fresh pair of gray sweatpants.

“put these on baby,” he murmured.

you nodded sweetly and took them from him, you slipping off your skirt and pulling his sweatpants over as you watched him bend and look over corners.

“what are you looking for?” you asked softly.

he perked up then and stuck his hand under a bench, pulling out your wet ruined pink panties and holding them up high like a trophy.

“oh my god—” you covered your mouth in embarrassment. “give me those!”

“nope.” he shook his head and walked over to his duffel bag on the floor, unzipping it before stuffing your panties inside. “these are mine now.”

megumi came back up and wrapped his palm underneath your chin, tilting your face up softly before planting a sweet kiss to your swollen lips.

“and so are you.”

and that you were.

you went on many many dates with megumi after that, each and every single one so incredibly lovely and fun, a genuine connection you felt with him and each other that you had never ever felt before in your life, absolutely enamored by the way he gently treated you and made you feel like the only one that mattered in his life.

your best friend was obviously over the moon for you, squealing like a maniac at everything you told her, and always teased megumi about his lovesick face whenever you came to his games or appeared in the locker room to help him change, sort his clothes, or fix his hair.

“megumi…” she snickered. “your cheeks are a little red! are you like— sick?”

he scowled at her and turned the other way, wiping his sweaty forehead as he watched you bounce down the steps cutely and onto the field after one of his practices, a huge smile on your face that replicated on his.

the minute you jumped into his arms, he peppered your little cheeks with kisses as you giggled and ruffled his spiky hair, asking him how he felt about practice and other things after he set you down.

without anyone noticing, a journalist was on the field, and at the sight of megumi fushiguro’s beaming toothy smile as he watched you run to him, they quickly snapped a photo and published it.

one was a perfect portrait photo of his shining white smile (that later became his signature picture) and the other was a photo of his arms out for you as you ran, the both of them causing an absolute uproar that altered megumi’s image from that day forward.

megumi fushiguro was thought to be the meanest player on the team since the day he got signed.

but when he started taking more pictures with fans, kind of stopped offending the people around him, signed more autographs, and smiled occasionally at the paparazzi— all while your pretty self stood right next to him?

megumi fushiguro was sometimes the meanest player on the team.

————————————————————————

want more? you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!

THIS WILL ALWAYS BE MY FAVOURITE LOA SUCCESS STORY

divider creds:

"it's not going to happen because it is already DONE"

i found this on pinterest and it finaly clicked

WANT TO ENTER THE VOID INSTANTLY TONIGHT?!!? USE THE DISTRACTION TECHNIQUE!!!

First of all, know that the void is very real!!! I entered it a few hours ago for the first time intentionally!😭

Second of all, you don’t need a good “void concept” for this. This is too powerful of a method to need to have an assumption that the void is easy to enter. It’s just like falling asleep when you’re really tired, how you’re entering the void when really relaxed. It’s impossible to fail.

Step 1: Get into a comfortable position.

Step 2: Get into the alpha state using a guided meditation or without. I like to do it without by counting down from 12 to 1 whilst visualising there numbers as you count them in your head. Then count down from 13 to 1 without visualising. This will get you into the alpha state. (You don’t have to be fully in the alpha state but it helps, just be really relaxed).

Step 3: I know people tell you to affirm for the void at this point BUT YOU NEED TO BE DISTRACTED!!! Visualise a scene in your head and let it distract you. You can even play your favourite song in the background (in your head, don’t actually put music on). You can do those separately or simultaneously. This will get you really distracted and not focusing on the 3D anymore. Then you will end up in the void! BOOM! There you go. It’s literally guaranteed results, it’s too effective to not work. Anyways have fun living your dream life!! Bye!!!!

- XoXo Gossip Girl 💋

10/29/2024

its so easy to doubt

to give up

to just stop

but my love is too strong

for 4 long years i have been trying to shift

and for 6 years i have loved him and continue to do so

my entire reason for shifting is for him

all my efforts

all the times i woke up in my cr

every single ounce of shifting

is for him

never have i tried to shift not wanting to end up in his bed

with him

next to me

in his arms

that is my motivation. him.

the thought of one day i may able to feel his hair coursing through my fingers

that one day i may be able to bury my face deep into his neck and take a deep breath

knowing that i am with him

and he is with me

the day i stop trying

is the day i wake up with him

the sun in our eyes

tightening our holds onto each other

as if something were to pull us apart any second

the feeling of not wanting to get up from bed yet

and so we cuddle in silence

in kisses and in snuggles

enjoying nothing but each other's presence

that is when i will stop trying

and finally live

but for now

i will do everything it takes

no matter how long

how hard

how frustrated i will be

for him.