#I changed my signature if you hadn't noticed

[otiksimr]

Princess Mink

Icewings are always really pale when they're young, this is true for all icewings, even the ones that turn out really dusty as adults as they gain their color as they age. So it was of much concern when Mink was this dark at a young age, turns out she's just melanistic.

[enwoso]

rumour has it | alessia russo x leah williamson x child!reader

couldn't not write this blurb icl-

grumpy masterlist

you were running after winnie down the corridor, the brown lab with her squeaky toy clasped in her mouth as she ran in front of you, a game of chase the two of you did regularly. but you always had to be careful you didn't run too fast in case you hurt yourself — mummy's orders!

"win slow down!" you giggled as you ran a little more, your lungs beginning to gasp for air as your legs slowed. "who's winning chase?" a voice said further down the long stretch of the corridor, winnie having stopped a little bit in front of you.

you looking up and seeing beth with her signature grin on her face as she happily walked down the corridor, winnie meeting her halfway as she begins to pet the brown lab. win rolling on her back in order to get her belly rubs.

you walk the short distance as you caught your breath back to join in on the affection, as you hugged beth’s leg in a form of greeting. noticing as beth leans slightly over you to tickle win's tummy a ring on her finger which you hadn't seen before.

"when did you get that?" that asked pointing to the ring as beth straightened up looking at her hand you'd just pointed at.

"get what? this ring?" beth asked as she pointed to the small glittery ring which was on her finger, a very pretty ring in your mind, as you nodded curious as to where it had came from.

"it's a promise ring" beth explained as you looked at her a little strangely not understanding the concept of a promise ring. your brain filled with little questions very quickly, what did the ring promise?

beth sensing your confusion as you looked at her with a  puzzled look, a small smile appearing as beth continued. "my vivvy got me it as a way to show that she promises to always love me even though we don't see each other as often anymore"

a small hum came from you as you sort of understood but still didn't really understand why beth needed a ring to know that but you let that thought pass, "mummy has a promise ring like that, le got her it!"

"does she now?" beth asked her eyebrows raising at the new information on her teammate, "and whose le?" beth added, not hearing the name before as you gave flashed her a dumbfounded look.

"you know le!" you giggled thinking beth was just joking with you and pretending not to know who leah was, but instead it was beth's turn to look puzzled.

"i do?" beth said as she tried to think of who went by the name of le.

"yes! leah one?" you stated like it was the most obvious thing on earth, and it kind of was.

“mhm, yeah but why is leah getting your mummy a promise ring?” beth questioned as you shrugged slightly before perking up with an answer.

“cause there special friends!” you smiled as beth opened her mouth to ask what a special friend was before you cut her off, “like you and viv!”

beth hummed realising now that a special friend was a girlfriend. “is that so”

you nodded a you watched winnie begin to get up and stretch before flopping back down near you as you started to stroke her again.

“is viv coming back this weekend?” you asked totally changing the topic as beth’s mind was still wiring with questions about the new romance of your mummy and leah.

“oh i’m not sure tiny, but when’s she back down i’ll make sure we stop for a visit so you can see her” beth ruffled your hair as you sat on the ground with win as you whispered out a small yay.

beth quickly leaving you to carry on your game with winnie as she skipped down the corridor with her new and found information, wondering how true it was. so who better to ask than either alessia or leah themselves which ever one she saw first.

but what you didn't know as beth skipped off down the corridor is that you had just blurted your mummy's relationship out to the team blabber mouth.

-

after finding out her recent news, beth wanted confirmation before she had the chance to spread it. wanting more of a fact check. beth skipping into the canteen where alessia was sat, headphones on laptop out coupled with a coffee as she typed away more than likely doing some sort of work to finish off her degree.

beth slotting down in a chair opposite with a big grin plastered on her face, as alessia looked up a blank expression on her face as she read beth's, having a feeling she wasn't going to like the conversation with the devilish look that beth had.

lifting her coffee to her mouth as she took a slip waiting for beth to start whatever she had to say.

"so miss russo, rumour has it you have a special friend in the form of a blonde defender who's name starts with l- and ends in -eah” beth grinned skipping the whole small talk thing and getting to the point as alessia's face dropped as she begins to cough.

"less? woah are you okay?" beth asks concerned momentarily filling her as she watches, alessia holding her hand up to give her self a minute as she catches her breath again after choking on her coffee from the abruptness of beth's statement.

"and where did you hear this rumour?" alessia questions having a few ideas in mind but one name stood out a little more than the others.

"oh just a certain someone" beth mumbled as alessia eye brows rose, her suspicions rising about who had slipped the information to beth being confirmed just from the fact that beth would say the name.

"lovie?" alessia blankly said as beth immediately began to shake her head rattle out an excuse as she began to back peddle.

“what- no? i didn’t even know she was here! i- i haven’t even see her?” beth lied as a small chuckle came from alessia as she lowered the screen of her laptop, alessia knowing otherwise.

“beth. you know she’s here. i’ve seen you running around with her and win” alessia smiled as beth sighed sinking back into her seat.

“ah- so maybe i have seen her but i never said i’d spoken to her!” beth smugly smiled as she thought she’d fooled alessia with her smart response but the look alessia was giving the winger said different. alessia knew that you must have let it slip about her and leah as you were the only one that knew apart form leah.

“ok ok, you got me! tiny may have let it slip that you had a special friend” beth sulked a little her mission of trying to be slick had failed — miserably at that. alessia shaking her head slightly at beth’s attempts.

“so is it true?” beth blurted out as alessia looked on a little strange forgetting totally what the forefront of the conversation actually was.

“what?”

“you and leah?” beth asked as alessia hummed nodding a little grin appearing on her face at the mention of her lover. as beth threw a few teasing comments.

“please don’t mention it to the others yet, we’re keeping it on the low for now” alessia quickly slipped in as before she started telling beth the in and outs that she would more than likely ask about anyway even if alessia didn’t tell her.

“less, don’t worry i’m brilliant at keeping secrets!” beth assured with a cute smile as she held alessia’s hands in hers as she made her comment. secrets and beth didn’t go very well together..

-

alessia was packing up her bag for the day, vic having already took the blondes car keys and you to the car but alessia knew she would no doubt find you and vic playing some sort of game in the car park but with the two of you out the way it would give the alessia a few minutes of peace.. she thought.

until she felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist, alessia immediately knowing who it was as there was only one person who wrapped their arms around her waist and smelt the way leah did.

alessia sinking into her touch as leah peppered a few kisses to alessia’s neck, a small sigh coming from her as leah did so before she placed her head on alessia’s shoulder.

“oh love, before you go why did i have katie asking if me and you were in a relationship” leah whispered as a loud groan came from alessia.

“wait till i get my hands on beth-“ alessia grumbled as a small chuckle came from leah at alessia’s sudden threat.

“i’m lost, what does beth have to do with this?” leah asked taking her hands from around alessia’s waist and sitting on the bench where alessia’s things were sprawled out, most of it admittingly being yours.

“beth was asking about us this morning as lovie let it slip this morning about us being ‘special friends’ and beth promised me she would tell anyone” alessia explained as a loud laugh came from leah as alessia twisted a face at her girlfriend.

“wow, she kept that secret for a while!” leah joked as alessia hummed her eyes widening. “didn’t she!”

“no like she did, i’m surprised it’s taken four hours to do its rounds!” leah said seriously as a small nod of the head and giggle came from alessia as she’d finished packing up.

“well i better go and see what the two children are doing in my car!” alessia smiled as leah was now the one to look at alessia with a strange look.

“two children? i thought you only had one?”

“that was a joke le- lovie and vic are waiting in my car” alessia cleared up the confusion as it dawned on leah. alessia pecking her on the lips before leah waved her goodbye, telling her other half that she’d meet her at home a little later on.

[urdreamydoodles]

Can you please make an X-Men with a goth reader?? With Logan, Scott, Remy, Rogue, Pietro, etc.

We need more x men that can handle a goth baddie 😭🙏

X-Men x Goth!Reader

How the X-Men react to their gothic s/o

Wrapped in dark elegance, your presence is a mystery, a shadow that moves beside them.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Bobby Drake, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Laura Kinney & Wade Wilson

Oh my god, thank you for this prompt. I hadn't thought of that yet, and now I'm in love. (And yes, the X-Men need a goth baddie) Hope you like it <3

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- Logan was immediately intrigued by your dark, edgy look. He’s always appreciated individuality, and your gothic style is no exception. There’s a look of quiet admiration in his eyes whenever you’re dressed up in dark attire, heavy eyeliner, and your signature accessories. He finds it a refreshing contrast to his own rugged appearance, and there’s a glint in his eye every time he sees you dressed to the nines in your gothic style.

- Despite his rough-and-tumble nature, Logan has a soft spot for taking care of you when you’re adjusting your outfit or fixing your makeup. He’s rough with his own appearance but becomes surprisingly delicate if you need him to hold a pin, help fasten a corset, or even steady your eyeliner in a moving vehicle. Logan finds a sort of pride in your style and will gruffly mutter about how you don’t need any of it to look “kickass” — though he never actually tells you to change.

- Logan has always been a bit protective, but seeing you in such unique attire intensifies that instinct. Whether you’re out in public or at a party with other mutants, he’s hyper-aware of anyone staring too long or making a comment. Anyone who tries to criticize or judge your appearance will face Logan’s steely glare, and if anyone dares to say something unkind, Logan will growl out a curt, “Watch your mouth.”

- Logan takes you on adventures in the forest, where your aesthetic is at home against dark trees, shadows, and the moonlight casting a pale glow. He notices the way your love of all things dark blends so well with nature, and he’ll sometimes surprise you with gifts like black roses or unique stones that he finds during his travels. There’s an unspoken connection between his wild spirit and your gothic beauty, and he feels that keenly.

- In private, Logan can’t help but be a little captivated by you. When you’re together, he takes a moment to admire you in the shadows, noticing the details in your clothing, jewelry, and makeup. He’ll run his fingers over your darkened nails or twirl a piece of your hair, finding the gothic aesthetic mysterious and alluring. He may be a man of few words, but the way he looks at you says it all.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- Remy was charmed from the moment he saw your gothic look. He’s always been drawn to unique personalities, and your dark, striking style caught his attention immediately. He’s often complimenting your bold choices and teasingly asks if you’re trying to cast a spell on him with your bewitching look. Every time you add something new to your ensemble, he’s the first to notice and give an enthusiastic approval.

- Remy loves accessorizing and will often gift you trinkets and jewelry that he thinks match your aesthetic. He has an eye for detail and will go out of his way to find vintage rings, unique chokers, or bracelets that fit right into your gothic wardrobe. Sometimes he’ll even joke that he “borrowed” it from a wealthy socialite, adding a bit of thrill to each item he gives you.

- Whenever you’re out together, Remy makes it clear to everyone around that he’s proud to be by your side. He doesn’t mind being the center of attention, and he revels in the way people stare at the two of you together. Your gothic style, paired with his smooth Cajun charm, makes you both an irresistible sight, and he absolutely loves the dramatic effect you create as a couple.

- Remy isn’t shy about getting involved in your look either. He’ll sometimes join you in wearing darker colors, occasionally adding a dark coat or some subtle accessories to match your aesthetic. And whenever you put on darker lipstick or smudged eyeliner, he’s quick to lean in, smirking and saying, “Chere, you tryin’ to make a bad boy outta me?” before sneaking a kiss and smudging your lipstick.

