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nanamineedstherapy · 7 days ago

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Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceres Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage. Warnings: Angst Hurt/Comfort Betrayal Polyamory Gone Wrong: Toxic Relationships Emotional Abuse Pregnancy Body Horror Gaslighting Infidelity Isolation Unhealthy Relationships. Previous Chapter 1: Home Is Just a Place You Leave (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 2: Collateral Void

The night air felt cool, brushing softly against your skin as you sat at the dining table, fingers flying across the laptop keyboard. The faint glow of the screen illuminated your focused expression, but the peace was short-lived.

“Boring! Though what kind of work is it? Can I help?” Gojo drawled dramatically, suddenly appearing behind you. Before you could react, his long fingers darted over the keyboard. “What’s this? Spreadsheets? Bleh. Delete. Delete. Delete.”

“Satoru!” You shrieked, smacking his hands away as he howled with laughter, stumbling back like a kid who’d just set off fireworks in a schoolyard. “This is quarterly projections; it’s a highly important document people worked hard on!”

“Oh, come on, you’re working too hard,” he teased, leaning down with his hands on the back of your chair. “Work-life balance, baby. You need more Gojo in your life.”

“I need less Gojo in my life,” you muttered, shoving him off.

The bedroom door slammed open with enough force to rattle the walls. Nanami stormed in like a man possessed, holding up a fractured piece of pottery that looked both ancient and priceless. You recognized it immediately—the Kintsugi Haniwa, a beautifully restored clay figure you’d given him years ago, a piece Nanami revered as a testament to tradition and resilience.

“Satoru!” Nanami said through gritted teeth, his voice low and vibrating with barely restrained rage. “Care to explain why I found this”—he held the artifact higher for emphasis—“chucked under the bedside table?”

Gojo froze mid-smirk, his expression slipping for the first time. “Oh. That—that’s weird. Who would—?”

“You broke it and hid it there!” Nanami growled, keeping the artifact aside, the accusation dripping with certainty.

“Hid is such a strong word,” Gojo replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I simply relocated it.”

“To the floor?” Nanami darted towards Gojo, voice raising with each word, veins practically bulging at his temple.

Gojo sidestepped next to you, standing you up and using you as a human shield. “Look, Nanamin, accidents happen! Why don’t we focus on forgiveness instead of anger?”

The three of you were circling the dining table like children playing a game of tag—except one of those children was trying to commit murder. Gojo kept darting behind you for cover, his grin only widening as Nanami’s rage escalated.

Nanami’s glare sharpened, his voice dropping into a dangerously calm monotone. “First, it was the trimmers. Now this.”

Gojo perked up, suddenly smug. “How do you even know it was me? Maybe she used your trimmer.” He pointed a long, accusatory finger at you.

You stared at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. “Are you serious?!”

Nanami didn’t even glance your way; his focus stayed zeroed in on Gojo. “Because you are the only one with grandma hair.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest like Nanami had physically stabbed him. “Grandma hair?!”

“It’s white, isn’t it?” Nanami said flatly, unbothered, still trying to grab him.

“Excuse you,” Gojo sputtered, sidestepping Nanami and pointing wildly at his own head. “This is platinum perfection. It’s fashion-forward. It’s—it’s a statement.”

“It’s hereditary decay,” Nanami shot back, not giving up the chase.

You snorted, unable to hold back the laughter as Gojo gaped at both of you in utter betrayal, holding you close to his chest by your waist, trying to block Nanami. “You’re both ganging up on me. This is domestic abuse!”

Nanami’s scowl deepened. “Don't change the topic, Satoru!”

Gojo shrugged innocently. “Hey, at least I cleaned it.”

Nanami’s nostrils flared. “Cleaned it?”

Gojo’s grin turned nervous as he added, “Well, you look mad, so I guess not entirely...”

Nanami lunged forward. “You left all your hair on it! What do you even use my trimmers to trim, because you sure as hell can’t grow facial hair, you manchild!”

“You know what I shave!” Gojo called back, then squealed in delight and bolted, dragging you along.

You froze mid-breath, horror washing over you as the implication hit. “Gojo, do you have a death wish?!”

Nanami’s jaw tightened, his eye practically twitching with it as his seething glare intensified. “You shaved your fucking balls with my facial trimmers?!!” He spoke low, advancing like a storm cloud as Gojo circled the table, “Then had the audacity to leave it dirty with your… your gross hair for me to find! Like you are a cat offering me dead animal!?!!”

Gojo darted as Nanami chased him with murder in his eyes. The three of you continued circling the dining table in a chaotic frenzy, Gojo skidding across the floor in his socks, cackling like a lunatic.

“We have exchanged so many bodily fluids, and this is where you draw the line?” Gojo mocked, ducking under Nanami’s arm.

“Disgusting!” Nanami barked, seething as he pointed an accusing finger at Gojo. “I swear to God, Satoru, you are the bane of my existence!”

“But you love me,” Gojo teased, skidding to a stop so suddenly that you stumbled into Nanami. Nanami caught you easily, steadying you with one hand, but nearly crashed into Gojo, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Apologize!” You shouted, stepping between them before Nanami could strangle him.

Gojo huffed dramatically, tossing his head to the side like a diva. “Fine, fine. I’m sorry, Nanamin. Truce?”

Nanami grumbled under his breath, clearly unsatisfied. But before he could say anything else, Gojo grabbed his face, leaned in and kissed him square on the mouth.

Nanami’s entire body froze, his eyes going wide.

“There,” Gojo said smugly, pulling back with a grin. “Divorce dodged! Yay!”

You stared at them, caught between amusement and disbelief. It felt perfect—so perfect you almost wanted to cry. The laughter, the banter, the way they made you feel seen and cared for. You soaked in the moment, memorizing every detail—Gojo’s messy white hair, Nanami’s steadying touch, the golden light filtering through the lamps, casting everything in a soft, warm glow.

“Go ahead, ignore me,” you said jokingly, crossing your arms. “I’m clearly the third wheel here.”

Except they did.

The lights flickered.

Your smile faltered as you blinked, realizing they weren’t paying attention to you anymore. Gojo had grabbed Nanami again, pulling him closer. Their voices dropped into hushed murmurs, unintelligible and distant. You opened your mouth to say something, but they didn’t respond. They were kissing again. Fully.

And they were across the table now, far away—too far.

“Guys?” you said, laughing nervously. But the sound was thin, swallowed by the sudden heaviness in the room.

Gojo’s face blurred at the edges, his features smeared like wet paint dragged by careless fingers. Nanami’s figure was rigid, his face unreadable as shadows pooled at his feet, darker than they should have been. The air shifted—heavy, oppressive—pressing against your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake.

“Hello?” You tried again, louder this time. Your voice cracked slightly.

Nothing.

They didn’t turn toward you, didn’t even flinch. They were consumed with each other, as though you weren’t even there. The shadows stretched further now, creeping into the corners of the room like black ink spilling across the floor.

“Stop it,” you said, your tone sharper, though a pit began to form in your stomach. Their forms were blurring further, warping. The golden light dimmed, turning sickly and cold. The dining room, once warm and filled with laughter, twisted into something unfamiliar—something wrong.

“You’ve been keeping secrets from us,” Nanami said, suddenly turning to you. His voice was hollow, devoid of the calm warmth it usually carried. The words sent a chill crawling up your spine.

“What?” Your gaze darted between them, your chest tightening. “What are you talking about?”

Gojo’s head snapped toward you with unnatural speed, his blindfold gone. His six eyes glowed horribly bright, the light of them reflecting like mirrors in the dark. His smile was gone, replaced by something jagged and cruel, something inhuman.

“You didn’t think we’d find out?” he said softly. There was no teasing in his tone, no charm—just an edge of menace. “About them?”

“Them?” you echoed, the word barely escaping your lips. Nanami stepped closer now, his movements slow, deliberate. His face was shrouded in shadow, his features obscured like they were melting into the dark.

“The twins,” Gojo said, the word cutting through the room like a blade.

Your breath hitched as Nanami advanced, the shadows around him crawling along the floor, reaching for you like grasping hands.

“You weren’t supposed to know,” you whispered, instinctively wrapping your arms around your stomach. Your pulse roared in your ears as the room tilted, the walls pressing inward, suffocating you.

“We have to take them,” Nanami said, still moving towards you, his voice distorted, as though it came from deep underwater.

Gojo smiled again, moving towards you, his grin splitting unnaturally wide, the corners of his mouth stretching just a little too far. “We can’t let them live. You know that, sweetheart.”

“No! They’re mine,” you choked out, stumbling backward, your arms tightening protectively around yourself. The table between you seemed to shrink, leaving you exposed as they advanced.

“You can’t keep them from us,” they said in unison, softly, the words curling through the air like smoke.

“Stop!” you screamed, but their forms warped, dark shapes spilling into the edges of your vision. The shadows surged forward, hands reaching—

You jolted awake in the chair with a sharp gasp, your body trembling violently as you shot upright. The room was dark again, save for the faint glow of a screen. Your breathing came in ragged bursts, your pulse thundering as you clutched your stomach, feeling the reassuring movements beneath your palms.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

The laptop sat open in front of you, the spreadsheet forgotten, the cursor blinking insistently in the silence. The apartment was quiet, but the echoes of their voices lingered, a whisper in the back of your mind—a threat you couldn’t shake.

The shadows felt darker now.

“They’re mine,” you whispered shakily, curling in on yourself. “They’re mine.”

Weeks had passed.

You had buried yourself in a new country with the same job because you couldn’t abandon the business you had painstakingly built alone, with your blood, sweat, and tears. It was all you had left of yourself—the last thing tethering you to who you used to be. You ensured no one could access your personal information, locking it away like a fortress. Still, you felt like a ghost, drifting through a life where no one knew your name, where no one could see the haunting memories that followed you.

Your days were a blur of meetings, phone calls, and paperwork. You let go of every luxury, stripped yourself down to the bare essentials—as if even the smallest indulgence might give them a clue, might allow them to trace you. Not that they would. Your days were spent in a tiny apartment that didn’t even feel like a home. The walls were too close, the air too still, and the silence stretched on like a second skin. It wasn’t a home. It was a box—cold, cramped, and indifferent—where you ate alone, worked alone, and slept in fits and starts, the hours fractured by dreams you couldn’t escape.