- At the end of the day, Remy loves the way your dark, bold look contrasts with his playful nature. In private moments, he’ll trace his fingers over your jewelry or adjust your lace gloves, smiling in admiration. There’s something about your mysterious beauty that makes him feel even more protective and infatuated, and he’ll often pull you close, murmuring about how he’s got a taste for danger — and you’re exactly his type.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- Kurt is utterly enchanted by your gothic style. To him, it’s a beautiful form of self-expression, and he admires your ability to embrace it so wholeheartedly. His own appearance has always set him apart, and your willingness to stand out with your unique look makes him feel seen and appreciated. He’ll often tell you how striking you look, calling you his “dark angel.”

- While Kurt’s aesthetic might be different, he secretly loves trying out some gothic-inspired touches when he’s with you. Whether it’s a spiked bracelet, a dark cloak, or even dabbling with black nail polish (after much convincing), he’s open to stepping out of his usual look to match your vibe, finding it fun and endearing to share in your aesthetic.

- Kurt is deeply respectful of your style, and he’s fascinated by the meaning behind the gothic elements you choose. He’ll eagerly ask about your jewelry, your makeup, or why you love dark colors. He listens intently to your answers, often seeing your look as a form of art and self-expression. He sees beauty in everything you do, and that extends deeply to your appearance.

- When you’re both out together, Kurt keeps an arm protectively around you, teleporting you out of crowds if he senses anyone staring too much. He knows how judgmental people can be, and he wants you to feel as comfortable and safe as possible. He’ll often take you on night-time adventures, leaping across rooftops with you in his arms, knowing you’ll love the thrill of the city under moonlight.

- Kurt loves your aesthetic so much that he’s inspired to draw you. When he has free time, you’ll catch him sketching in his notebook, creating little drawings of you in various gothic outfits. He never tells you about it until you find his sketches by accident, blushing furiously when you compliment his work. He’d say shyly, “Vhy wouldn’t I vish to capture such beauty?”

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- Scott’s first reaction to your gothic style is one of quiet fascination. As someone who’s usually by the book, he’s intrigued by how unapologetically yourself you are. He’s not exactly one for bold fashion statements, but he admires your confidence and individuality, often finding himself silently captivated by your unique look. He might not say it often, but his lingering glances are unmistakable.

- Scott quickly becomes a bit protective when you’re out in public, especially if people stare or make comments. He’s the type to subtly position himself between you and any potential gawkers, his arm hovering near yours in a quiet but firm show of solidarity. He respects your aesthetic completely, and he doesn’t tolerate any negativity directed your way.

- While Scott may not share your love for gothic fashion, he’ll still make an effort to understand it. He’s the type to do his research and might even surprise you with knowledge about gothic subculture, books, or art. He takes your interests seriously and often engages in thoughtful conversations, eager to understand the things you’re passionate about.

- Although Scott isn’t one for grand gestures, he’s deeply supportive in his own quiet way. He’ll surprise you with thoughtful little gifts—perhaps a book by a gothic author you admire or a vintage item he thinks would suit your style. His love language might be subtle, but he’s always thinking of ways to show his appreciation for the things that make you unique.

- Behind closed doors, Scott’s admiration for your gothic look becomes a little more apparent. He’s endlessly fascinated by the contrast between his own controlled, structured personality and your bold, mysterious beauty. He’ll sometimes run his fingers through your hair, admiring the way it frames your face, and he’ll tell you in his own reserved way just how much he’s in awe of you.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- Jean is fascinated by your gothic style and sees it as a beautiful, creative way to express yourself. She finds herself admiring the little details in your attire, the dark layers, intricate jewelry, and the way it all complements your personality. Her curiosity often leads her to ask about your fashion choices, eager to understand what each piece means to you.

- Being empathetic and open-minded, Jean appreciates how you embrace a style that isn’t necessarily “mainstream.” She’ll often compliment you, giving you a gentle smile and reminding you that she loves your unique style. She finds it refreshingly bold and admires how it reflects your inner strength and individuality. Jean occasionally likes to join you in trying out darker makeup or accessories to match your aesthetic, finding the experience fun and bonding.

- Jean’s powers make her sensitive to people’s thoughts, and she’s hyper-aware of the judgmental looks or whispers when you’re both out in public. She’s quick to reassure you telepathically, sending you warm, encouraging thoughts if she senses any discomfort from you. Her presence always feels like a supportive, silent reminder that she’s by your side, and she has a way of making you feel completely understood.

- Sometimes, she’ll surprise you with little gifts that fit your gothic style—a delicate black pendant she found, a book of poetry she thinks you’ll love, or a flower carefully chosen to match your look. Jean’s attentiveness shows in every thoughtful gesture, and she genuinely enjoys finding ways to make you feel cherished and accepted.

- Jean often finds herself captivated by the way your gothic aesthetic contrasts with her own. In private moments, she’ll softly tell you how beautiful and mysterious you look, her gaze filled with admiration. She’ll gently brush a strand of hair from your face, whispering about how she feels lucky to be with someone as unique and bold as you.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

- Rogue adores your gothic style and finds it incredibly cool. She’s all about breaking the mold, so seeing you embrace a bold, dark aesthetic instantly impresses her. She’s the type to playfully nudge you and say, “You look killer, sugah,” whenever you put together a particularly striking look, and she often asks for style tips to incorporate some gothic elements into her own outfits.

- She loves joining you in shopping trips for gothic clothes and accessories. Rogue has a thing for statement pieces herself, so she’s always on the lookout for something edgy that could match both of your styles. She’s especially drawn to things like dark leather jackets, silver rings, and anything that screams “rebellious”—finding it exciting to shop with someone who has a taste for the unconventional.

- Rogue has a protective streak and won’t stand for anyone disrespecting you or making you feel out of place. If someone stares too long or makes a comment, Rogue has no problem giving them a sharp, intimidating glare. She’s fiercely defensive of your right to express yourself, and she’ll always make sure you feel comfortable and safe being yourself around her.

- Your gothic look and overall vibe sometimes make her feel a bit soft around you, and she loves that. Rogue admires your confidence and how you carry yourself, and she’s grateful for the quiet strength she feels from being with you. Sometimes, when it’s just the two of you, she’ll sit close and tell you how she feels like she’s found a kindred spirit in you—someone who isn’t afraid to stand out.

- In private, Rogue is endlessly affectionate and attentive. She loves taking in all the little details, like how you accessorize or the particular makeup you wear. She’ll sometimes brush her gloved hand across your cheek, marveling at how stunning you look and making you feel like you’re the only person in the world. With you, she can be her true, unfiltered self, and she’s grateful for that.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- Erik is immediately intrigued by your gothic aesthetic. He’s a person of elegance and sophistication, but he appreciates when someone dares to be different. He’ll often give you a thoughtful once-over, his piercing gaze lingering on you in silent admiration. Though he doesn’t say much at first, he finds himself fascinated by your unique look and style.

- Erik’s keen intellect often leads him to inquire about the historical roots of the gothic subculture, and he listens intently as you explain its influences. He sees a lot of strength in your choice to embrace a bold, non-conformist style and has a profound respect for your commitment to your aesthetic. He’ll occasionally surprise you with antique jewelry or rare finds that match your taste, finding a sort of thrill in choosing gifts you’ll treasure.

- When you’re out together, Erik is a silent but powerful presence, always by your side and subtly protective. Anyone who dares look down on you or make a judgmental comment will quickly find themselves on the receiving end of his steely glare. He values self-expression and has no patience for those who would try to undermine yours, making it very clear that he respects you fully and will tolerate no less from others.

- He has a refined appreciation for your style, often drawing parallels between it and his own preference for timeless, dignified looks. In private, he’ll run a hand over a piece of your jewelry or trace his fingers along the intricate details of your clothes, remarking in a low voice about how well it all suits you. He finds your appearance mesmerizing and genuinely enjoys the aura of mystery you bring with you.

- Erik doesn’t often show vulnerability, but with you, he finds himself at ease. He admires how your gothic style reflects resilience, a quality he holds dear, and he sees in you a kindred spirit—a reminder of strength in individuality. When it’s just the two of you, he’ll quietly express how he feels lucky to have found someone who embraces the world with such fierce independence.

Bobby Drake aka. Iceman

- Bobby is absolutely fascinated by your gothic style. As someone who’s always been a bit playful and lighthearted, he finds your dark, brooding aesthetic to be thrillingly different from anything he’s used to. He’ll often tease you affectionately, calling you his “goth queen” or “dark angel” in that playful way only he can pull off, genuinely admiring your commitment to the look.

- He’s endlessly curious about your fashion choices and will often ask questions about the different elements of your style, from the jewelry to the makeup. Bobby isn’t afraid to experiment either—sometimes you’ll catch him jokingly trying on your rings or attempting your dark eyeliner just for laughs. He loves getting you to crack a smile, even if it means looking a little ridiculous himself.

- Bobby is all about hyping you up in public. He finds your look incredibly cool and will proudly show you off whenever you’re together. If people give you weird looks, he’ll throw an arm around your shoulder and declare, “Yeah, that’s my goth babe—jealous?” His lighthearted energy brings a fun dynamic to your relationship, making you feel completely accepted for who you are.

- Despite his own upbeat personality, Bobby finds your gothic aesthetic deeply captivating. He’s fascinated by how well it reflects your personality, and he often jokes about being “entranced” by your dark, mysterious look. Sometimes, he’ll even ask if you could show him a bit more about the gothic subculture, genuinely interested in learning about something that means so much to you.

- In quiet moments, Bobby is surprisingly thoughtful, admiring your makeup or your choice of accessories in a way that’s tender and sincere. He’ll tell you that you look amazing and that he’s lucky to have someone so unique and bold by his side. Beneath all his jokes, there’s a deep respect for your individuality, and he genuinely loves how your gothic aesthetic adds a layer of mystery and allure to your relationship.

Wanda Maximoff aka. The Scarlet Witch

- Wanda is deeply drawn to your gothic aesthetic and feels an immediate kinship with you. She’s familiar with the feeling of being different, of standing apart, so she instantly understands your choice to embrace a darker look. She loves how your style is unapologetically you and finds comfort in how it resonates with the magic and mystery she herself embodies.

- Wanda is genuinely captivated by the intricacies of your look. She’ll admire the subtle details—maybe a delicate, ornate ring or a shadowed makeup look that speaks to your artistry. Sometimes she’ll playfully use her magic to make a small dark aura shimmer around you, a soft, enchanted touch to match your aesthetic. It’s her way of embracing your uniqueness and showing that she appreciates every part of you.

- When you’re both out together, she’s proud to be seen by your side. If people stare or pass judgment, Wanda doesn’t let it affect her. She’ll take your hand and give you a knowing smile, her quiet confidence making you feel fully accepted. Her serene presence has a calming effect, and you know you’re safe with her, free to be yourself without any need to explain or justify.

- Wanda loves sharing her own story with you, talking about the darker aspects of her past and the magic that’s sometimes misunderstood by others. She feels like you understand her struggles and admires how your gothic style speaks to resilience and defiance. Sometimes, she’ll create small magical gifts for you—a necklace that glows faintly with enchantment or a rose that never wilts, gestures to show her affection and appreciation for who you are.

- In private, she’s incredibly gentle and open, drawn to how your darker style balances her sometimes chaotic world. Wanda will often express how much she cherishes you, how your individuality and strength help her feel more grounded. She finds comfort in your presence, and there’s a deep, almost otherworldly bond that connects you both, as if she’s found a piece of herself in you.

Pietro Maximoff aka. Quicksilver

- Pietro is absolutely fascinated by your gothic look and finds it incredibly cool. He’s the type to whistle and tease you, calling you his “gothic queen” or “dark angel” with a big, proud grin. Your style is so different from his fast-paced, casual vibe, and he loves how it sets you apart from everyone else he knows.

- He loves showing you off and finds joy in watching other people’s reactions when they see you two together. Pietro has a protective streak, so if anyone gives you a weird look or mutters a snide comment, he’s quick to shut them down with a snappy comeback. He’s proud of your unique style and makes it known that he wouldn’t want you any other way.

- Pietro’s energy is a fun contrast to your aesthetic, and he often makes it his mission to get you to crack a smile. Whether it’s by jokingly trying on your dark lipstick or attempting your makeup style (usually ending up with eyeliner everywhere), he’s always trying to bring some lightheartedness into your day. He loves that your seriousness balances him out, and he always feels like his life is a bit more exciting with you in it.

- He’s incredibly curious about all things gothic and will often ask questions about your music, style, or favorite bands. Sometimes, he’ll surprise you by blasting one of your favorite gothic rock songs while you’re together, just to show he’s been paying attention. He’s always eager to learn more about what makes you tick and is genuinely interested in understanding the darker elements of your personality.

- In quieter moments, Pietro will tell you how lucky he feels to be with someone who’s so unapologetically themselves. He’s a bit of a show-off, but around you, he’s sincere, openly admiring the depth you bring to his life. He loves the contrast between your mysterious vibe and his vibrant personality, and he feels like you’re his perfect opposite, bringing balance to his world.

Laura Kinney aka. X-23 / Wolverine

- Laura’s first reaction to your gothic style is quiet fascination. She’s not one to comment much on appearances, but she admires how self-assured you seem with your unique look. She respects individuality, and your dark aesthetic quickly becomes something she associates with strength and resilience—a reminder that you’re someone who can stand out and face the world on your own terms.

- She’s very protective of you, especially if you’re out together and encounter anyone who looks down on your style. Laura doesn’t tolerate any disrespect, and if she senses anyone judging you, they’ll get a deadly glare. Your relationship with Laura is based on mutual respect, and she’ll go out of her way to make sure you’re never made to feel lesser because of how you look.

- Laura isn’t one for big gestures, but she shows her affection in small, meaningful ways. If she notices a new accessory or makeup look, she’ll give you a subtle nod of approval or say, “You look nice.” It’s her way of showing that she notices the little things and that she values the care you put into your style. Occasionally, she’ll even ask for your input if she wants to try something different with her look, trusting your judgment.

- Sometimes, Laura’s curiosity gets the better of her, and she’ll sit with you to ask questions about the gothic subculture. She respects that there’s a deeper meaning behind your aesthetic, and learning about your interests helps her feel closer to you. She listens intently, taking in every word with her characteristic seriousness, and it’s clear she appreciates the passion you have for your style.

- When it’s just the two of you, Laura lets her guard down and shows a softer side, often complimenting you in her own way. She’ll tell you that you’re “different from anyone else,” and coming from her, it’s the highest praise. With Laura, you know you’re accepted fully, and she values the unique presence you bring to her life, finding comfort and strength in the dark beauty that defines you.

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

- Wade is absolutely thrilled by your gothic style and finds it ridiculously cool. He’s the type to immediately start calling you his “dark and mysterious love,” and he’s not shy about showing you off. He’ll take you anywhere and everywhere, proudly bragging to anyone who’ll listen about how awesome you look. He loves that your aesthetic stands out and often tries to “match” you in his own chaotic way.

- Being Wade, he’s constantly trying to make you laugh, especially since your serious demeanor intrigues him. He’ll crack jokes, do silly impressions, and make exaggerated compliments about how you’re his “queen of darkness.” He’s always trying to get a smile out of you, relishing the challenge of breaking through your stoic exterior, and finds it endlessly amusing when he actually succeeds.

- Wade also loves dressing up to match your gothic look on occasion, though his interpretations are… creative. He’ll try on dark makeup or leather jackets and end up looking like a rock star from the 80s. Despite how outlandish he looks, his attempts are always genuine, and he adores the way your aesthetic complements his unpredictable personality.

- Wade is surprisingly sensitive to how the world judges appearances and takes it personally if anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way. He’s fiercely defensive of your right to express yourself and will launch into a full-fledged speech about how amazing you are, shutting down any naysayers with his trademark over-the-top theatrics. With Wade, you know you’ll always be celebrated for exactly who you are.

- In private, Wade will tell you how he admires the confidence and mystery you carry with your style. Beneath his antics, there’s a genuine admiration for your strength and individuality. He’ll hold your hand, make eye contact, and tell you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, adding with a smirk, “Even if you look like you might summon a demon any second.” It’s his way of saying he’s completely smitten, and he loves you just as you are.

[etheries1015]

Lilia unable to fall in love again after what he's been through is a gold star S+ tier, but I raise you:

Canon Lilia realizing he's falling in love again and being terrified by it

Oh my gosh this HURTS!! worse than him not being able to fall in love again!! Anon, my love, why must you break my heart!

They are referring to this <-

The moment Lilia realizes he's falling in love with you, he almost mistakes it for chest pains of an aging man. He grasps at his shirt in which his heart lay beneath pounding erratically, his stomach a war of sharp-winged butterflies.

Fate is truly a mysterious thing, for as time went on with you often providing company to the elderly fae, he noticed the small things that began to change.

The way your smile made his heart skip a beat at times, and your laugh becoming for more sweeter than he remembered, He found himself going out of his way to make you laugh. That mellifluous laugh left his heart racing at the simple thought that it elicited your beautiful lips because of him. He noticed the changes in the way he found himself wanting to tell you important things first- how you were the first person he would text after receiving an amazing bonus in his video game or a rare item, or simply to rant about some drama happening around him.

He wasn't sure when exactly he decided to choose you as his go-to, when he cooks it's no longer Silver as his testing dummy, but you. Whenever he found an old history book from his past he felt compelled to open up to you, taking note of how cute you were as you stared so attentively at his rambling and gestures. It soon came to the point where he thought that if you were to go home, he would be...

heartbroken.

He realized this change all at once when he leaned against his desk and gazed at you with eyes lidded and a satisfying smile as you flashed your signature smile. It wasn't a particular thought, per se, but an instantaneous feeling of absolute dread. His hand fell from holding his head up and red eyes widened, now staring at you no longer with the gaze of a smitten man, but the pale and dreadful expression of someone who was utterly terrified. His hands began to tremble as he flashed a smile that was so obviously painted and excused himself, crashing into his room hyperventilating.

With tears streaming down his cheeks and hands pulling at his hair, Lilia stared in the mirror watching himself pathetically come undone as he fell to his knees and began to hold his burning chest.

"Not again," He choked out

"I can't do this again."

He tried to convince himself of every possible path that would allow him an out to this feeling, describing you as someone he simply doted on, or perhaps his age getting to him. However, fate is as cruel as it is beautiful, and eventually, he had to accept the fact that he had fallen hopelessly in love.

And he hadn't felt more hopelessly petrified at the notion.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: “Too Much Skin”

You hadn't meant to make a statement.

Honestly, you barely thought about the shorts when you tugged them on backstage, rushing to change out of the too-hot jeans you'd arrived in. They were simple—denim, soft from years of wear, a little frayed at the hem. You didn’t wear them to show off. You wore them because they were comfortable and you didn’t expect anyone to look at you twice.

You always tried to blend in. Stay in the wings. Be his support, not part of the spectacle.

But somehow, that night, you became part of the show.

You stood side stage while Marshall moved like a storm across it, sweat glistening on his neck, crowd roaring with every syllable. You always loved watching him like this. Focused. Unfiltered. Alive.

You swayed a little to the beat, sipping water, thinking about absolutely nothing until a flash from someone’s camera hit your eyes. You squinted, startled—but you were used to that. Fans always caught glimpses of the people around him. You turned your face, let it pass.

What you didn’t see was the angle. What you didn’t know was that your leg was bent just enough, and your shorts were riding just high enough, to reveal the mark he’d left on the inside of your thigh that morning.

It wasn’t meant to show. You hadn’t even thought about it. You didn’t think anyone would ever get that close.

By the time you and Marshall made it back to the hotel, you noticed your phone vibrating like crazy. Dozens of texts, mentions, tags. You frowned, swiped to unlock.

The photo was everywhere. Crystal clear. A perfect image of you standing just beyond the stage lights, biting your lip, one leg cocked, and a very distinct purple bruise decorating your pale skin. His mark. His signature.

You felt your face burn.

“Oh my God.”

You turned the phone toward Marshall, who blinked at it like he couldn’t process what he was seeing.

“…That’s hot,” he said eventually, breaking into a slow, wicked grin. “You mad?”

“I’m mortified!”

He laughed—really laughed—and pulled you into his chest like it was the funniest thing in the world. “They’re just jealous,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re mine. I don’t give a fuck if they know it.”

You looked up at him, scowling, but your chest warmed anyway.

“I just… I wasn’t trying to be seen.”

He held your face in both hands, gaze softening. “I know. That’s what makes it so good.”

You groaned into his hoodie. “I can never wear shorts again.”

“Oh, babe,” he said, already reaching for his phone, “You definitely have to wear them again.”

You tried to smack him. He kissed your temple and kept scrolling.

---

You didn’t check Twitter for a week.

Okay, that’s a lie. You checked it once—on day two—curious to see if it had blown over.

It hadn’t.

Not only was the picture still floating around, it was edited. Meme-ified. Zoomed-in. Cropped. Someone even added one of those fake TMZ-style headlines:

“Slim Shady’s Wife Wearing Slim Shorts—and He’s Leaving Marks.”

You nearly threw your phone in the sink.

Marshall thought it was hilarious.

“Yo, you see this one?” he snorted, waving his phone in front of your face as you tried to disappear into your hoodie.

“I’m not looking at anything,” you grumbled, pulling the hood tighter.

“It’s got a red circle and everything. Like it’s Bigfoot.”

You groaned. “I am Bigfoot. I’m never leaving the house again.”

He laughed so hard he coughed, flopping dramatically on the couch beside you. “This is your villain origin story, huh?”

You didn’t respond. Just buried your face in a throw pillow and waited for the world to forget.

But the world didn’t forget.

Some fans were supportive.

“LET HER LIVE”

“She’s literally married to Marshall, what did y’all think was gonna happen?”

Others were more intense.

“I would pass out if my man did that.”

“Queen of quiet flex.”

“My Roman Empire.”

You nearly screamed. You showed Marshall one of those comments and he didn’t stop grinning for half an hour.

“You’re trending, baby,” he teased. “Didn’t think I’d have to be jealous of my own hickey.”

You smacked his arm. He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles like he hadn’t just caused a small internet meltdown.

For the next show, you wore sweatpants. Full coverage. Hoodie tied around your waist. Baseball cap low.