The nights were the hardest.

Alone in a foreign city, you lay twisted with pain, your body betraying you in ways you didn’t know were possible. Your skin felt stretched too thin, muscles aching like they were being pulled apart, reshaped against your will. The babies—their babies, no! your babies—grew inside you, alien things that contorted you from the inside out. Every sharp twinge of pain felt unnatural, every shift of movement a cruel reminder of what they had left behind. You couldn’t help but wonder if your body might rip open entirely, split down the seams. The changes weren’t normal. Your bones creaked and groaned under the weight of something you couldn’t understand, your body remaking itself to accommodate children who were never supposed to be here.

You worked through it. You worked through everything. The nausea that made your hands tremble. The exhaustion that dragged your eyelids shut. The cold sweat that drenched your skin as the babies pushed against you, growing and moving with a purpose that felt wrong. It was all wrong. But still, you sat hunched over documents and contracts, your vision blurring until your eyes burned, pushing through the pain until the lines of text no longer made sense. Anything to keep the memories at bay.

But they crept in anyway.

Gojo’s laughter. That unmistakable, infectious sound that could fill a room with light. It used to be enough to pull you out of your darkest thoughts, but now it echoed like a cruel reminder of what was lost. Nanami’s quiet, steady presence haunted you too—those rare moments when his stoic mask cracked, when the tenderness beneath the weight of his quiet sorrow slipped through. The fleeting seconds when everything had felt right, when you believed you were loved, when the world seemed like it could wait just a little longer.

Those moments were gone, but they still haunted you. They slipped through the cracks when you least expected it, invading the silence, invading the cold. The life you had left behind wouldn’t let you forget.

You had traded one form of isolation for another.

But at least this one was on your terms. At least now, you were alone because you chose to be. You weren’t the woman who had thrown everything away for them, not anymore. That woman was gone.

Your old phone, now completely untraceable, stayed on out of morbid curiosity. You didn’t know why. Maybe you wanted to see how long it would take for them to notice you were gone. If they ever would. Maybe they were happy you were out of the picture. Maybe your absence was a relief. You kept a new phone for work, clean and also untraceable, and refused to check their social media. You couldn’t bear to.

Back in Japan

It started with the ring.

The bedroom door slammed open just as the first pale rays of dawn broke across the sky. Gojo stumbled inside first, his uniform coat discarded in the living room next to Nanami’s coat, tie, and their shoes. His pale blue shirt completely untucked and unbuttoned, almost sliding off his shoulders, revealing his toned chest down to his navel. Nanami stumbled after him, his arm wrapped around Gojo’s waist from behind to steady him, his teeth leaving faint, red marks against the back of Gojo’s shoulder blade. Both of them swayed like ships lost at sea, unmoored and directionless. The unmistakable scent of alcohol clung to them—whiskey, gin and tequila, sharp and sour in the still air.

Gojo turned and pressed Nanami against the wall within seconds, his long fingers tangling into Nanami’s hair, lips dragging lazily along his jawline. Nanami’s face was flushed, and he was uncharacteristically pliant, unresisting. His hands drifted to Gojo’s hips, sliding lower, grounding himself through touch.

“Satoru,” Nanami muttered, his voice breathless, strained—a fleeting attempt at lucidity. “Do you know where she is?”

Gojo didn’t pause, his grin sharp against Nanami’s skin as he murmured, biting softly, “‘She’? Who’s she?”

Nanami’s hands tensed at his sides. “Our wife.” His voice broke slightly on the word. “You haven’t seen her?”

Gojo finally pulled back, crystalline eyes hazy and lidded, his blindfold dangling from Nanami’s wrist again like some forgotten relic. “Of course not. I thought you knew where she went.” His smirk faltered only slightly before he dragged and pushed Nanami backward toward the bed. “Don’t ruin the moment. She’s probably on a trip—working hard, being the boss lady we love.”

Nanami let himself fall onto the mattress with a bounce as Gojo straddled him, hands already wandering over his waist. Gojo pressed and rubbed their bulges together, punching a groan out of Nanami, who breathlessly stuttered as he tried to speak again, but Gojo kissed him roughly, stealing his words. It was messy, desperate—a distraction from something neither of them wanted to name. Still, the nagging thought clawed at Nanami’s mind, like a splinter he couldn’t ignore.

“She didn’t tell me,” he muttered, barely audible between gasps, his hands trying to still Gojo’s ass. “Where she was going.”

Gojo paused for half a second, then scoffed, rolling his hips once more as though to smother the thought. “You think she tells me everything? Haha, funny. She always tells you, though.” His words slurred slightly, dismissive.

“That’s not true.” Nanami said while the table beside them jolted as Gojo pushed Nanami further into the mattress, the sharp clink of metal against marble cutting through the room like gunshot.

Making Nanami still instantly.

“What was that?” His voice was low, tight. The haze of lust and alcohol shattered like glass.

Gojo blinked, lifting his head lazily. “Probably your sanity leaving the room,” he muttered.

Nanami ignored him, leaning to the side and shoving the bedside table back with his foot, earning a low scraping sound as it moved. Gojo groaned, trying to tug him back down as he continued assaulting Nanami’s neck and now his shoulders, which peeked through his half-unbuttoned and completely untucked shirt with bites, but Nanami’s focus was elsewhere. He leaned down further, and the room fell silent to him.

There, half-hidden in the dust and shadows, lay a small, glinting band of gold.

Nanami’s fingers shook as he picked it up. The ring cold against his skin, familiar and damning all at once. He stared at it like it might burn him.

It was her ring.

“Satoru,” Nanami said quietly, grabbing Gojo’s jaw with one hand—who had been too busy biting his shoulder to notice—and turned him to face it. His voice was fraying at the edges as he held up the ring, its gleam sharp in the weak dawn light. “What’s this doing here?”

Gojo stared at it for too long. The color drained from his face, the drunken nonchalance slipping further with every second. “She probably took it off,” he said finally, though his voice cracked. He forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “You know she gets eczema sometimes… itchy hands, right?”

The words hung in the air, hollow and pitiful. Gojo didn’t believe them any more than Nanami did.

Nanami shook his head slowly, his grip on the ring tightening as his knuckles turned white. “She always wears it when she’s on work trips,” he said, his voice hoarse, brittle. “She says it keeps creeps away.”

Gojo didn’t respond. He just stared, his wide eyes fixed on the small, damning band of gold as though it held all the answers to everything. Nanami didn’t wait for him. He shoved Gojo off and bolted from the room, his bare feet thudding against the floor as he grabbed his phone from his coat in the living room.

“Nanami, wait—” Gojo stumbled after him, still dazed, but Nanami was already swiping through his phone, his thumb moving in quick, frantic motions.

His heart sank.

Her last message to him—the last sign of her—was over six weeks ago.

Six weeks.

Six weeks, and he hadn’t noticed?

Gojo could have been an idiot, but he wasn’t, or so he had always thought.

The color drained from Gojo’s face as he stared at the screen while the realization spread through Nanami’s heart like poison. Without a word, Nanami reached over, his hand dipping into Gojo’s pants' front pocket to pull out his phone. Gojo let him, watching as Nanami unlocked it and scrolled through the messages.

The screen glowed with the same message. The same day. The last day they had heard from her. The day in the drawing room she had begged them to tell her if they loved her.

A chill settled into the room, sinking deep into their bones, heavy and unshakable. Nanami’s hand dropped to his side; the ring, along with the phones, slipped from his fingers and landed with a dull thud on the floor. The silence that followed was choking. Nanami turned to Gojo, his face blank, but his eyes were wide, wild with a horror he couldn’t contain.

Gojo stood frozen, his earlier bravado gone. He looked smaller somehow, his face pale and slack as the weight of what they’d done—what they’d lost—sank in.

“She’s gone,” Nanami whispered, the words barely audible, like a confession he couldn’t bear to say any louder.

“She’s not gone!” Gojo shot back immediately. He laughed—a hollow, desperate sound—as if the act of saying it would make it true. “As I said earlier, she’s probably just... just out. On a work trip. She’ll be back. She always comes back...”

But his voice trembled at the edges, and they both knew the truth now. The ring on the floor gleamed coldly, like evidence of everything they had destroyed—everything they couldn’t take back. Like a final goodbye neither of them had ever thought of.

The same night, after too many sleeping pills in your new home on the other side of the world, your vision blurred and your body felt like it was splitting apart; you opened your old phone to look at old pictures. After a few hours it buzzed, and against your better judgment, you looked.

Toru (DNR): “Where are you?”

The message sat there, glaring. Your heart dropped. Another followed seconds later.

Ken (DNR): “We messed up. We apologize. Please. Just tell us you’re okay.”

You threw the phone, your vision swimming in tears, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps. After more than six weeks of you leaving, more than six weeks of silence, after everything they had done, now they noticed? Now they cared?

It was too late. You had built walls around yourself now, high and impenetrable. The same walls you’d erected when you had realized, too late, that you weren’t loved—not the way you had been promised. They weren’t even the people you thought they were.

The city’s lights blinked outside your window, distant and indifferent, like the glow of a world that had moved on without you. Somewhere out there, they were searching for you, but you didn’t care anymore. You had traded the ghost of their love for the numbness of being alone in this foreign place.

Back in Japan

More days passed.

Their apartment remained frozen, a mausoleum of the life you had left behind. Your old laptop still sat neatly on your desk, untouched and gathering dust. The faint imprint of your body lingered on the couch cushions, as if you might walk in at any moment and collapse there, laughing about how long the work trip had been. But you never would. Not anymore.

Gojo filled the silence with noise. The television blared cartoons he wasn’t watching. Music thumped from his phone, but the songs ended too quickly, leaving the hollow quiet to seep back in like poison. He laughed too loud, talked too fast, his words tumbling out like he could outrun the ache blooming in his chest.

“She’s fine,” he’d say to no one. To Nanami. To himself. “She’s just being dramatic. She’ll come back when she’s ready, when her work is over. She always comes back...”

But at night, when Nanami wasn’t around, when the weight of it all pressed against him like an iron hand, Gojo sat in the dark, the only light spilling in through the half-open blinds. He would pull your favorite blanket off the back of the couch, holding it tightly to his chest. It used to smell like you—that soft, warm scent that made him feel like everything would be okay. It never actually did. He’d bury his face in the fabric anyway, clutching it so tightly his fingers ached, as if he could squeeze the memory of you out of it.

“Stupid blanket,” he whispered into the darkness, his voice cracking. “You were supposed to keep her here.”

The quiet answered him. It always did.

Nanami, on the other hand, threw himself into work. The apartment had become unbearable, the sight of your clothes hanging in the closet like a ghost driving him out into the cold. He buried himself in files, meetings and missions, anything to drown out the sound of your absence echoing through his skull. But no matter how hard he tried, you found him anyway.

It was in the middle of a crowded street crossing that he saw you. For a fleeting second, he froze, his breath catching painfully in his throat. A woman parked a convertible just ahead, her hair falling in the same way yours used to, her jacket a perfect match to the one you bought last winter. He pushed forward, shoving past commuters, his heart pounding like it might tear itself free from his chest.

“Honey,” he breathed when he reached her, only to stop dead when she turned. A stranger’s face stared back at him, startled and confused.

Nanami’s apology was soft, choked. He turned away quickly, gripping the strap of his grocery bag so tightly his knuckles blanched. His eyes burned, but he refused to let the tears fall.

Later, he found himself in your office, the door locked behind him, the room suffocatingly still. The desk was untouched, a fountain pen left on your favorite notebook where you had last placed it, its tip dried out. An old grocery list lay discarded by the mechanical keyboard. Nanami picked it up carefully, his thumb tracing over your handwriting, the curve of each letter searing into his mind.

Vitamins. Sticky Notes. Under-eye serum.

The list was mundane, ordinary, but his hands trembled as he held it. He could almost hear you muttering to yourself as you wrote it, pursing your lip in concentration. His vision blurred, and he sank into your desk chair, his free hand moving to his tie, removing it, then wrapping it around his knuckles, gripping it tightly. The silk bit into his fingers as he pulled, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The silence, the unbearable ache in his ribs—he tried to choke it all down, twisting the tie as though it could hold him together.

But it couldn’t.

He’d often do this now, lock himself in your home office, gripping his tie until his knuckles turned white, as if that could choke the guilt down.

Gojo found him there hours later, the list still crumpled in his hand, his head bowed as though in prayer. Neither of them spoke. Gojo didn’t laugh this time, didn’t tease. He just stood in the doorway, silent and pale, his eyes fixed on the man who had always been stronger than this—who now looked just as broken as Gojo felt.

One night, Nanami arrived home to find Gojo sitting on the floor, facing the wall, staring blankly ahead as though he could see through it. The light from the dim lamp cast faint shadows across his face, carving hollows beneath his eyes, which looked emptier than Nanami had ever seen them.

The silence in the room wrapping itself around Nanami’s throat as he shrugged off his coat. Gojo didn’t move, didn’t even blink, his hands limp in his lap, fingers twitching faintly as though they were searching for something to hold on to. Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse, hollow—a broken whisper that felt like it had been ripped from somewhere deep inside him.

“I… I shouldn’t have isolated her that day.” He didn’t look at Nanami, his gaze still fixed on some distant point beyond the wall. “When… I didn’t think about what it would do to her.”

Nanami froze mid-step, eyes sharp as they fell on Gojo. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the city outside. Nanami’s expression hardened, though his voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet, cold, cutting.

“You think I don’t know that?” His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. “I know, Gojo. I know exactly what we did to her. How we fucked up. How we forgot about her.”

The words hit Gojo, but he didn’t react. He just let them hang there, sinking into his chest like stones. His lips twitched, a ghost of a self-loathing smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Forgot about her…” he repeated softly.

Nanami didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His jaw tightened, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface, too raw to voice. He watched Gojo slump further, his knees drawing up slightly as though he were folding in on himself.

A few nights later, Gojo was sprawled on the couch with a drink in hand, the liquor doing little to numb the ache in his chest. He stared at the ceiling, thoughts racing, spiraling downward into a dark abyss.

“She’s not coming back, is she?” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips, but they landed heavily in the room, a painful truth.

Nanami didn’t answer, but the guilt in his eyes spoke volumes, a silent acknowledgment of their shared failure.

The memory of you haunted every inch of their apartment. Gojo saw you in the pillow he clutched to his chest at night, pretending it still carried your scent. Nanami heard you in the faint creak of the floorboards as he walked past your office, his hands brushing the edge of the desk you used to sit at. They never said your name. It hurt too much.

“We thought we were protecting her,” Nanami said, voice a quiet rasp as he stared at the empty wall Gojo had been fixated on.

Gojo’s lips twitched faintly, a bitter mockery of a smile. “We thought wrong.”

Neither of them slept at nights. Gojo lay on his side, staring at the window with red-rimmed eyes, while Nanami lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, wearing your ring on one finger—he kept rolling it with his thumb absentmindedly. The silence between them was absolute, filled with everything they had left unsaid.

It was the silence you had lived in for far too long.

They called. They texted. They waited. The apartment stayed quiet. Your things stayed untouched. And the void you left behind grew deeper with every passing day.

Five months into your pregnancy, you lay sprawled on the bathroom floor, your body slick with sweat, fingers clawing at the cold tiles for stability. You’d slipped and fallen, your phone nowhere in sight, the apartment eerily quiet except for the harshness of your breath.You didn’t know how long you’d been there—minutes, hours, days—time had lost all meaning. Your stomach roiled violently, muscles clenched in spasms so sharp they stole the air from your lungs. It felt as though your insides were being shredded, your bones splintering and grinding, like they were trying to rearrange themselves to accommodate the impossible.

A guttural gasp tore from your throat as another wave of pain ripped through you. You pressed a trembling palm to your abdomen, feeling the unnatural shift beneath your skin. The twins moved—twisted and writhed in a way no baby should, their forceful movements pressing outward like they were fighting to escape or fighting for space, too strong, too demanding. Your skin stretched tight, painfully taut, burning with the strain of holding them in. It felt like something alive and wrong, something too strong for your fragile human body.

The veins beneath your skin bulged out, an intricate web of blue and purple crisscrossing your stomach like angry rivers about to burst. Your abdomen swelled grotesquely, the skin shiny and thin, and for one terrifying moment, you thought it might tear open entirely. The bones in your hips creaked audibly under the weight, the sound a grotesque whisper that echoed through the silent bathroom. Your spine screamed with every slight shift, vertebrae grinding against each other as though your body was folding into itself, trying to protect you from the inevitable.

Tears slid down your cheeks, hot and bitter, though you barely registered them. It wasn’t just the pain—God, the pain—but the isolation that cut the deepest. You had never felt so utterly alone, so abandoned. Not just by the city you didn’t belong to, but by them. By the men who were supposed to love you. Who should have been here. Your breaths came in short, harsh bursts, the sound bouncing off the tiles, sharp and hollow.

“We don’t need them,” you whispered, your voice shaking as you pressed harder against your stomach, trying to soothe the frantic movements. Your words cracked, brittle and weak. “We don’t.”

But your heart betrayed you, aching in your chest like a wound torn open anew. You could still see them if you closed your eyes—Gojo’s infectious grin, his arms around you as though he could hold the whole world together. Nanami’s steady, grounding presence, his quiet strength that had once made you feel safe. Loved. You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to swallow the sob clawing its way up your throat.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that they weren’t here, that they had left you alone to bear this. To bear them. Yet, in the silence of that bathroom, the darkness swallowing you whole, you realized you were lying to yourself. You missed them. You missed them so much it hurt.

You blamed it on your hormones, soothing your stomach. It was a miracle you hadn’t fallen in a way that could have hurt the babies. Just then, the twins moved again, a violent lurch that left you gasping, your body arching involuntarily as another jolt of pain seared through you. The sharp pressure pushed against your ribs, a sensation like tiny hands and feet pressing outward, testing the limits of your body. Your skin rippled faintly, the bulge of their movements visible beneath the surface.

You shuddered, your tears mixing with sweat as they dripped down onto the tile. What are you? You wanted to scream, but the words wouldn’t come. The horror of it—the body horror of carrying something so unnatural, so wrong—settled like a stone in your chest. You weren’t sure you could take it anymore.

“Mama will take care of you both,” you whispered shakily, trying to soothe yourself as much as them. Your hand rubbed slow, shaky circles over your stomach. It was the only comfort you had left—this fragile, strange connection. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

And like always, the sensation of their movements softened at the sound of your voice. The pressure beneath your skin eased slightly, the frantic shifting slowing into restless, jerking flutters. It wasn’t much, but it gave you enough space to breathe, to push down the rising panic, to push forward. Your muscles trembled as you moved, dragging yourself toward the bathtub, one hand bracing against the toilet seat for balance. Your body protested, hips throbbing, spine sparking with pain, but you kept going.

“Just a little bit more movement,” you murmured to the twins, coaxing them as though they could hear you. “And Mama will be vertical again. Then we can have some dark chocolate… you know, the one you’ve been craving? The only one both Dadas used to love. We’ll watch…”

The words cut off abruptly as your foot slipped on the damp tile. You gasped, arms flailing, but your body betrayed you. The porcelain edge slamming into your head with a horrible thud.

For a moment, everything was soundless.

A hollow ringing filled your ears, the bathroom blurring around you as your vision dimmed at the edges. The pain in your skull throbbed in time with your heartbeat, sharp and unrelenting. You pressed your palms to your forehead, curling around yourself, trying to shield the twins from the impact.

“No, no, no,” you whimpered, your voice a cracked whisper.

The darkness pulled at you, threatening to drag you under, but you fought it, laying back down to press your forehead to the cold tile. Your breathing was ragged, uneven, your pulse hammering in your ears as you held onto the only thought that mattered.

They are okay.

Your hand pressed against your belly again, searching for the faint, familiar movements beneath your skin. For a horrifying moment, there was nothing. Then, faintly, you felt it—a small, restless flutter. Tears streamed down your cheeks, hot and silent, as you curled against the floor, the relief making your limbs weak.