“Going incognito?” one of the crew asked with a smirk.

You nodded seriously. “I am a shadow.”

Marshall just leaned over and whispered in your ear, “I liked the shorts better.”

You glared at him. “I swear to God, if you even look at my thighs tonight…”

He leaned back, held his hands up innocently. “Hey. Not my fault you’re hot.”

But his smirk said otherwise.

---

You thought it was over.

The original photo had run its course. The memes had faded. You’d gone back to blending in—hoodies, longer hemlines, careful sitting positions when cameras were around. The internet had moved on to some beef between two rappers you didn’t know. You were safe.

Until someone posted a TikTok titled:

“This Is Not the First Time: A Hickey History (Eminem Edition)”

And it had slides.

The first was the recent one—inner thigh, show night, crisp and scandalous.

But then came others.

One from three months ago, when you’d worn a slouchy tank top backstage and leaned down to grab a water bottle. A mark just under your collarbone.

One from a paparazzi shot—barely visible, but there, along your jaw.

One from a grainy fan pic, where you’d worn a dress and sat beside Marshall in the wings. A purpling bruise blooming behind your knee.

Each image zoomed. Highlighted. Frozen in time. With captions like:

“Another one??? Bro.”

“Marshall said THIS ONE’S MINE.”

“Every time she wears skin, he leaves receipts.”

By the time the TikTok hit 4 million views, the phrase “Eminem marking kink” started trending on Twitter.

You stared at your phone in disbelief.

“No. No, no, no.”

Marshall peeked over your shoulder, toothbrush in his mouth, then started laughing. Choking, even.

“I told you they’d find more,” he said around a mouthful of foam.

“You KNEW this would happen?”

He shrugged, totally unbothered, spitting into the sink. “You bruise easy, babe. Not my fault.”

You smacked his arm. “This is humiliating!”

“This is awesome,” he corrected, grinning wide. “I’m trending again and I didn’t even drop an album.”

“You’re trending because people think you have a kink for biting me.”

He leaned against the bathroom doorframe, smirking like he was proud of himself. “Do I deny it? Or give them more content?”

“MARSHALL!”

The comments weren’t helping either.

“He’s a BITER and a LOVER. Iconic.”

“Me if I was married to him? I’d have bruises shaped like Michigan.”

“Eminem’s love language is claiming his girl like a werewolf. And honestly? Respect.”

You turned off your phone and didn’t turn it back on for two days.

Later that week, you caught Marshall scrolling through fan posts, smirking to himself.

“They’re calling me a vampire now,” he muttered, amused. “Should I get you a shirt that says ‘Property of Count Slim’?”

You just groaned and sank into the couch. “Remind me why I married you again?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Because you’re mine.”

He leaned down and kissed your neck, deliberately slow. “And I mark what’s mine.”

---

It started as a joke.

Or at least you thought it was a joke.

After the TikToks, the memes, the fan theories, and the small avalanche of DMs asking “are the bruises real?”—you figured Marshall would back off a bit. Maybe give you a few weeks of bite-free affection. Let things settle.

Instead, he doubled down.

It started subtle. You’d be getting dressed for a show and he’d catch you in the mirror, eyeing your outfit, tugging at a hem.

Then he’d wander up behind you, mouth brushing your shoulder as he murmured, “Gonna wear that onstage?”

You’d nod, already suspicious. “Yeah. Why?”

And he’d smile against your skin.

“No reason.”

That should have been your warning.

The first time he did it on purpose, he left one on your hip.

You didn’t even realize it showed until someone posted a zoomed-in photo from the side of the stage with the caption:

“he’s doing it again.”

Then came the neck. You’d worn your hair up that night. It was unmistakable.

Trending again.

“Marshall’s gone feral.”

“How does she walk???”

“He treats her like a walking canvas and I respect that.”

You were losing the battle.

“You are doing this on purpose!” you hissed one night, jabbing your finger into his chest while he casually scrolled through your mentions like they were sports highlights.

“Me?” he asked, all fake innocence. “Babe, I’m just loving my wife.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Loving your wife doesn’t usually involve being an international hickey headline.”

He leaned back on the bed, arms behind his head, grinning. “Can’t help it if you taste good.”

“MARSHALL!”

He laughed, grabbed you by the waist, and pulled you down on top of him like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Relax. You’re famous now.”

“I don’t want to be famous.”

He kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then lower. “Too late, sweetheart. You’re my muse.”

You tried layering. Scarves. Concealer. Strategic lighting. Nothing worked.

He always found a new spot. Somewhere just out of reach, just visible enough, like he was planning it. And by the time the next photo went viral, he’d just look at you and shrug like, “Oops.”

Eventually, you stopped fighting it. Mostly because your defenses crumbled every time he murmured “mine” against your skin.

At the next show, a fan yelled “LET’S SEE THE HICKEY” during his set.

He didn’t miss a beat. Just looked toward side stage with that cocky little smirk and said into the mic:

“She’s covered up tonight. I got her good yesterday.”

The crowd lost it.

You covered your face and threatened to never speak to him again.

He sent you flowers that night with a card that read:

“Still trending. Love, your bitey husband.”

---

You were folding laundry when the thought hit you.

Not a slow, creeping realization—more like a slap in the face. One second you were matching socks, the next you were blinking at your thigh, the faint outline of another bruise just barely peeking from your shorts.

This one was from two nights ago. He’d caught you coming out of the shower, tugged you into the hallway, and kissed a path down your hip like he couldn’t help himself. It had been fast. Familiar. Gentle, but with teeth.

It was always with teeth.

And then it hit you:

Oh my God. He’s not just playing into the bit. He likes it.

Like… really likes it.

You froze, towel in hand, and said aloud to the empty room: “Does Marshall have a marking kink?”

The silence said yes.

You tried to brush it off. You really did.

But now it was all you could think about. The way he always smirked when you winced in the mirror the next morning. The way he aimed now—choosing spots that would show just enough. The low rumble in his chest every time he saw fan posts freaking out over the latest bruise.

You remembered the way his hands gripped you tighter when you flinched. How his voice dropped when he said mine.

Oh God. You’d married a man with a marking kink and didn’t realize it for twenty years.

When you finally confronted him, it wasn’t exactly a carefully planned moment. You were brushing your teeth in your sleep shirt, pacing in front of the bathroom mirror.

“Marshall,” you said suddenly, toothbrush still in hand. “Do you have a marking kink?”

He looked up from his phone on the bed, blinked at you, then started laughing. Hard.

You stared at him, foaming at the mouth, half-offended. “What’s funny??”

He just shook his head, grinning like he was genuinely delighted.

“Baby,” he said between laughs, “it took you twenty years to figure that out?”

You spat your toothpaste out like it was betrayal. “YOU NEVER TOLD ME!”

“I didn’t think I had to,” he said, standing and walking toward you. “You never stopped me.”

“I thought you were just… aggressive!”

“I am aggressive. Especially about you.”

You crossed your arms. “That’s not a defense.”

He leaned down, arms sliding around your waist, voice low in your ear. “What can I say? I like seeing my mouth on you.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

“Okay, stop talking,” you muttered, face burning.

He kissed your jaw gently—no teeth, just warmth.

“…You mad?”

You sighed. “No. Just… confused. Do I have a thing now? Are we a thing?”

He smirked. “Oh yeah. We’re definitely a thing.”

Later that night, as you climbed into bed and tugged the covers over your hips, he glanced over and said casually:

“Turn the light on. I need to pick my spot for tomorrow.”

You threw a pillow at his face. He caught it. And laughed like it was the best day of his life.

---

It was like a switch flipped.

You saw it everywhere now.

Not just the bruises. Not just the now-infamous hickeys fans tracked like they were decoding a map. No—now that you knew, you couldn’t not see the dozens of little ways Marshall marked you. Ways he always had. You just hadn’t noticed until now.

It was in the way he always chose your perfume.

The same bottle, worn down to the last few sprays. He never said he liked it, but he always noticed when you tried a different one.

“You smell different,” he’d murmur against your neck.

Every single time.

It was in the way he put his hoodie on you before he’d wear it himself. Even backstage, even at home. He’d slip it over your shoulders first, like claiming you in fabric. You’d catch him later wearing the same one, and he’d act like it was coincidence. It wasn’t. You knew that now.

It was in how he’d guide you with a hand on your lower back when walking through crowds. How he stood behind you in photos, fingers resting lightly on your hip, like he needed people to see the connection. His silent, steady way of saying mine without a single word.

It was the way he kissed you before every show. Without fail. Not rushed, not just for luck—but full-bodied, hand at your neck, lips lingering. Like he needed to remind you before he stepped into the spotlight.

You sat with it one night, curled up beside him on the couch, phone on mute as some old horror movie played. He was half-asleep, thumb lazily tracing patterns along your knee.

And you thought: He’s been doing this the whole time.

Maybe not always with teeth.

But always with intent.

With claim.

With love that didn’t need announcing—just traces.

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “You really like it,” you said quietly.

He didn’t pretend not to understand.

His hand paused, then squeezed your thigh. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I do.”

“Why?”

He turned his head a little, thoughtful. “I like knowing I was there. That you felt me.” His voice dropped lower. “That the world sees it too.”

You didn’t speak for a second. The words sat heavy and hot in your chest.

“And if I don’t want the world to see it?”

He glanced at you. Not a flinch, not a flicker of disappointment. Just honesty.

“Then I’ll leave ‘em where only you know.”

That night, he kissed his name onto your skin like a secret.

High on your ribs.

Inside your thigh.

Behind your ear.

All the places only you could feel in the quiet.

---

It started slow. Quiet.

Like the way a favorite song fades out before you realize it’s over. You didn’t notice the difference at first—not when it came with a kiss, or a lingering touch, or a playful remark. Marshall was still Marshall. Still yours.

But the bruises stopped showing up.

At first, you thought maybe he was being careful. Respectful. Thoughtful after your little meltdown about trending over a thigh hickey and fans shipping you with his teeth.

You’d laughed, curled into his chest, said something like, “Let’s not give them too much material this month.”

He’d kissed your hair and hummed, “Yeah, alright.”

And just like that… he stopped.

No new marks bloomed behind your knee after late-night teasing. No gentle pressure of his mouth under your jaw. His kisses were still soft, still full—but they no longer lingered with intent. His hands were still everywhere, but they didn’t grip anymore.

He’d gotten more subtle.

Scarves. Neck kisses without teeth. Hugs in public instead of the way he used to pull you into his side like he was warning the room.

There was still love. Still affection. But the claiming was gone.

And you missed it.

It hit you hardest one morning when you stood in the mirror, fresh out of the shower, and realized your skin was clear. Completely. Not a single trace of him anywhere.

Not one mark.

Not one bruise.

Not one kiss that still stung in the best way.

You touched your neck absently, your fingertips brushing over nothing.

And your chest ached.

He was still playful. Still gave you the middle seat on the plane and brought you coffee before interviews. Still slept with a hand splayed over your stomach, as if instinctively keeping you close.

But you noticed the difference.

How he paused more often before touching you in front of people.

How he held back a comment once during a fan Q&A, biting his tongue when someone joked about "leaving evidence."

How he stopped smiling when you scrolled past the edits.

You’d told him once you didn’t want to be famous.

And maybe… maybe he believed you.