“It’s okay,” you whispered brokenly, as much to yourself as to them. “It’s okay. Mama’s here. Mama’s okay. You will be okay.”

But even as you said it, the weight of everything—the pain, the isolation, the unnatural horror of what was happening to your body—threatened to swallow you whole.

“Hey! Are you okay?” A voice came from nowhere. Deep, rough, like it belonged to someone who had been waiting for this moment.

You froze, immediately clutching your stomach as the babies shifted again, their movements sharp and jarring. Had they found you already? How could they have known? How could anyone have known? You looked around, panic seizing your chest. The pain from your fall still burned, but the thought of someone being so close made your stomach churn. You clutched your belly tighter, trying to protect them, protect yourself.

“Hey, I know you can hear me. Do you need me to call an ambulance?” The voice was insistent, but there was something else there, a knowing edge to it that sent a chill crawling down your spine.

You noticed that the voice was coming from the wall next to the tub.

“Who’s it?” You managed to ask, gathering what little courage you had left, trying to steady your shaking voice.

“Your neighbor,” the man’s voice said, his tone low, almost a growl. “I’ve seen you around. I think you’re pregnant, right? With twins?”

You blinked, trying to process what he had just said. How could he possibly know that? Your heart skipped a beat. How much did he know?

“How’d you know it’s twins?” you asked, your voice tight, filled with suspicion. This man seemed too aware, too knowledgeable.

“I’m a sorcerer too, like the men’s children you carry,” the man continued, his voice a low rumble that seemed to reverberate in your bones. “Just the one who deserted the hopeless crusade. And well, my technique allows me to sense things like this, but you don’t have to worry about me. I don’t partake in that world anymore. Haven’t in a really long time.”

His words sank in slowly, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe him. His explanation was coherent, his tone calm, almost reassuring. You were too exhausted, too delirious with pain to think clearly. It made sense in your sleep-deprived and pain-addled state.

“I... I can’t go to the hospital,” you whispered, your throat raw. “Could you just help me up?”

There was a pause, a shift in the air. “I’ll help you,” the man said, his voice now excited, or maybe happy, like he was suddenly hyperactive. “But I’ll have to break the door down to get in. I’ll fix it after, with a stronger lock.”

“Sure, no issues.” Beggars couldn’t be choosers. You didn’t have the strength to protest. You were already lost in the fog of exhaustion, pain, and confusion. He was here. He would help you.

Soon the sound of splintering wood echoed through your apartment, followed by the dull thud of heavy footsteps. Each step reverberated like a low drumbeat, slow and deliberate, growing closer until they stopped just outside the bathroom door. The handle turned once, then creaked open with an eerie calm. You felt a chill run through you, something more than the cold air from the cracked window. It wasn’t just the wind that made your skin crawl. There was something wrong about this man, something dangerous. But in your haze, you couldn’t put your finger on it.

You couldn’t even see him at first—your vision swam from the pain, your body sprawled awkwardly on the cold tile floor. The sharp edge of the sink bit into your side as you tried to sit upright, your other trembling hand pressed protectively against your stomach. The air shifted, heavier somehow, like something massive had entered the room. You forced yourself to look up, squinting through the haze.

He stood in the doorway, tall enough that he seemed to block out the light spilling in from the hall. He had to duck slightly to clear the frame, stepping inside with a confidence that bordered on insolence, like he owned the place. He was broad-shouldered, his form looming and imposing, dressed in a loose hoodie that made him look even larger. His face was partially obscured by shadows, but you caught glimpses of sharp, angular features—a jawline carved from stone and eyes, predatory and unreadable.

“Hey, the fall looks nasty.” He said as he crouched slowly, knees bending with a shift of worn jeans fabric as he brought himself down to your level. The movement was unsettlingly fluid for someone so massive. Especially since he was still looming over you like a giant.

Up close, you could see him better—his face was unnervingly smooth for a man who carried himself like he’d lived through hell. His hair was short and faintly disheveled, like he hadn’t cared enough to fix it. You couldn’t tell if he was young or old.

“Your sorcerer's brats…I can feel it. They’re… restless, aren’t they?” He said matter-of-factly, his gaze drifting pointedly to your swollen abdomen.

The words sent a shiver crawling down your spine, and you became hyperaware that you were only in a flimsy nightgown as you protectively clutched your stomach. “How do you know that?” you managed to croak out, your voice trembling.

He shrugged one massive shoulder. “It’s my hobby to know these things.” His tone was mocking, almost bored, but there was an undercurrent of something darker there, something that made your chest tighten. “And you’re in pain far too often, aren’t you?”

You glared at him, eyes narrowing. “You walk around noticing pregnant women?!!”

“No, the service is exclusive to you, princess.” He said, laughing, the sound so loud it was rumbling in your bones.

You flinched as he reached for you, his hand massive, calloused, and littered with faint scars.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed instinctively, curling tighter around your stomach, but the effort sent a fresh wave of pain ripping through your abdomen. You gasped sharply, vision blurring at the edges again.

The man didn’t pull back, didn’t flinch at your outburst. Instead, he studied you with a quiet, unsettling patience, as though deciding something important. Finally, he exhaled, a sound like a low growl, and said, "Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be."

Before you could protest, he scooped you up effortlessly, his arm sliding carefully beneath your knees and back like you weighed negative but also fragile. However, you stiffened, every muscle in your body tensing as he lifted you, the pressure in your abdomen worsening with the shift in gravity.

“Put me down,” you gritted out, struggling weakly against his hold, but he didn’t budge. The grip he had on you was far stronger than anything you could have fought.

“You’re stubborn,” he muttered, sounding vaguely amused again. “You can fight me later. For now, shut up and let me help you.”

Your head lolled against his chest, the fight draining from you as the pain surged again. Your breath came in short, shallow gasps, and your vision blurred further. You caught the faint scent of him—smoke, faintly metallic, and something almost feral, something wrong that made the hair on your arms stand on end. He didn’t smell like anyone you’d ever met before.

“Why are you helping me?” you murmured weakly, your voice barely above a whisper

His features softened at the question, and when he answered, his tone was quieter, but no less unsettling.

“Because someone should.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning you couldn’t unravel. You blinked up at him through half-lidded eyes, the edges of your consciousness starting to fray as exhaustion tugged at you. He didn’t look down, his gaze fixed ahead, his expression unreadable, but there was something about the way he held you—something deliberate, something protective—that made you believe him, if only for a moment.

The last thing you heard before you drifted into unconsciousness was the sound of his low, rumbling voice, almost to himself.

“You’re tougher than you look, princess.”

And then the darkness swallowed you whole as he lay you on your bed.

The next day you had woken up feeling human again, or as human as you could feel in your human vending machine state. You were cocooned in far warmer blankets that you didn’t own, surrounded by vitamins, pregnancy pain medications, and food in the fridge that you hadn’t ordered. The front door of your apartment was now reinforced, and by the kitchen counter, new keys were attached to a sticky note bearing a name. His name.

A/N: Feel like throwing your phone yet? Good. 🫠 That means I’ve done my job. Now, let’s talk about him. The towering enigma with predator energy who broke into your apartment like it’s a casual Tuesday and called you “princess.” (✿ ͡👁️ ᴗ ͡👁️) WHO IS HE?! Shadowy savior? Bored stalker? Gym bro with too much free time? Is this Toji’s long-lost cousin? Sukuna in a hoodie? Kashimo on his day off? Choso after therapy? Or someone even worse? 😱 Bonus points if you drop “Gakuganji” in the comments for chaos. (╯ ͡❛ ᴗ ͡❛)╯┻━┻ Team Nanami? Team Gojo? Team Mystery Hunk? Or Team ‘Let Reader Nap in Peace’? 🤔 Drop your loyalty, wildest theories, unhinged guesses, and thirst-fueled fan-castings below because this love story is messier than Gojo’s hair on a Monday. Next chapter: Yaga playing babysitter for two emotionally constipated men who need therapy, not bail money, and maybe why Reader deleted her socials. Until then, stop shaving your hoo-ha with someone else’s trimmers—Gojo would 100% snitch to HR. 💅 And if you’re not on the taglist yet, comment below to join the chaos. 😈

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Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth

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ha-rinrin · 2 months ago

Note

bratty sub jinx x dom reader (I'd be sooo thankful if you do this<3)

since you asked so nicely, here it is! idk if I got the bratty part right so if you want me to make it again just let me know.

pairing: bratty sub jinx x dom fem!reader

warning: smut

wordcount: 5.6k

summary: In a chaotic dance of dominance and desire, you find yourself entangled with a bratty Jinx who knows how to push all the right buttons.

masterlist

Taming the Brat

The faint hum of Piltover’s busy streets filters through the window, but inside your apartment, everything is calm, meticulously organized, and in perfect order. The polished wood floors, the neatly stacked books, and the clean, geometric lines of the furniture, everything equally perfect as Piltover.

But then there's Jinx

She’s lounging on your couch like a queen, her boots flung haphazardly onto your spotless floor, one dangerously close to knocking over the stack of magazines on the coffee table. Loose screws and bolts from whatever gadget she dragged in with her are scattered across the table, some of them rolling closer to the edge every time she shifts her legs.

“Piltover.” She drawls your city’s name like it’s a bad joke, glancing around your apartment with exaggerated disdain. “How do you even breathe in this place? It’s like a museum. Or a... hospital.” She wrinkles her nose.

Before you can respond, she grabs one of the neatly arranged throw pillows and tosses it across the room. “Oops. Guess that wasn’t where it’s supposed to go, huh?” She grins, eyes darting to yours, waiting for a reaction.

You stand near the window, arms crossed, trying your hardest to stay calm. “Some of us like things in order, Jinx.”

Jinx lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh. “Order? Bleh. Where’s the fun in that?” She kicks her legs up, smacking her feet against the back of the couch with a thud, as if daring you to tell her off. Then, with a quick motion, she snatches one of your books off the coffee table and starts fanning herself with it, pages bending at odd angles.

“Careful!” you warn, your voice slipping with a bit more urgency than you meant.