But now, all you could think was—

Did I make him stop?

Did I tell him to quiet something that made him feel like himself?

You missed the sting of his mouth against your collarbone.

Missed the smirk he gave you after seeing a photo online.

Missed feeling marked—not just touched. Known.

You hadn’t realized how much it made you feel like his until it was gone.

That night, you curled into his side, unsure of how to bring it up.

“Marsh?”

“Mm?”

You hesitated. “You’ve been real gentle lately.”

He glanced at you, something flickering in his expression. “That a bad thing?”

“No. Just…” You traced a circle on his chest, soft. “You used to be less careful.”

Silence.

Then—his hand tightened just slightly on your hip. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind.

When he spoke, his voice was low. Rough. “You said you didn’t want the world to see it.”

You nodded slowly. “I know. But… I didn’t mean stop.”

He shifted, pulling you closer. His breath warm at your ear. “Then say it.”

You swallowed. “I miss when you left a little more of yourself behind.”

His fingers pressed into your skin, grip firm. “Yeah?”

You nodded.

And in the dark, he smiled against your throat and whispered, “Then I’ll give it back.”

---

The next morning, you didn’t expect anything to change.

You figured last night’s quiet admission would settle into something soft, slow—a gradual shift back to the version of him who left marks like whispered poems. But Marshall Mathers has never been a slow-burn kind of man.

So when you woke up, his side of the bed was empty. The coffee was already made. And there was a note on the counter in his crooked handwriting:

Don’t make plans tonight. You’re mine. —M

Your stomach flipped. Your heart did a thing.

You had no idea what he meant. But you didn’t cancel a single thing—you cleared the evening.

It started the second the front door shut behind him.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you from across the room with that look—the one that used to show up in the studio when he got a verse exactly right. Focused. Intent. A little dangerous in the best kind of way.

Then he crossed the space in three strides, backed you into the hallway wall, and kissed you like he’d been starving for it.

You gasped against his mouth. “Marsh—”

“Shut up,” he muttered, lips at your jaw. “You asked for this.”

He didn’t rush. That wasn’t his style anymore.

He was methodical. Hands sure. Mouth devastating. And when he dropped to his knees in the hallway, looking up at you like you were a prayer and a dare all at once, you realized—

This wasn’t about fan photos.

This wasn’t about trends.

This was about you. His.

He kissed your hip, dragged his mouth lower, and bit just hard enough to make you gasp.

“There,” he murmured, eyes on the skin already blooming red. “You feel that tomorrow, you’ll know who did it.”

Another mark. Inside your thigh.

One on your ribs.

One just under your breast—hidden, perfect, secret.

He worshipped you like canvas, like home, like someone he never planned to leave untouched again.

Later, curled into him under warm sheets, your skin buzzing with love and ache and heat, he kissed your temple and whispered,

“You needed to feel owned, huh?”

You nuzzled against his chest, breath unsteady. “Maybe a little.”

He chuckled. “I’ll stop holding back. I promise.”

Then, quieter:

“I didn’t think you wanted that part of me anymore.”

You looked up at him, touched his face, and said, “I want all your parts. Even the ones that leave bruises.”

His breath hitched. His mouth met yours again, slow and soft.

And somewhere inside that kiss, you felt everything settle back into place.

[murmiss]

Price's neglected daughter!Reader and kidnapper!Konig

Warning:Brief mention of kidnapping sleeping pills,swearing, possible mistakes in words, grammar. English is not my first language.I might have missed mistakes, don't be afraid to point them out to me.

Finally, everything fell into place and his daughter, his own blood, came home. The days without her seemed like hell, a meaningless confusion of days and weeks, empty and soulless moments of life. But now that Megan was back, nothing mattered. At first, when she first came home, Price insisted that she take an academic leave, but the girl was determined, and with her signature smile and the help of light words, she managed to convince her father to let her continue her studies. She knew the entire program perfectly, which sometimes confused the teachers - how could she know all this? But on the other hand, now she was fine, safe and sound.

When Megan showed up, rumors spread everywhere, and in the tiny town where they lived, calm times finally came. It was as if no one had thought about such basic things and inconsistencies as "why did Megan Price disappear and suddenly appear after almost two years? What happened to her? Where was she all this time?" Everyone seemed to be just happy that she was back.

It was as if Price had come back to life with her appearance.

Clubs, movies, melodramas, a trip out of town to an old family house by the lake? Hell, everything Megan wanted was done instantly with 100% dedication.

Is your phone acting up? No problem, we'll buy a new one, but we'll definitely install an app to track your location. Want a new dress? Order one, here's daddy's card. A party at the university? Oh no, daddy will worry and will wait for you at the university. A few words of concern enveloped Megan from all sides. Price was tracking her, the old lady next door was looking suspiciously at Megan's friend, and the salesperson at the store where Megan went every lunch to buy coffee and a candy bar from the machine, was wary of strange people who were looking at Meg.

It seemed that the entire tiny town had united and protected Megan Price from danger.

Price's colleagues were also the most defensive,

Simon became a loyal "dog" - when Price couldn't, Simon met Megan on his motorcycle. And it didn't matter that you were standing there too, that you also needed a ride home.

Gaz was tracking the location with his devices, Soap was damn busy buying expensive anatomy books, sweets or some complex and unusual wishes for Meg, meeting her after university, like the others.

And where were you? That's right, but on the same day. For some reason, from the very beginning, even your father's colleagues did not accept you, the old lady next door disliked you, considering you "the evil eye of the family", like when you were around, something went wrong with Megan.

So when you suddenly disappeared, changing places with the once missing Megan, no one paid attention. Not your father, not the neighbors, not even the teachers.

But after an indefinite amount of time, it was noticed, and it wasn't your father who noticed first, no. It was the institute. The semester was ending and the session was starting, everyone was taking exams, everything would be fine, but you still hadn't turned up. Then one of the teachers in charge of attendance turned to Megan, deciding to find out what the problem was.

Wednesday, the middle of the day, a woman, a brunette in her forties with a short haircut, dressed in a striped sweater, trousers with clearly ironed creases and patent leather shoes - Mrs. Rocks, stopped Meg, calling out to the girl in a respectful tone: "Miss Price".

Megan, hearing the voice of her philosophy teacher, was distracted, and with a smile turned around, stopping and answering: "Yes, Mrs. Rocks?"

The philosophy teacher came closer, sighing wearily from a week of paperwork. woman stared at her papers, reading the names carefully: "Harris, Bronton, Fox, oh, Price. Megan, I have a serious question for you..." Megan gasped, immediately embarrassed, her eyes still on Mrs. Rocks's speech. "The thing is, your little sister hasn't been around lately. She's had quite a few absences."

Megan sighs sadly, looks down at the floor and fidgets in one place, adjusting her backpack, saying with anxiety in her voice: "Oh, miss.. If only it were that simple.. My little sister is very ill, she is with her mother in Germany now.. We did not want to tell anyone, but it is very serious..". Woman looks up from the documents and looks at the young lady in front of her in surprise. Her heart squeezes at the thought of how hard it is for Megan and her family right now, and she, losing all sternness, replies: "I am very sorry, Miss Price.. I wish your family could get over this as soon as possible..". Woman pauses and after a few moments continues: "Your sister can send assignments by mail, e-mail. I think this will help her stay afloat for a while."

Megan smiles faintly and sincerely replies: "Thank you, Miss, your understanding is very valuable to us" and almost immediately, the girl reaches out to hug the philosophy teacher. This informal gesture was the final note of the game that Megan started. Woman, not expecting a hug, turned out to be damn upset and feeling the mother's protectiveness, the desire to help, hugged Meg back, repeating once again: "I sympathize with your family, Miss Price.."

It was already a dark night, little was clear, but you didn't want to ask questions. Chemistry, anatomy, histology and other subjects were exhausting and torturous, especially when they were difficult for you, so when Konig brought you to his house, you weren't even scared. Was he a friend of your father's? Yes, and that was enough.

The living room was quite dark, despite the light gray wallpaper. The furniture was dark, a black terry blanket was laid out on the wide sofa, and there were strange pictures of owls on the pillows. They were so stupid that you couldn't stand it, grabbed one of them and started squeezing it.

"Tea, coffee? Cherry juice, orange juice?" - you were interrupted by Konig's voice, who entered the living room, in his hands he was holding a gray plastic tray with plates of snacks. The first one, with a tiny red flower, had strawberry marshmallows, the blue flat plate had cookies with marshmallow layers, and the orange deep bowl had little fish cookies mixed in with wafers laid on top.

So delicious. Oh, your father never cared what you drank, like tea or something sweet you wanted.

"Is anyone else coming?" you ask, expecting to see his wife, maybe his girlfriend, or someone from Price's group, because the portion was too big.

"No, just us," he says, sitting down next to you, slowly, as if approaching a fawn that is about to break free and run away. Sitting down next to you, you notice his size again: he is big, an incredible mountain of muscle. He was nervously stroking his knee, holding his head up, he sat tensely, squinting at you and saying nothing. A fucking weird guy, oh well.

"Oh, yeah, right, what drink?" he immediately stands up, couch creaks under his weight, and he immediately turns to you

"tea," you interrupt, sighing tiredly and stretching out your leg, leaning back on the back of the couch and propping your head up with your hand, sitting sideways to him, stretched out like a doe.

He swallows nervously, not taking his eyes off you, but, having come to his senses, immediately heads to the kitchen. His gait was strange, his legs were shaking slightly, and his arms were dangling, as if they were separate. Before he finally disappeared, he glanced at your figure. You had already turned away, resting your head on your hands and looking boredly behind the sofa.

His palms were sweat, hands were shaking, and his head was spinning from just thinking. He took the teapot, the mug with lilies and splashed boiling water, mixing it with the tea leaves. Then he looked around again, checking where you were, and making sure that you had not moved from your place, sitting just as beautifully and perfectly, Konig reached for the sugar bowl, and damn! immediately knocking over the neighboring cans. "Fuck!" - curses flew from his lips. From nerves, he shook even more. Hearing a quiet question: "What happened?", Konig, stuttering, answers: "Everything is fine, Mein Engel." and again grabs the spoon and nervously stirs the sleeping pill, biting his lip.

"He's taking so long," flashes through your mind. You sigh tiredly and look down at your phone. "7:00 p.m." You damn well need to go home and you'll probably have to make do with cookies. You get to your feet, wanting to go home, to ask Konig to take you there, cursing under your breath - if your father notices, he'll scold you.

"Where are you going?" - a confused deep voice sounds nearby, you come to your senses almost instantly and look at him in confusion, saying: "I need to go home", to which Konig only laughs and, putting the mugs on the table, casually puts his hand on the small of your back. Light pressure is enough to make you sit back. At first you want to be indignant, but then you think again: your father wouldn't care, where are you rushing to? What are you even worried about?

"Guests shouldn't leave hungry" - he answers boldly, sitting down next to you again, this time more casually, the sofa creaks again and you jump slightly when the sofa springs from the Konig's weight.

"I thought my father would worry" - you answer, shrugging your shoulders and thoughts fly through your head about how damn stupid all this is. Konig laughs, and your cheeks flush with shame, as if he knew about your suffering, as if he was ridiculing your stupid thoughts about Price remembering you, especially now that Megan was found. You feel like a Dumbass.