Her grin only widens. “What? This old thing? Look at this!” She holds it up like she’s inspecting a relic. “Everything’s in alphabetical order. Do you do that with all your stuff?” She leans back, putting the book on her head like it’s a hat. “Bet you even have a color-coded wardrobe. Am I right?”

She tosses the book behind her, letting it land on the floor with a careless thud. “Oops, again. Man, I’m really bad at this 'order' thing.”

You shoot her a look, but she’s already moved on. Jinx leans over the side of the couch, grabs a bolt, and flicks it across the room with a practiced flick of her wrist, the small piece of metal clinking as it rolls under a piece of furniture.

“Wow, look at that, lost forever,” she says, her voice dripping with mock horror. “Guess I’ll just have to tear apart your perfect little apartment to find it.” She pauses, giving you a wicked grin. “Or maybe... I won’t.” She shrugs and stretches out even more, taking up way more space than necessary, her arm knocking over the perfectly arranged stack of papers onto the floor.

Her eyes gleam with that signature mischief, fully aware she’s getting under your skin. “So, how long before you crack, huh? Gonna start reorganizing while I’m still here?”

Her fingers tap idly on the table, and she reaches for another book. “Bet you even have a label maker around here somewhere, don’t you?” She opens the book, not bothering to read it, just flipping the pages back and forth obnoxiously loud. “You’re like... so Piltover. Do you have a schedule for everything?”

She’s practically bouncing now, pushing every single button she can find with no intention of stopping. Her grin grows wider, and she leans in, eyes sparkling with playful defiance. “What do you do for fun, anyway? Dust the shelves? Or, wait—vacuum in perfectly straight lines?”

Her bratty energy is off the charts now, every word dripping with mockery, her playful grin daring you to do something about it. She’s enjoying every second of testing your patience.

You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your calm as you watch her antics. “Jinx, if you break anything—”

She cuts you off with a laugh, her fingers dangerously close to another delicate trinket. “What? You think I’m gonna break it? Please, I’m a professional at not breaking stuff.” She smirks, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

You can feel your resolve slipping as you try to hold back a smile. “You call this a professional setup?”

Her laughter fills the room, carefree and loud. “Boring! You need to lighten up!”

As she leans back against the couch, you decide it’s time to turn the tables. “You know,” you say slowly, locking eyes with her, “if you keep this up, we might need to head over to your place instead.”

Her grin falters for a brief moment before her eyes widen, a knowing smile spreading across her lips. “Oh? Is that what you want?” she teases, her voice dripping with playful seduction. “You know what happens when we go to my place.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what I’m counting on,” you reply, stepping closer.

She stands up, excitement dancing in her eyes as she leans closer, a spark of mischief in her gaze. “I mean, you know I’m always down for a little fun. Just remember, last time we went to my place, it got really chaotic.”

“Yeah, but that’s part of the thrill, isn’t it?” you say, smirking as you lean in, teasing her with your closeness. “I’ve been ready for all kinds of chaos since the last time I left.”

She bites her lip, that bratty demeanor shining through as she takes a step back, clearly reveling in the flirtation. “So, you wanna play with fire again, huh? That’s brave of you.”

You give her a teasing smirk. “Or maybe I just know how to handle the heat.”

Jinx’s grin widens, her playful bravado flaring as she heads for the door. “Alright, then. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She slides into her boots, her energy crackling with anticipation. “You know this means we’re skipping the boring stuff.”

“Good,” you reply, feeling the thrill build in the air. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

With a cheeky wink, she flings the door open. “Ready for another round?”

“Always,” you say, stepping out into the excitement of the unknown, knowing exactly where the night is headed.

The walk to Jinx's place is electric, her energy infectious as she chats about the chaos she has planned for the night. As you step through her front door, the familiar sights and sounds of her world wrap around you like a warm embrace. The hideout is a whirlwind of color and noise, with mismatched furniture strewn about, bright posters plastered across the walls, and half-finished inventions scattered everywhere. It feels like a sanctuary of delightful chaos, perfectly embodying her spirit.

“Welcome to my lair,” she announces with a grand gesture, her grin widening as she takes in the familiar surroundings. “Buckle up; it’s about to get wild!”

You can’t help but chuckle, stepping deeper into her world. “Wild, huh? You have no idea what you’re in for tonight.”

Her eyes narrow, a playful challenge lighting up her features. “Oh, really? I think I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

You close the door behind you, locking it with a swift click that echoes in the charged atmosphere. The room is lit by flickering neon lights and the glow of odd contraptions whirring to life. “You say that now, but just wait.”

As you take a step closer, the air thickens with anticipation. The playful banter ignites something in you, turning the usual dynamic on its head.

Before she can respond, you grab her by the hair, tilting her head back to meet your gaze. Her eyes widen with surprise, but the bratty grin quickly returns, challenging you. “Oh, getting bold, are we?”

“Just keeping you on your toes,” you reply, leaning in to brush your lips against hers, teasing just long enough to make her squirm.

“Pfft, you think you can handle me?” she shoots back, her tone both defiant and playful. “I’m not that easy to break.”

You can’t help but smile at her bravado. “That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”

With a swift motion, you pin her against the wall, your body pressing into hers, creating a delicious tension between you. “But tonight, you’re going to learn just how much chaos I can bring.”

Jinx's eyes sparkle with mischief, a bratty grin plastered on her face. “Oh, is that a challenge? Because I thrive on havoc!”

“Good, because I’m not going easy on you,” you murmur, pulling back just enough to catch her gaze.

She laughs, the sound playful and defiant. “Prove it!”

With that, she wiggles free from your grasp, darting away with a cheeky smile. “You’ll have to catch me first!”

The playful game ignites a fire within you, and you chase after her, the atmosphere crackling with energy. When you finally catch up, you spin her around again, pinning her back against the wall.

“Nice try,” you say, your breath hot against her skin, enjoying the rush of dominance. “But you’re not getting away that easily.”

“Oh, you’re gonna have to try harder than that!” she challenges, the bratty spark in her eyes igniting further.

You smirk, relishing the challenge. “Oh, I will.”

You crash your lips against hers, kissing her hard, pouring all your pent-up desire.

Jinx gasps against your mouth, and it’s not long before she melts into the kiss, her playful defiance transforming into eager responsiveness. She kisses you back letting you take over, her hands tangling in your hair, but there’s a hint of submission in her energy, eager to follow your lead.

“Not bad,” she breathes between kisses, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “But I’m not going to make this easy for you!”

With a playful smirk, she leans in again, but you capture her lips with a kiss that’s even more fervent, fully taking charge. The way she responds, eagerly following your movements, only fuels the fire between you.

You smile against her lips, enjoying the rush of dominance. “You’re in for a ride, Jinx.”

“Oh, I know,” she replies breathlessly, pressing her body against yours, clearly relishing the thrilling tension as you guide her once more into a kiss, her bratty spirit shining through even as you take the lead

You pull Jinx close, crashing your lips together. The kiss is hard and raw, igniting a fire between you. She gasps against you, her fingers gripping your shoulders as she melts into it.

You tilt her head back, deepening the kiss, while her body arches into yours, hungry and wanting. Pulling her hair, you hear a soft moan escape her lips, a sound that only fuels your desire.

Wrapping your arms around her waist, you lift her easily, and she giggles, the sound thrilling you.

“Okay, now you’re just showing off!” she teases, but the flush on her cheeks tells you she loves it.

You capture her lips again, the kiss deepening, turning frantic. Her hands tangle in your hair, tugging as her breath quickens.

You lead her toward her cluttered workbench, where tools and mechanical parts lay strewn. The air is thick with electricity, and you can see her excitement mirrored in your gaze. As you reach the table, you can’t help but push her back playfully, watching as she stumbles slightly before regaining her balance, laughter spilling from her lips.

“Careful, Jinx!” you mock, and she rolls her eyes, but there’s a glimmer of challenge in her gaze.

With a swift motion, you sweep your arm across the table, sending wrenches and gadgets clattering to the floor. The sound echoes in the small space, but it barely registers as you turn your attention back to her, your heart racing.

“Oops,” you say innocently, your smirk widening. “Looks like we need to make room.”

You guide her to lay back on the now-clear surface, her playful laughter ringing in your ears. She looks up at you, a mix of excitement and mischief in her eyes, as you hover over her.

A thrill runs through you, and you can’t resist leaning down to capture her lips again. The kiss is fiery, full of the hunger that’s been building between you. When you pull back, you look deep into her vibrant eyes, feeling a rush of confidence and desire.

“Let’s get rid of these,” you say, your fingers brushing against the hem of her shirt, a teasing smile playing on your lips.

Jinx arches an eyebrow, a challenge lighting up her expression. “What, you think you can just undress me?” she shoots back, her voice playful yet sultry.

You lean closer, your breath ghosting over her skin. “Oh, I know I can,” you reply, the promise lacing your tone making her shiver with anticipation.

With that, your fingers deftly slip beneath her shirt, pulling it upward and over her head. She lifts her arms willingly, letting you remove the fabric, revealing her bare skin to you. The sight makes your heart race, and you can’t help but lean down to press your lips against her collarbone, trailing kisses down to the swell of her chest.

“See? Easy,” you tease, your voice low and sultry.

Your hands roam over her sides, tracing the curves of her body as you lean back to admire her for a moment. The flush on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes tell you how much she’s enjoying this.

“Now for the rest,” you say, glancing at the waistband of her shorts.

“Good luck with that,” she retorts, a teasing smile dancing on her lips as she winks at you.

With a swift motion, you tug her shorts down, exposing more of her skin. The thrill of undressing her ignites a fire in your core, and you lean down again, kissing her hard as your hands explore every inch of her body, each caress igniting sparks of pleasure.

Jinx lets out a playful laugh, her body arching up to meet yours. “Is that all you’ve got?” she taunts, her breathless voice laced with challenge.

You can feel the urgency and excitement radiating between you, and you know there’s no turning back now. “Just wait and see,” you whisper, your lips brushing against her ear

You take a moment to admire her bare skin, the soft glow of her body illuminating the dimly lit space. Jinx watches you with a playful challenge in her eyes, her breath quickening as anticipation fills the air.

Without breaking eye contact, you lean down, pressing soft kisses along her collarbone, trailing down to the delicate curve of her shoulder. Each kiss ignites a fire in your chest, and you can feel her shiver beneath your touch. You move to one of her tits, sucking her nipple, erupting a moan from her, causing her to grab your hair, pulling you closer to keep herself grounded

“Is this what you had in mind?” you tease, your lips lingering just above her skin.

“Maybe,” she replies coyly, biting her lip, the challenge evident in her voice.

You grin, your fingers dancing along her sides as you move lower, kissing a path down her stomach. As your lips brush against her soft skin, you take the opportunity to leave a mark—your teeth grazing lightly, then sucking gently to create a deep hickey.

“Oops, guess I got carried away,” you say playfully, watching as her eyes widen in surprise and delight.

With every kiss, you take your time, savoring the way she feels under your lips and the way her skin warms beneath your touch. You plant soft, lingering kisses along her sides, relishing the giggles that escape her as you leave another mark.

“Hey! What are you doing?” she gasps, half-laughing, half-mocking. “Trying to make me a walking canvas?”

“Just giving you some art,” you reply cheekily, trailing kisses up her ribs, pausing to nip and suck at the skin, leaving more hickeys that bloom like flowers on her body.

Her fingers never leaving your scalp gripping tightly as she gasps. “If you keep this up, I might lose my mind,” she breathes, the challenge replaced with breathless desire.

You kiss your way back up to her lips, leaving a few final hickeys along her collarbone and neck, capturing her mouth in a passionate embrace. The heat between you intensifies, and Jinx’s playful demeanor only fuels your urgency.

You roll your hips against hers, feeling her respond with a soft moan that vibrates through your entire body. Each movement deepens the connection, and you both find yourselves teetering on the edge of something exhilarating.

With every roll of your hips, the heat between you intensifies, and you can feel the world around you fading into oblivion. Jinx’s body responds instinctively, her legs tightening around your waist, urging you on as her breath quickens.

“God, you feel amazing,” she breathes, her fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer as if she wants to fuse your bodies together. The sensation of her touch sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire deep within you.

“More,” Jinx whispers against your lips, her voice thick with need. “I want more of you.”

You smirk against her mouth, the challenge in her words pushing you further. “You got it, brat,” you tease, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. The playful glint in her gaze sends a thrill through you, and you know she’s ready for whatever you have in mind.

Without hesitation, you begin trailing kisses down her jawline, savoring the softness of her skin as you make your way toward her neck. You find a spot just below her ear, kissing and nibbling, making sure to leave your mark—a deep, dark hickey that’s sure to stand out against her vibrant skin.

She gasps, her fingers tightening in your hair as you continue your descent. “Oh, you’re so going to regret that,” she teases breathlessly, but you can hear the eagerness in her voice, the way she arches her back in response to your ministrations.

You pause for a moment, looking up at her, your lips hovering just above her collarbone. “Regret? I don’t think so,” you reply with a smirk, then return to your exploration, peppering kisses across her chest, savoring the taste of her skin.

As you trail down further, you take your time, leaving hickeys along her sides and down to her waist. Each mark is a reminder of the moment, each sound she makes fuels your desire, pushing you to claim her further.

“Don’t stop,” she pleads, her voice a mix of desperation and exhilaration. “I need more”

With a wicked grin, you slide down onto your knees, positioning yourself between her legs, your heart racing with anticipation. The change in perspective only heightens your desire as you take in every inch of her, the way her body quivers under your gaze, the way her pussy is leaking with need. You lean in closer, pressing your lips against the soft skin of her thighs, leaving a trail of hot kisses.

“God, you’re such a tease,” she gasps, fingers digging into the edge of the table, her body arching in response to your touch.

With deliberate slowness, you continue your exploration, your kisses growing more insistent as you trail higher. You leave a path of hickeys along her thighs, each mark a testament to your possession. Her gasps and moans grow louder, filling the space with a symphony of desire that only fuels your hunger.

“Don’t keep me waiting!” she urges, her voice laced with desperation, her hips rolling instinctively toward you.

You meet her gaze, desire reflecting back at her, and without hesitation, you lean in, capturing her waist with your hands as your lips find her clit. You suck and nibble, causing Jinx to cry out in pleasure

“Tell me what you want, Jinx,” you whisper against her pussy, each word dripping with heat.

“I want you—now!” she moans, frustration mixing with need, her body writhing as she fights against the tension building inside her.

“But you already have me,” you tease, a smirk curling on your lips as you feel her shiver beneath your touch.

Jinx bites her lip, her frustration palpable. “Not enough,” she growls, her hips arching upward, seeking more contact. “You know what I want.”

You keep her waiting, savoring every tremble, every soft gasp that escapes her lips as you press wet kisses against her clit—enough to send waves of electricity down her body, but not enough to satisfy her completely.

“You love being right here, don’t you?” you murmur, the words a playful taunt as your hands tighten around her waist.

Her response is instant, a sharp intake of breath that turns into a moan. “Shut up and do something already,” she hisses, her body writhing beneath you, desperate for more.

“Patience,” you tease, your lips brushing against her clit, watching her reaction. “I thought you liked a little chaos.”

Jinx glares down at you, eyes dark with need, but there’s a grin tugging at her lips. “Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d be such a tease about it.”

You meet her gaze, feeling that spark of defiance in her stare, and smirk as you finally give in to her demand

With a smirk, you finally close the distance, your lips and tongue moving in sync as you flick against her sensitive clit. The moment your mouth makes full contact, Jinx’s head falls back, a low, guttural moan escaping her lips. Her hands fly to your hair, gripping tight as her body arches toward you in desperate need.

“That’s more like it,” she breathes, her voice shaky with satisfaction, though there’s still that underlying bratty tone.

Without missing a beat, you slide your hand up her thigh, teasing her slick entrance with your fingers before slowly thrusting two of them inside her. The sensation makes Jinx gasp, her hips bucking up toward you as her body tightens around your fingers. You curl them inside her, hitting just the right spot while your tongue continues its relentless work against her clit.

Jinx’s moans grow louder, her legs trembling as the pleasure overwhelms her. “Fuck… yes, don’t stop!” Her voice is raw, full of need, her bratty attitude wavering as her body gives in to your control.

You smirk against her skin, pumping your fingers in and out of her in time with the swirling motions of your tongue. The combination drives her wild—her hips start moving of their own accord, riding your hand as the heat between you grows unbearable. You can feel her tightening around your fingers, her walls clenching as you thrust deeper, harder.

“Oh, God…” she gasps, her voice tight, the heat building to a fever pitch. Her back arches off the workbench, her legs tightening around you, pulling you in as if desperate to keep you right there.

But you’re still in control. You slow your pace, just enough to keep her teetering on the edge, never letting her fully fall over. “Not yet, Jinx,” you tease, pulling your lips away just enough to see the frustration on her face.

“Don’t stop!” she practically growls, her fingers digging into your scalp as she tries to grind her hips against your hand, desperate for more.

You meet her eyes, watching the defiance and desire flicker across her face. “Beg for it,” you demand, your voice low and full of authority as your fingers press deeper inside her.

She glares at you, the bratty fire still alive in her eyes. “not a chance.”

You slow your pace even more, torturing her with the deliberate movements of your fingers and the teasing flick of your tongue just out of reach of her clit. “Then I guess you don’t want to come,” you murmur.

Her hips twitch toward you, her frustration palpable. “Fine, please—just don’t stop, pretty please.” The words slip out, soft and desperate, and it sends a thrill through you.

Satisfied with her submission, you dive back in, thrusting your fingers faster and sucking on her clit with renewed intensity. Jinx’s whole body responds instantly—her moans grow louder, her legs quivering as you push her closer and closer to the edge.

“I’m close,” she pants, her voice trembling as she clutches at your hair, holding on as if her life depends on it.

With one final, well-placed thrust of your fingers and a flick of your tongue, you send her spiraling into release. Jinx cries out, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through her. Her hips jerk against your hand as she comes undone, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation.

You ride out her orgasm, continuing to pump your fingers inside her until her body finally relaxes, collapsing back against the workbench in exhausted bliss.

You slowly withdraw your fingers, your lips glistening as you pull back and meet her gaze, a satisfied smirk on your face. “Told you I’d make you beg,” you tease.

Jinx rolls her eyes, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, yeah… you win this time,” she breathes, still catching her breath.

Jinx’s body is still trembling from her release, her breath coming in heavy pants as you pull back. But you’re far from done. With a playful glint in your eyes, you slide her off the workbench just enough so that her front presses flat against it, her legs hanging off the edge. She barely has time to catch her breath before you’re behind her again, positioning her just the way you want.

“Oh, you think you’re in control now?” she teases, glancing back over her shoulder with a smirk, though her body betrays her eagerness, pressing back toward you. Her brattiness is still there, but the desperation hasn’t left her voice.

You don’t say a word as you adjust the strap-on you took out of one of her drawer, securing it tightly around your waist. The sight of her sprawled out on the workbench, completely at your mercy, only ignites the fire burning in your chest. You grab her hips firmly, pulling her back slightly so that her legs dangle just off the edge, leaving her completely exposed to you.

Jinx gasps at the sensation, her fingers curling into the wood of the workbench for support. “Fuck… you're not playing around, are you?”

You lean over her, your breath hot against her ear. “You wanted more, didn’t you?” you whisper, your voice laced with dominance. “So that’s exactly what you’re going to get.”

Before she can respond, you tease her entrance with the tip of the strap-on, rubbing it against her slickness. The anticipation is almost too much for her—her body jerks in response, a desperate moan escaping her lips.

“Please,” she whispers, all traces of her defiance starting to slip away as her hips push back toward you.

“Thought you weren’t begging” you taunt, smirking as you press in just enough to make her body tremble with need.

Her response is breathless, a mix of frustration and desire. “Just shut up and fuck me.”

Without any further teasing, you thrust into her, filling her completely in one smooth motion. Jinx cries out, her hands gripping the edge of the workbench as her body adjusts to the sensation. Her legs tremble, barely able to hold her up, but you’re holding her in place, controlling every inch of her.

“Fuck!” she moans, her voice raw with pleasure as you begin to move, your hips rocking into her with a steady rhythm. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mixing with her gasps and moans as you pick up the pace, each thrust driving her closer to the edge once again.