You sigh for the umpteenth time, reach out and take the mug, bring it to your lips and take a small sip. The hot, sweet liquid runs down your throat, burning it, and a strange taste settles on your tongue. It must be some kind of specific, unusual tea. You look at Konig again. What a strange mask he has.

Konig smiles to himself, his hands are shaking, and his eyes are wide, as if looking into his very soul. He put on his usual hood, comfortable and hiding any strange facial expressions.

You feel relaxed, as if a heavy load fell off your shoulders in an instant. You immediately stretch your legs, reach for the tray and grab a cookie with marshmallow inside, put it in your mouth, biting off and smacking your lips with pleasure. For some reason it seemed five times tastier. You take another cookie, then a marshmallow, then you take a fish-shaped cookie and smile involuntarily.

"So funny" - you look at Konig, and he looks like stone, frozen in anticipation

For some reason you feel sleepy...

Third chapter is in progress, it will be more interesting there.I'm sorry that this chapter didn't come out for a long time.

If you need to be mentioned in the following chapters, write to me.,

@veryrawknees , @fightmebissh

Part one

[wisecura]

Nanny

SatoSugu x f!reader (I always cook too much—) Wc: 7.8k, p.2 to this p.1

summary: Isekai'd into the world of Jujutsu Kaisen, you sell yourself to the Gojo Clan in an attempt to change your favorite characters fates. You change many things, and are able to see the boys grow peacefully, yet now with them out of the clan house you find yourself in a predicament. Your arranged marriage.

AN: I will be going back through and editing this so pleaseeeee be aware and patient (not that you aren’t already 😉)

Warning: yandere, manipulation, gaslighting

Home. I should take it home.

Night had settled over the Gojo estate, casting an eerie glow over the sprawling halls and gardens.

Satoru and Suguru led you through the entrance, flanked on either side as they escorted you with a quiet, unspoken authority that left you feeling more like a captive than a guest. It'd been so long since you’ve been at the estate, making it feel far more daunting the further you came in. 

Satoru strode slightly ahead, his confident gait showing no hint of hesitation. You noticed he hadn’t bothered informing anyone of your arrival; the whole ordeal felt rushed and quiet. No one came to greet you, no one to question, not a soul in sight—you hadn’t realized just how late it had gotten. You felt your eyes grow heavy. 

“Did you....have to… bring me here tonight?” you finally asked, your voice barely more than a whisper, as if to not ripple the silence.

Satoru glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes glinting in the dim light with a flicker of something unreadable. “Um, Of course,” he replied easily. “Why waste time, hmm?” You didn’t have a response for him. Though he was faced forward his eyes seemed to glance back at you every once in a while. Ensuring you were still there. The silence stretched only for a moment. 

Suguru leaned in closer, his hand on your back, reassuring. “You know,” he murmured, his voice as calm as ever, “it’s better to get you out of there before any… unnecessary conversations start.” 

You left it at that, ignoring the prickle you felt at the back of your neck. His eyes watching for a reaction. 

The unease settled deep within you as they guided you down a narrow corridor leading to a private wing. Your old room. You hadn't seen it in so long, yet you know you left behind a few choice items. You'd have thought the clan's housemaids would have thrown your stuff away long ago, yet there wasn't an item out of place. Satoru happily walked into the room, looking around as if he hadn't spent countless hours here before. Suguru was at your back, giving you a small push forward. You hadn’t noticed you were still standing in the doorway. His hands remained on your hips as he moved you forward. 

You heard the door click shut behind you, a second faint click locking you in place. You felt the weight of their presence settle around you, tension thick and heavy. Satoru’s gaze trained on you, almost expecting. You noticed his eyes flick upwards. Somewhere behind you then back, meeting yours. Yet another wordless conversation over your head. 

“What about my husband?” The words sounded off, the word husband still so awkward coming from your lips. More so than you intended. “He’ll… he’ll notice I’m gone.”

Satoru’s mouth curved into a smile, signature smirk set in place, “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about him,” he said dismissively, waving his hand in a shooing motion. “You don’t need to think about all of that anymore.” 

Noticing your body stiffen, Suguru quickly chimed in, “We’ll take care of everything. You’re where you belong,” you noticed his hand never left your waist, his hands blazing hot, “home.” He'd done that back at your home too. Left his hands on you. And you thought Satoru was the clingy one...

The words did nothing to entirely ease you, a small shiver running up your spine. Home. 

Satoru must've picked up on your unease, “Yes. You’re home now,” Satoru murmured, an air of finality in his tone as he grabbed your arm, pulling you to sit on the edge of the bed—you’d spent so many hours here with them in the past. Except now, it felt entirely different. You couldn’t explain it. Everything looked the same: the moonlit windows, the low table, the bed nestled in the corner, your personal things perfectly intact. But with them there, standing so close, the familiarity felt... 

“We missed you,” Satoru said simply, as if this fact was resolute.  Reiterating the obvious. "I've heard," you laugh slightly, hoping to ease some of the tension. He plopped down next to you on the bed. You never thought there’d be a day you’d be so uncomfortable around your boys. Yet here you were. Maybe it was the new pet names, or maybe the new touches. Or maybe it was the fact that you went with them so willingly, leaving behind your responsibilities. You shouldn't think too hard about this, it'll only stress you out. And this universe was already so stressful without having to worry about the intentions of the two men crowding you in your previous��living space. 

You looked up at them, eyeing them both, a question slipping out before you could stop yourself. “What… what are you doing?” trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s late…I think I really just need a moment… alone.”

You catch Satoru’s mouth curving into a smile, one that danced between playful and unsettling. The stared at you, making no move to leave the room. “Alone?” he parroted, his tone light as though you’d just made a silly joke. “Come on, we’ve just missed you, that’s all.” "For old time's sake?" Suguru entreated, his voice low and persuasive, as he shifted closer to you. His dark eyes bore into yours, full of a mixture of hurt and longing. They had been inseparable for so long, and now that they finally had you back, it seemed unfair to expect them to maintain such distance. “It’s been a year since we last saw you, and now you’re asking for space?” 

Satoru watched you from the corner of his eye. He knew Suguru's approach well, he only hoped you would give in sooner rather than later. He was could be far more pushy that Satoru at times.

The request brought back memories of when they were younger, when they’d crawl into your bed after a nightmare or late night thoughts. Back then, it had felt natural, comforting even. But now…the situation felt far from innocent. You tried to find the words, to argue, to remind them that things had changed, that they’d grown and this wasn’t appropriate anymore. “You’re both older now, this—this isn’t like when you were kids. We’re not—”“Older?” Satoru cut in, feigning innocence, a playful smirk teasing the corners of his mouth as he laid back onto your bed. His eyes closed shut as his hands found their way behind his head. “And just what is that supposed to mean?” Satoru’s brow lifted, opening one eye, assessing you. He feigned confusion. “We’re older, so that means we can’t miss you?” That wasn’t what you—

Suguru watched your reactions carefully, noting the slight flush in your cheeks and the way your eyes darted between them. He knew you were trying to maintain your composure, to remind yourself that they were no longer children who needed comfort. But the truth was, they needed you more than ever now, in ways they couldn't express. He knew the only way to gain your sentiment was to act a little childishly. He laid back, mimicking Satoru's position. “You’re acting like we’re strangers,” he murmured, his voice quiet but you could easily hear him. “Why’re you acting like you don’t know us anymore? Like you don't trust us?”

Your words caught in your throat. They were making it clear they weren’t going anywhere. And you couldn’t necessarily make them leave. Not when the two strongest wanted to do something. You let out a slightly annoyed sigh. 

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Satoru murmured, pushing himself up on one arm, his eyes glinting with something deeper, his eyes locked onto yours. “We’re just catching up on lost time. Going back to the way things were. The way things should be. We’ve missed you, and if you’re going to be staying here again… we’ll just have to get used to it again, won’t we?”

Suguru’s hand found yours, his fingers curling gently around yours, comforting you with his touch as he spoke softly, as if soothing a frightened child. “Come on," His voice a drawl, "we just want to spend time with you. It’s been so long, hasn’t it?”

“We’ll be right here. Just like always.” Satoru murmured, leaning in, his voice a soft reassurance that felt almost hypnotic, his head falling onto your shoulder. 

You finally felt yourself calm down…if not just slightly. The childish whining wearing you thin. You missed them too, so maybe just giving in would be better. It's not like they looked ready to change their minds anytime soon. You relent and move to properly settle into bed, the other two moving to settle around you.  

Satoru felt a surge of satisfaction as your tense frame gradually relaxed into his embrace, his smirk deepening at your subtle capitulation. "That's better," he hummed, his voice a low, soothing rumble in the otherwise silent room. His arm tightened around your waist possessively, fingers tracing idle patterns on your exposed stomach. The quickening of your heartbeat beneath his touch, the shallow intakes of air that escaped your lips—it was all music to his ears. You were finally relaxing around them. Back to how it should be. 

Suguru, always in sync with Satoru’s movements, followed suit, curling into the space on your other side. His own arm wrapped protectively under your head, tucking you into the crook of his shoulder. Together, they enveloped you in a cocoon of warmth and protection, their bodies pressed against yours in a way that felt both familiar and still so alarmingly intimate. The room settled into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by their synchronized breathing. Satoru’s hand traced lazy patterns on your stomach, his thumb dipping dangerously close to the hem of your underwear. Suguru’s fingers ghosted along your collarbone, exploring the area along your neckline. Each daring touch earned a small noise from you and a shift in your position. You tried to ignore the intimacy of the situation, attempting to sleep. Would they even leave if you told them to?

As you settled into an uneasy slumber, Satoru couldn't help but marvel at the change in dynamics. Your soft curves molded perfectly against his muscular frame, fitting in places they shouldn't. His fingers curved possessively into your hip, his mind reeling with thoughts of how it would feel to explore every inch of your body. He knew Suguru was battling similar thoughts, could see it in the tense set of his shoulders, the way his own fingers flexed against your collarbone. Suguru’s grip on you was gentle yet firm, as if afraid you might disappear-a fleeting dream. They had waited far too long for this moment, endured countless nights apart, yearning for the warmth of your touch. And now, here you were, nestled between them like a treasure long sought after. Their mistakes of leaving you alone, becoming clearer by the second. Had they not been accepting so many missions, maybe they wouldn't have had to deal with this situation. Practically luring you back to their home in the dead of night, begging you to allow them a place in your bed. No. It shouldn't be like this. They loved you. They knew back when they were 13 that they had feelings for you. They just hadn't figured out how to tell you. But what boy has the courage to confess like that?

They could see how you responded to them. As if you didn't see them even slightly appealing. Which is another reason they decided to wait. Yet here they were. They had waited too long. You'd been snatched right under their noses. 

Soon enough you woke up, slightly panicked before realizing where you were, you shifted slightly. You realized the two that sandwiched and snaked around you were dead asleep. 

The room remained silent, save for the slow, steady breaths next to you. The warmth of Satoru's body pressed against yours, his arm a heavy weight across your waist, made you acutely aware of every breath he took, every subtle shift in his sleep. His fingers curled possessively into your skin, a physical claim that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel the solidness pressed against you from either side, just another testament of how different the two were. On your other side, Suguru's arm rested under your head, his arm wrapping around your figure protectively. In sleep, his features relaxed into something softer, more vulnerable. 