“You like this, don’t you?” you growl, leaning over her as your hand slides up her back, pressing her further into the workbench. “You love being like this—completely mine.”

Jinx’s only response is a loud moan, her hips grinding back against you with desperate need. She’s losing herself in the sensation, every thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body.

You keep the relentless pace, one hand gripping her waist while the other snakes around to press against her clit. The moment your fingers touch her, Jinx lets out a sharp cry, her whole body trembling.

“I’m gonna—fuck—do it, don’t stop!” she gasps, her words barely coherent as she teeters on the edge of another orgasm.

You don’t slow down, your thrusts growing more powerful as your fingers work her clit in time with your movements. The tension builds in her body, and you can feel her walls tightening around the strap-on as her release approaches.

“Come for me,” you command, your voice firm but full of heat.

With one final thrust, you push her over the edge. Jinx’s body seizes beneath you, her cries echoing through the room as she comes hard, her entire form shaking with the intensity of her orgasm. You hold her steady, guiding her through the waves of pleasure until she’s finally spent, her body limp and trembling in your arms.

You slowly pull out, watching her collapse against the workbench, completely breathless and sated. A satisfied smirk tugs at your lips as you run a hand through her blue hair, brushing it off her sweaty forehead. the strap on already on the floor.

“Still think you’re in charge?” you tease, your voice soft but teasing as you press a kiss to her shoulder.

Jinx laughs weakly, her body still trembling with aftershocks. “You’ll pay for that… later,” she mutters, but there’s no real threat in her voice—just the familiar, playful defiance that you’ve grown to love.

“Looking forward to it,” you reply grinning as you help her up,the two of you basking in the aftermath of the chaos you’ve just created together.

As the haze of pleasure starts to settle, you gently pull Jinx upright from where she had slumped over the workbench, her body still trembling slightly. Her usual wild energy seems softer now, her breaths ragged but slowly calming. You wrap an arm around her waist, guiding her back to her feet, holding her close.

"Easy now," you whisper, brushing your lips against her temple as you help her regain her balance. She leans into you, her body still weak from the intensity of everything.

She’s always so brash, always ready to dive into chaos, but moments like this… they remind you of the softer side she rarely shows anyone else. The part of her that lets her walls down, if only for a few moments.

You guide her carefully toward a small couch nearby, and she flops down with a heavy sigh, her eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. You kneel in front of her, placing soft kisses on her knees before trailing your hands up her thighs, giving her a reassuring squeeze. She gives you a lazy, appreciative smile.

"You okay?" you ask softly, pushing strands of her hair away from her face.

She nods, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. “Yeah… that was just... intense,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

You smile softly, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “You did so good,” you murmur against her skin, your words soft and sincere.

Jinx lets out a small chuckle, her usual bravado creeping back in. “Pfft… you’re the one who can’t get enough of me.”

You laugh, but you don’t argue. Instead, you grab a blanket draped over a nearby chair and wrap it around her shoulders, pulling her close to you again. “Come here,” you say, sitting down next to her, cradling her in your arms.

She curls into you, her head resting against your chest as you gently stroke her hair, fingers combing through the blue strands. The rhythmic motion seems to calm her, her breathing growing steady as she relaxes fully into your embrace.

“I like this part,” she mumbles, her voice sleepy now, but there’s a warmth in her tone.

“Yeah?” you ask, smiling down at her as you continue to run your fingers through her hair. “You like being taken care of?”

She makes a noncommittal sound, but her grip tightens on your shirt as she snuggles closer. “Just... don’t tell anyone, okay? I’ve got a reputation to keep.”

You chuckle, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Your secret’s safe with me, Jinx.”

For a while, you just sit there together, the silence comfortable and filled with a sense of peace. The wildness from earlier has melted away, replaced with this soft, intimate moment. You can feel the rise and fall of her chest against yours, her breath warm against your skin. It’s moments like these that make the chaos worth it—the quiet after the storm, where it’s just you and her.

After a few minutes, you shift slightly, reaching for a nearby water bottle and handing it to her. “Here, drink this,” you say softly.

Jinx takes it with a grateful smile, sipping slowly. “You’re such a softie,” she teases, but there’s no bite in her words.

“Only for you,” you reply with a wink, and she rolls her eyes, though you can see the faint blush on her cheeks.

Once she’s finished the water, you gently wipe the sweat from her forehead with the edge of the blanket, your touch soft and caring. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment, savoring the gentle attention you’re giving her.

“Feeling better?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as you lean in to kiss her temple again.

She nods, her lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah… thanks,” she says softly, the usual bravado in her voice replaced by something more genuine, more tender.

You both stay like that for a while longer, wrapped up in each other. The world outside can wait. For now, it’s just you and her, sharing this quiet, intimate moment in the aftermath of all the chaos.

#jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx x y/n #arcane jinx #jinx/you #jinx x fem!reader #jinx posting #jinx league of legends #jinx smut #bratty jinx #jinx lol

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mywritersmind · 3 months ago

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DRUNK THOUGHTS - LN4

summary : He’s drunk and on a dock, nothing can go wrong. Except maybe him confessing his love to his taken best friend.

listen up : drunk lando! reader has a bf but no cheating involved!! maybe a pt.2 but prob not? i’ve kinda been unmotivated but if u have ideas my requests are open!

word count : 653

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I find him on a dock, his arm touching the water and his body laying down to face the stars.

I wobble down the wooden path, taking my heels off and pulling my dress down a bit. I’ve been drinking and dancing all night, yet my experience doesn’t even come close to Lando’s night.

He turns his head when he hears my footsteps, “Wanted to make sure you were still alive.” I look at his body, he’s in baby blue pants and a half undone shirt.

I left my boyfriend who was getting eaten alive by mosquitoes to come check on him, feeling a bit tipsy and more than happy to be alone with him.

“Y/n!” He grins and points at me, yup he’s definitely drank more than me, “Hi!”

I laugh and squat next to him, “Hi Lan. Fun night?”

“Oh definitely!” he giggles, his hand patting the place next to him. I sigh and lay down, looking up at the night sky. “You?”

“Very fun.” He’s looking at me still, I glance to him, a curl fallen into his face and his eyes are all soft and shaded from the lack of light.

It’s almost unfair, how beautiful he is.

“I like your dress!” He smiles, his hand gently running against the hem of it. It’s small and black and his touch makes goosebumps run through me.

“I like your necklace.” I reach over and run my fingers over his logo, “Very nice.”

“Would be nicer on you.” Lando’s always like this. Drunk or not, he’s a flirt.

“Ya think?”

“I know.” He looks back up like it’s nothing, “Would be even nicer if it was the only thing you were wearing.” the words come out so quick and easy that I almost think I hallucinated them. Lando’s flirty, sure, but my boyfriend is almost always around so he doesn’t mess around too much.

Apparently drunk him does.

I practically choke, “Oh?”

His head turns to me again, his eyes roaming my features, “You're so pretty.” He says softly, “Like really reallyyyy gorgeously you.”

“I- thank you?”

“Everyone thinks it. All the guys who stare at you but they don’t get it. Not even your lover boy.” He shakes his head matter of factly, “No no no. I do. I hate those guys.”

“What guys?” I laugh.

“You do not have very good vision.” He smacks his lips together, “Everyone looks.”

I laugh, honestly thinking he’s joking, “They’re always looking at you- the famous one.”

He shakes his head again, adamant I'm wrong, “No no pretty. They don’t give a nothing about me.”

“I think you do pretty well.” I raise a brow, “You were basically followed by a group of girls down here.” I’m not sure where they went but they were fawning over Lando.

He shrugs, “Bachelorette party. It’s basically my job.” I laugh and he looks offended that I did, “I wish you followed me.”

Suddenly his words aren’t funny anymore.

“But your bloody boy…” He makes a disgusted face, I thought he didn’t mind him. “Bleh. You’re better.”

“I didn’t know you disliked him.”

“Why would I like the bloke who’s in love with the girl I'm in love with?” His casual tone strikes again, this time stabbing me through the heart. We’re friends. We’ve always been friends. I thought my own feelings had gone long before this trip- before my boyfriend!

I can’t fancy Lando and he cannot be in love with me.

“You’re so drunk.” I laugh it off but he just stares at me. He doesn’t seem to know that he just said he loves me.

“Drunk words are-”

“Sober thoughts.” I finish for him, His body shifting to lay on his stomach, an arm across my waist. “Yeah I know.”

“You always understand me.” He whispers and it breaks me in two. “Thank you.”

“Let’s get you back, Lan.”

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #f1 imagine #lando x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #lando imagine #f1 fic

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frenchkisstheabyss · 8 months ago

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⛧ 𝙽𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙱𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚜 ⛧

⛧ Pairing: poly!slasher!minsung x chubby!fem!reader

⛧ Genre: slasher au/horror/fluff/angst

⛧ Summary: It's Halloween 1996, you've just broken up with your toxic ex, and there's a killer on the loose. When you go to the local video store to find your next distraction, you run into your longtime crushes who have their hearts set on looking after you. But you must be careful. Not everyone's who they appear to be.

⛧ Word Count: 2.1k

⛧ Warnings: brief discussion of murder, implied possessive ex, intro to knife play if you squint, suggestive, psycho Minsung, you probably have a killer fetish, & that's all my loves. It's otherwise quite fluffy tbh.

⛧ A/N: I'm starting this series as my love letter to 90's slasher films aaaand because I just love Minsung. I'm writing this in "tapes" instead of chapters for ✨ ambiance ✨ so I hope the vibes come across. I'm already working on part two so I'll have my knives and fingers crossed you babes enjoy this one.

💀 >>> Go to Tape 2 >>> 💀

A bell dings overhead as you step through the door of Topline Video. A crowd of middle school kids dart by, nearly knocking you over in their excitement to get home with some cheesy slasher flick they definitely shouldn’t be watching. All are in full costume, wearing the kind of plastic masks that smell sorta funny when you put them on.

The kid dressed as a goblin turns back for a second, peeling up the murky green mask to reveal an apologetic face. “Sorry, lady!” he shouts, taking your gentle smile as a sign of forgiveness and racing to catch up to his friends. “Lady?” you whisper to yourself, the door creaking shut behind you, “Great, now I feel ancient.”