You’d been so wound up, but now you felt yourself fully let go. But now you could finally think.

As you lay trapped between the two, you stared up at the ceiling, thoughts jumbled. Being this close to them now, feeling the solid weight of their arms around you, was nothing like before. The years had changed them, their faces, their strength—everything about them seemed more intense, more solid. How many times would you need to be reminded of this? And as you lay there, forced to confront the reality of it all, your mind began to drift back to your life before. Back then, they were simply your favorite characters, two men whose friendship you had admired from afar. Yes. You'd had a crush on them, strong yet distant, built on admiration and empathy. But this, lying here beside them, trapped between them, was a far cry from admiration at a distance. Here, their warmth was inescapable, their presence utterly real and imposing. They were real people. real.

You took a shaky, nervous breath. You’d kept your distance all this time, ensuring that line for a caretaker and friend remained. But now, the boundary blurred, every inch of space they occupied in your bed pressing in on you, making you hyper-aware of how attracted you were to them now. And now, the crush you’d harbored in that past life paled against the warmth pooling in your chest. The feelings were significantly stronger... You'd fallen back asleep. 

Satoru opened his eyes, he was disoriented for a moment, his mind foggy and uncoordinated, until the warm press of your body against his jolted him back to reality. His arm instinctively tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, his gaze lingered on your peaceful face, taking in the familiar features that stirred a whirlwind of emotions inside him. He couldn't deny the possessiveness that surged through him, a primal urge to keep you close. His thoughts turned back to last night's conversation, the excitement of seeing you again, bringing you back to them, away from that pathetic excuse for a husband. 

Suguru stirred beside him, feeling Satoru shift. His hand was resting on top of Satoru's still on your waist, an affectionate hum in his throat as he opened his eyes. Suguru’s thumb traced lazy circles on Satoru's arm, his touch feather-light yet comforting. They shared a knowing look, both of them wrestling with the same thoughts and feelings. "It's alright, Satoru," Suguru murmured, his voice smooth as silk, quiet enough to not wake you. "Let's give her some space to adjust." But privately, he seethed with the same frustration as Satoru. They had been so close, so intertwined with you for years, and now they felt like outsiders in your life. And to make matters worse, they had to deal with your new ex-husband's shitty clan. They knew you didn't love him, yet the thought of you agreeing to marry another man did not sit right with them. 

When you opened your eyes, you were greeted by an unexpected absence. The space where Satoru had been was empty, a cool trace left behind where his arm had once rested. You blinked, still adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the room, your mind caught between sleep and awareness. Shifting slightly, you felt a warm weight at your waist—a gentle but firm hold. Keeping you tightly in place. 

Suguru’s hand had slipped around you, his fingers splayed comfortably across your hip as if claiming the space left by Satoru. And as you looked up, you found his gaze already fixed on you, dark, steady, with an unreadable intensity that made your breath catch. His eyes, half-lidded and softened by the morning light, held a quiet warmth, yet there was something else there—something he seemed to leave unspoken.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice low, thick with sleep yet soft. His hand didn’t move from your waist, his thumb grazing your hip in a gentle, almost possessive rhythm. The familiarity of his touch—the way he lingered, as though this closeness was something he’d grown accustomed to in the short time you’ve been home—it made something in your stomach stir. You couldn't help but feel nervous around him now. As unnerving as it was yesterday, you felt something lying just beneath the surface. Your chest seemed to tighten the longer you looked at him. 

It was Suguru’s calm, quiet presence, but there was a weight to it, an intensity that hinted at more than simple affection. You knew–knew there was more behind his roaming hands trailing your side. 

“Where’s Satoru?” you say, attempting to ease the tension, to fill the silence that was settling too heavily between you.

Suguru’s lips quirked into a slight smile, his hand giving a gentle, reassuring squeeze.. “He’s around,” he replied smoothly, his gaze unwavering. “He’s probably off dealing with clan work. You know him—always restless .”

The silence stretched again, and you found yourself held by his gaze, the way he looked at you so steadily, as though he could see right through you. “You know,” he began, his voice barely a murmur, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your waist, “Satoru and I… we haven't said it enough. Having you here. It means so much to us. We really did missed you.”

His hand stayed on your waist, a silent statement that left little doubt of the new boundaries he wanted to set. “It’s been… a while.” You tried to formulate the words, not entirely sure how you wanted to continue this conversation. A conversation was definitely due considering the shift in their actions…and the shift in your own feelings. But you've never been the best at initiating these conversations. And you haven't had any experience with situations like this in the first place. You should definitely sort out your marriage before confessing your undying depthless love for these two. “How have things been? Y’know since…” you pause realizing the awkwardness. “Well how have things been? How are the girls? And Megumi?” 

Suguru seemed to think this over for a minute. “Well they're doing good. We've got a house rented out in the east village for them. They've been asking about you…” He looked away for a moment, his hold still on you. His thumb was tracing patterns into your side, almost absentmindedly. It has been a while since you've seen them. The children seemed like just a few more characters in the manga, yet meeting them-so suddenly felt all the more real when you were face to face. And yet another one of your suggestions was for them to keep the children together, somewhere away from the clan houses. “But really,” He continued, finally facing you again, those dark eyes holding you steady, “it hasn't been the same since you left.” 

“I get that it was sudden. I'm sorry. I really am." You out as much weight into your words as you could, "I didn't think it would affect either of you as much-” You pause. His eyes remain trained on you. Anticipating your words. Making excuses now wouldn't be helpful. “I missed you both, too.” you felt shaky in your words, yet they rung true. “It wasn't the same without being able to see you. I'm just...sorry.” The words that spilled from your lips rung more true than any promise you'd made before. You missed them. Enough to forget the tension from yesterday. Enough to ignore their actions. And enough to stay. 

“Then don't leave.” You hadn't realized the tears piling up behind your eyes till Suguru was holding your cheek. You nod. “Say it.” His voice, low and commanding, yet soft enough not to frighten you.

“I won't. I promise.”

Weeks flew by at the Gojo estate.

You weren't sure exactly where you stood regarding Satoru and Suguru. Days bled into each other, marked by a routine you hadn’t entirely chosen but had come to accept. Each night, the two would keep you company while you slept, never leaving you alone in your room. And without fail, you'd wake up to Suguru’s arms coiled around you, and Satoru's' side of the bed empty.

Satoru often playfully complained about this later on in the day when you’d finally see him, saying Suguru had somehow “stolen” these moments with you. Suguru would rise first, summoning a maid before slipping away to his duties, always with a soft, unspoken promise to return. And as the maid prepared you for the day—brushing out your hair, dressing you, and setting out breakfast—you couldn’t quite shake the awkwardness of it all, knowing full well you could manage on your own.  Yet you'd always seemed to have a maid following you throughout the day.

Your days followed a measured pattern. Three meals, the first taken alone in the garden, where the morning air was fresh and the sun was rising. The second, shared with either Satoru or Suguru, depending on whose schedule would allow. And the last, an evening ritual, was spent with both of them. This last meal became its own unspoken promise, drawing them both to your side before they inevitably ended up in your bed once more. They both would wordlessly settle in beside you as if it came as naturally as breathing. They hadn't bothered trying to coax you again, and you left it alone. 

The maids you kept by your side were not ones you chose, and seemed to switch out every other week. They kept a respectful distance, never straying from polite idle conversation with you, and always kept at least a few feet distance at any given time. The maids served as a guide, ensuring you stayed inside the clan house “for your protection”, despite your relative security of your own cursed technique. Sure you weren’t Satoru or Suguru, but you weren't weak enough to be treated as a defenseless puppy. Any further prodding on when you'd be allowed to leave led to the same response. “Until the master ensures your divorce is finalized.”

The only other interactions you were given was with either Satoru or Suguru. Gone were the days when you’d see them only two or three times a week. Now, their presence was a daily certainty. Most days, your conversations were light, friendly—almost platonic. But every now and then, you’d catch the flicker of a lingering gaze, the warmth of a touch that held a second too long, hints of something unsaid threading through their words. Flirtations were subtle, almost invisible to an outsider’s eye, but each word, each look carried a tension that only seemed more intense as each day passed. Small things you'd barely noticed before, seemed to pop out at you. You had yet to see the crazed, feral eyes you had seen that first night. They seemed more and more content with your constant presence as the days passed.

With the time you spent alone, trailing the gardens, you thought long and hard about what you wanted. And how things turned out when you left. Had he-your husband-come looking for you? Has he heard of your intentions for divorce? Has he heard that you were now sharing a bed with the two men he seemed conscious of when you first married? not that you were doing anything in it

As the questions ran through your mind, you also wondered just when you'd be allowed to leave the clan house. You also wondered how you were perceived by Jujutsu Society now. Surely word of your intentions for divorce had been made public. Your midnight escape. And your sudden appearance back at your clan home. It would seem even more suspicious that Satoru- the Gojo Clan's head-was the one pushing for the dissolution and not you.

You’d spent countless hours wandering the gardens, and today was no different—or so you thought. Forty-five days had passed since you arrived here, since you’d last left the Kamo clan house. And fifty since you’d seen him.

And yet, there he stood, bathed in the morning light that filtered into the courtyard, petals drifting down around him like something out of a dream.

The sight felt strangely...melancholic. There was a pang of empathy for him—the Grade 2 Kamo sorcerer, the man you’d married out of duty and left without explanation. He looked disoriented, as if caught off guard by the sight of you, though not entirely surprised. The same couldn’t be said for you; his presence was jarringly out of place amidst your usual routine. You realized you hadn’t missed him, exactly, but rather felt that there was something unfinished, words left hanging in the air between you. 

“How are you here?”  Your words came out calm and full. You hadn't recognized your own voice.

He looked away briefly, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, before he spoke. “I could ask you the same…” He swallowed, looking away, the word slipping from his lips reluctantly. “...wife.” 

You searched his expression for any trace of bitterness, any hint of resentment, but his look was steady, as though he, too, wasn’t sure how to navigate this meeting. You glanced behind you, realizing the maid who had accompanied you had disappeared, leaving the two of you alone. Words danced on the edge of your mind, the apology lingering there, just out of reach. The words seemed right there, yet so far from reach.

I’m sorry. 

The words have been dripping from your lips so often as of late, that it felt meaningless saying it to him. Why was he here? In a garden you rarely saw another soul in?

He didn't seem like he was here to harm you. And you wouldn't be the one to strike first at the unexpected intruder. Your affection for him was nonexistent, but you did feel a bit bad that you put him in this predicament. A divorce? And while he's so young, too.

"I don’t think you’re meant to be here, Kamo.” Your tone came out stiffer than intended, a note of discomfort slipping through as you looked away. 

“I had been hoping to catch you, actually.” His words drew your attention back, his voice low but steady. “And why is that?” you asked, meeting his gaze. He hesitated, looking as though he was carefully selecting each word before speaking, and then, finally, he relented, his voice carrying a quiet plea. “Why did you leave?”

Though you had anticipated the question, hearing it aloud stirred something inside you, a sudden pang that you hadn’t expected. He sounded so pitiful. You were getting tired of all this questioning. From Satoru, from Suguru, and now from your ex-husband.

“I… wasn’t happy,” you said, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. “I was merely following my duty to the Gojo clan when I agreed.”