Lucky for you there’s no time for an existential crisis as you’re swept into the frenzy of the video store. The walls are packed with what must be a thousand VHS tapes. Double sided displays line the aisles with hundreds more. Every one of them is some brand of horror movie with even the most obscure subgenre present.

Black and orange streamers travel from one end of the ceiling to the next with tiny spiders dangling from them. Giant skeletons lurk in the corners guarding jack o lanterns with flickering eyes. Every year people eat it up but this year is particularly spooky. It sends a shiver down your spine when you recall why.

“I heard they found another leg” a red haired girl says, casually smacking on a piece of bright pink bubblegum. Beside her a shorter girl files through tapes under a large bloody hand drawn sign reading SERIAL KILLERS.

“I thought they already found both of his legs. A guy can’t have three legs.”

The red haired girl shakes her head, smiling mischievously. “That is not true. I hooked up with him once. You could for sure consider that thing a third leg.” The girls break into a fit of giggles. Dodging their insensitivity, you squeeze yourself into the Monster Movie section.

“Hey Drac” you sigh, staring up at the Dracula cutout looming over you, “I live in a town of idiots.” “You don’t mean everyone, do you?” a voice answers back with the worst Dracula impersonation you’ve ever heard. Suspicious that it isn’t coming from the cardboard cutout, you peek around to see a familiar face stocking the shelves.

Your heart immediately begins to flutter, a blanket of warmth encompassing you. Han Jisung. If you flip through the dictionary you’ll find him under D for dreamy. The glow of the setting sun kisses his dark curly hair, making it almost sparkle. And those brown eyes, they’re so…no…keep it together.

“That’s a terrible Dracula voice” you tease, arms folded across your chest. “I don’t know what you mean. Bleh, bleh, bleh” he carries on, pretending to bare his fangs. Now it’s you who’s giggling and you can’t stand how easily he gets you to.

“You are such a dork, Han.”

Returning to his normal voice he only shrugs, “But that’s why you’re so insanely in love with me isn’t it?”

His words intensify the heat moistening your palms. Fidgeting with the sleeves of your jean jacket, you wrack your brain for some witty response only for nonsense to tumble out.

“No. What? I…uh…um…early.”

Popping a copy of Megaverse Massacre 2 onto the shelf, Han raises an eyebrow at you, “Early?”

Your brain finally catches up to your mouth and you spit it out. “Uh, yeah, early. I heard you guys were closing early because of the…”

“Body hacking psycho killer?” a voice cackles, gripping your shoulders from behind. You let out a blood curdling scream that draws the attention of a few nearby shoppers. Swinging around, your fist ready to dish out a debilitating gut punch, you come face to face with Lee Minho. You haven’t quite decided if he can be filed under “dreamy” or “asshole” yet.

Minho grins, never finding you cuter than when he’s getting on your nerves. “I’m sorry, babe. Didn’t hurt you did I?” he teases, straightening out your clothes with a gentleness you weren’t expecting. The sun’s doing that thing again. The sparkle. The glow. The radiant brown eyes searching yours, threatening to make you fall even deeper into them than you already have.

Han dips between the two of you, separating you before you rip Minho’s head off. “I’m sorry. Really. He was deprived of air in the womb. Being an asshole’s just a side effect.”

Over Han’s shoulder Minho frowns, “Hey! Rude much?” Digging into his pocket, Han pulls out a lollipop. It’s sugar blown into the shape of a blood drenched kitchen knife. “Are you bribing me with a sugary murder weapon?” you ask, staring at it skeptically. Han flashes you a close lipped smile, his cheeks so fluffy it’d be a crime to deny him.

Snatching the lollipop you waste no time popping the wrapper off and tapping Minho on the head with it. “Hey! What was that for?” he winces, wiping lollipop residue from his head. “Sorry, babe” you grin, sucking on your tool of revenge, “Didn’t hurt you did I?” Han buries his face in his hand but it does nothing to hide the joy he takes in his best friend’s pain.

This is nice. Laughing with someone. With them. It’s been a while since you felt this light around other people. The recent weight on you hasn’t been of some invisible boogeyman sneaking off with one of your limbs. No, your boogeyman was someone you knew well, or at least thought you did, and he’s haunted you every chance he can.

Speak of the devil…

A bell dings, drawing your attention to the door where a man in a demon mask scans the room for someone. You recognize him immediately. Those boots. Those pants. That flannel shirt you always found totally hideous on him. Your heart sinks, the lollipop in your hand tumbling to the floor.

You see Minho and Han’s hearts sink too. It’s as if they sense that any joy you’d been feeling just went down the drain that instant. Minho whispers something into Han’s ear. You can’t make out what, only the calculated tone of his voice. “Hey!” Han says, perking up again, “We’re having a movie night tonight. You should come.”

As the man in the demon mask spots you, your eyes dart back and forth between the men. “A movie night? Sure that would be…I’d like that.”

Han takes you by the hand, “Wicked. Come on, you can pick a movie from the back.” He leads you towards the backroom just as the man advances towards you. Peeking over your shoulder you spot Minho blocking his way. A quick left turn stops you from seeing what happens next, filling your vision instead with tattered old movie posters.

Passing a few of Han’s coworkers, you wave politely and they smile in return. The back room’s like a dustier, quieter version of the sales floor. The walls are still lined with tapes, only there’s no way these have been watched any time in the past decade. Through the dust you see the spine of a tape titled Camp Counselor Sleepover Murder Party 4.

“That one” you decide, stopping dead in your tracks.

Han stops too, squinting to spot what caught your eye, “A woman of taste I see.”

Pulling it from the shelf, he blows the dust away and hands it to you. “Only the finest for you.”

You feel that lightness again. It's easy to feel it when he smiles at you like this. Such an unexpected but welcomed sense of safety. “Han, thanks for…” you start but the surprise sensation of his lips pressed to yours makes anything you were about to say feel insignificant.

With one hand still holding yours, his other hand comes to rest on your lower back. Your lips are somehow softer than he’d imagined. Even in the absence of the lingering strawberry flavored lollipop, he knows they’d taste just as sweet. Minho’s gonna kill him when he finds out that he kissed you first but nothing could be more worth it.

“Thank me by not worrying about your ex,” he says, “He won’t bother you anymore. I promise.”

You want to tell him how much he doesn’t understand. That your ex doesn’t give up that easily. But you decide not to ruin the moment, even if letting yourself believe him feels delusional. “Jisung, we need you up front!” one of his coworkers shouts back. He hesitates, unsure if he should leave you or not.

You kiss him first this time, turning him loose, “Go. I’ll be fine back here. Camp Counselor Sleepover Murder Party 1-3 have gotta be rotting around here somewhere right?” One last kiss and he’s rushing back up front, clueless as to how he’s supposed to focus on anything else now.

Turning back to the shelf you realize how big of a challenge you’re in for. Maybe there’s a feather duster somewhere? Or a respirator mask?

“Give it here. That has to be wrong.” Minho approaches the kitchen counter where you sit, playfully swinging your feet. He reaches for the magazine in your hand but you clutch it tightly to your chest, refusing to fork it over.

“Live with it, Minho. You are Suspicious Boyfriend.”

“Suspicious boyfriend” Han sings, retrieving a bag of freshly popped popcorn from the microwave, “I think it has a ring to it.”

Hopping down from the counter, you skip your way over to Han extending the magazine and the pen in your hand out to him. “Your turn, Hannie.” You see the skepticism all over his face but don’t give up. All torture must be equal after all.

“I’ll take that” Minho smiles, stealing the popcorn for himself.

“Sure. Why not?” Han surrenders, grabbing the magazine and the pen. You and Minho watch on, far more amused than you should be, as Han skims the pages checking off answers to silly personality questions. Pick a country to travel to. Pick a favorite food. Upstairs or downstairs?

After a minute or two he finishes and slides the magazine back over to you. You can barely contain yourself as you assess his results. Leaning across the counter, you share them with Minho who immediately begins to laugh.

“What’s so funny? What did I get?” Han asks looking so genuinely concerned that you almost feel bad for telling Minho first. Minho empties the popcorn into a bright orange Halloween bowl, shoveling some into his mouth. “Comic Relief Best Friend” he mumbles. Han frowns, coming to see for himself. You hold the results page up for him.

Which Horror Character Are You?

You point to his score beneath the headline “Comic Relief Best Friend”.

“Oh, okay. So I’m funny and I die before him. Perfect.”

“Aww, come on. Don’t be like that” you say, poking at his chin, “It’s not like I got the best result either. I’m the Final Girl.”

“What’s so bad about that?” Minho asks, his words muffled by food, “It means you make it to the sequel.”

“No, it means that I’m boring. Badass but boring. I wanna be the killer. They have more fun.”

Han shakes his head, a sympathetic hand resting on your shoulder, “I hate to break it to you but you’re not really killer material.” Minho takes your hand like a doctor prepared to give you some bad news, “Yeah, you just…you don’t have it in you, kid.”

“Don’t have it in me? I do so!” you protest, your tantrum not doing much to make you less adorable. Minho moves toward the knife rack behind him, carefully selecting the biggest, sleekest one he can find. “Okay, so kill me.”

There’s a long, tense silence.

“Come on. It’s not that hard. Just…” Minho mimes stabbing himself in the chest, his tongue stuck out sideways. “Give it!” you shout, running to take the knife away. Minho catches you by the wrist, slipping the knife into your hand and raising the tip of the blade an inch away from his throat.

“Do it” he dares, his hand tightening around yours, “Prove us wrong.”

There’s an unnerving excitement in his eyes as he awaits your decision. An excitement that doesn’t seem to want you to back away. No, it wants you to come closer. He wants you to come closer.

“Hannie,” you plead, “Can you talk some sense into him please?” Han joins the two of you, saying nothing at first, simply observing. The way that they watch you is intensely sexual and some part of you, one you hadn’t known existed until now, seems to take pleasure in it.

Han laughs, bringing his arms around your waist, “Oh but sweetie, we’ve played your game. Don’t you wanna play ours now?”

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