“But why did you leave?” he pressed, voice sharper, unexpectedly. “And why didn’t you tell me you weren’t happy?” His outburst caused you to draw back slightly. the question irritating. It almost felt unfair. You had been placed into a role that valued silence and tradition over personal desires, and voicing your unhappiness had never felt like an option. But how could you tell this to a man that-the man who already should have known that. You weren't particularly close to him, even with the little time you saw him, you mostly spoke about small insignificant topics. 

“I didn’t want to be there in the first place,” you replied, your words clipped and honest. He bristled at your comment, not entirely happy with it. Your name rolled off his tongue in a slow, deliberate warning. “Arranged marriages aren’t always happy. You can’t just go back on a clan agreement. Come home.” Ok. Now the annoyance flared in you.

“Hasn’t the clan head discussed this with you? You know my stance on this marriage, and that isn’t going to change.” "Don’t talk to me about Satoru Gojo,” he interrupted, his tone thick with frustration. “That man has been attached to you from the start, always leeching your attent—” You turned away at this, feeling far more frustrated than before, unwilling to indulge his jealousy. But before you could take a step further, you felt his presence behind you, his hand gripped your upper arm, firm and unyielding, the heat of his touch sending a dull ache down to your bones.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he growled, spinning you back to face him. The grip was tight enough that you knew it would leave marks, his anger barely restrained as he looked at you with a need for answers you weren’t willing to give. That you already answered. His goal clear regardless of what you wanted. Bring you back. 

“Let go,” you hissed, venom lacing every inch of your voice. Before he could utter another word, he vanished from his place before you—no, he was on the ground, wailing.

Satoru stood mere inches away, staring down at your husband with murderous intent, his fists clenching and unclenching, jaw tight. Not a single word escaped his lips as he seethed, his gaze cold and devoid of its usual playful spark. There was that hysterical Satoru from all those nights ago. Only now did you notice that his fist had connected with your husband’s jaw, the welt already forming on his face, and the blood pooling across the smooth stoneage. But Satoru wasn’t finished.

You barely processed what had happened before Satoru stepped forward, mercilessly stomping his heel onto your husband, watching him writhe under the pressure. The sound was pitiful, a whimper against the unyielding assault. The scene, terrifying you as you watched in shock? horror?

“Kamo,” Satoru’s voice, low and dangerously calm, sending a shiver up your spine. “you didn’t heed my warning, did you ?” Even as a bystander, the intensity of his words seeped into you, chilling every nerve. His eyes were lifeless, so uncharacteristically cold his words tore into the sniveling mess on the ground. "And look where it’s gotten you." he humorously laughed, his smile twisted and sharp, that of a predator playing with his prey. A slight shift of his foot earned another painful groan from Kamo, his blood flowing quickly, staining the pristine ground. 

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by Kamo’s ragged, uneven breaths as he lay sprawled at Satoru’s feet, stripped of any pride or dignity. Satoru continued kicking, mercilessly driving hit foot into the man.  “Satoru.” His name fell from your lips softly, a tremor in your voice that you couldn’t quite conceal.

His cold, steely gaze shifted to you, deadly, unyielding, and once again challenging you to try and stop him. His foot remained planted firmly on your husband's face beneath him, unrelenting. Your husband was shuddering in pain. Even your comforting usage of his first name didn't snap him from his assault- though perhaps he was already getting used to your use of his first name. You dropped the formalities the minute they started sharing your bed.

You hesitated, before slowly lifting your sleeve, revealing the deep bruise, forming an imprint of a hand. Your husband's hand. “My arm… it hurts,” you murmured, your voice soft yet firm as your hands trembled slightly. “Can you take me inside?” you added, a pleading edge softening your tone, barely a whisper you add. “Please?” 

His gaze flicked to your bruised arm, the ice in his eyes momentarily thawing as he registered the damage. Then he looked down at your husband as if he were a pile of shit he’d accidentally stepped in. His lips curled into a look of pure disdain. Vile. Worthless. Your husband lay broken on the ground, helpless, small, weak . 

With a final look of disgust, Satoru lifted his foot, releasing Kamo from his hold. “Take him out of here,” Satoru ordered, his voice a low snarl. “The contracts terminated.” His voice remained low, dangerous, as he towered over your husband’s cowering form, he leaned over, “Consider this your lucky day, Kamo—you get to keep your pathetic life.” A taunting lilt to his voice tainted his words. 

Ignoring Kamo’s weak groans, Satoru turned away without a backward glance, his sharp gaze softening as it landed on you. He crossed the space between you, his touch gentle as he lifted you into his arms, effortlessly cradling you as if you weighed nothing. His hold was solid, steady, a stark contrast to the tantrum he just threw. Could you call that a tantrum? You clung onto him, refusing to glance back at the heap that was your husband– ex husband. Finally content on closing that chapter in your life.

Satoru set you gently on the kitchen counter, making sure you were settled comfortably before he turned away, busying himself with finding an ice pack. His movements were quick but controlled, and his voice came out even, though you could feel the simmering anger just below the surface.

“Suguru won’t be happy, y’know.” There was a steely calmness to his words, but the unspoken promise of retribution hung heavily in the air. Satoru might have held back today for your sake, but he clearly knew the Kamo man’s consequences would come in due time, even if he wasn't the one to deliver them. His pride wouldn't allow him to admit it, but Suguru could be more terrifying-more ruthless than him when pushed.

“Does he have to know?” At this, Satoru looked up, his expression anything but playful. Shadows of the cold, unyielding man you’d just witnessed lingered in his gaze, though now, softened with hints of reluctance, it was almost sulky. “You’re defending him again.” His tone held an accusatory edge, the kind that made it clear he’d already drawn his own conclusions. He just sounded pouty at this point. More like a kicked puppy. 

You reached out, cupping his face in your hand, feeling the tension in his jaw ease just a little as he leaned into your touch, taken off guard by your rare show of affection.

“Satoru,” you said, your voice firm but gentle, “I’m not defending him.” The finality in your words seemed to reach him, and his features softened slightly as he absorbed the meaning behind them. You knew he understood; you just didn’t want to worry either of them. Didn't want to deal with him anymore. He could see the disdain in your eyes when you had interacted with him before. He'd never seen you look like that. He was ready to kill him. Ready to wipe out the entirety of the Kamo clan if he needed to. 

“He’ll find out anyway,” he said, a resigned pout tugging at his lips. “Hell, he’s probably already on his way.” You let out a sigh, pulling your hand away, and his eyes followed the movement, a flicker of displeasure crossing his face at the loss of contact. He really was like a puppy, demanding more and more taking whatever he could pry from you. 

Before you could say another word, you felt it—a wave of cursed energy thickening the air, dark and oppressive, creeping into every corner of the room. The atmosphere turned stifling, making it harder to breathe. You didn’t need to look to know who was there; his cursed energy spoke volumes. But his voice came out calm and unwavering-conversational, cutting through the silence calling out your name. You looked to the doorway to find Suguru standing there, gaze assessing your appearance closely. His eyes trained on your form as he approached you, stalking the kitchen. His gaze fell to your arm, where you clutched the ice pack, and a chill washed over you that had nothing to do with its coldness. You try to smile, yet the cursed energy still penetrating the room left you more than unsettled. 

“Suguru,” you said, forcing a small, reassuring smile, though his cursed energy still pressed on you like a heavy fog. He returned your smile with one of his own, but it didn’t reach his eyes; the familiar warmth you knew had been replaced by something forced. Once again you could barely recognize the man you shared your bed with. 

“Doll,” His voice purred out, the nickname had almost been forgotten from him not using it since that day. He must only use it when he's feeling upset. “What happened there?” he asked, his voice deceptively gentle as he nodded toward your arm. The question seemed innocent, almost casual, but the intensity in his eyes and the palpable rage in the air said otherwise.

Your mouth went dry as you searched for a reply. The unyielding gaze he pinned you with didn’t waver, and though he waited for an answer, you knew that Suguru wasn’t asking because he didn’t know—he was asking because he wanted you to confirm it. Like Satoru said. He'd probably already knew every detail. 

The weight of Suguru’s stare conveyed that any half-truth would only fan the simmering anger in his expression. Your gaze flicked over to Satoru, hoping to find a way to defuse this escalating tension, but he held your eyes steadily, an unreadable look that gave nothing away. If anything, he seemed content to let Suguru lead, Satoru's silent agreement reinforcing Suguru's own feelings for this situation. Two peas in a pod. You should have known—Satoru would always back Suguru when it came to matters like this. They were a seamless duo, an unbreakable force, and when their combined focus was on you, it was as if nothing else in the world existed. This felt familiar. 

Finally, you took a breath and murmured, “It’s… not as bad as it looks.” You're sure you've said similar words before. You tried to keep your voice even, hoping to sound dismissive, but it faltered, leaving your words thin and unconvincing. “Just… an argument that got a little out of hand.”

Suguru’s expression didn’t soften in the slightest. In fact, his gaze darkened, a look of pure incredulity crossing his face. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to tilt your chin gently, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Is that what you’re calling it?” he asked, voice low, each word weighed with an undercurrent of resentment, a demand for an answer he wouldn’t let you skirt around. “An argument?”

The gentle pressure of his fingers, the sheer weight of his presence, left you with no room to look away, to avoid the raw force of his disappointment and anger. His fingers brushed against the bruise on your arm with a gentleness that contradicted the intensity in his eyes, as if each mark ignited his anger further.

Beside you, Satoru’s eyes remained fixed on you, though his expression held a trace more softness. Still, he wasn’t there to step in, to pull Suguru back or lessen the impact of his words. If anything, Satoru seemed to lean into the tension, a barely-there smirk hinting at his own frustration, almost as if he were urging Suguru to dig deeper. Was it just to annoy you? Harass you?

Satoru had only come into the confrontation at the back end of your little “argument”, after the maid he'd assigned to you had come running. He had no idea why that Kamo scum was talking to you. Seeking your presence in his own home. Or how he even knew you were there in the first place. He'd originally been summoned to the main clan house to discuss the terms of your arranged marriage-it'd been impossible to get into contact with the slimy thing. He'd been trying for weeks to dissolve it, yet it seemed harder to get rid of the contract than he'd originally thought. His clan gain a lot from your arrangement, and it out him in a shitty position to be going back on it-not that he necessarily minded. He'd do anything for you. But now with the bruises on your arm, and that sniveling little parasite laying in his garden, he felt he was justified in terminating your contract-ignoring the repercussions'. He really didn't like your dismissive tone either. 

Satoru broke the silence first, voice cold, cutting. “That pathetic little worm managed to slither his way past the inner walls.” His tone turned mocking, dripping with contempt, “And here you are… downplaying it?” His tone was almost mocking, filled with a simmering wrath as he glanced at Suguru, silently spurring him on.

Suguru’s grip on your arm firmed, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he leaned in, close enough for his breath to brush your cheek. “And you think we’re just supposed to stand by? To just watch while he comes in here-harms you?” The question was soft, barely more than a breath, yet it held an unbreakable conviction, a promise that he wouldn't let you ignore this.

“N-no, I didn’t say that,” you stammered, trying to find your footing, to hold your own against the torrent of anger that radiated from both of them. “I just… thought it was better not to make a big deal out of it,” you murmured, but with the two of them here, once again it felt like you were outnumbered and guilty. 

Satoru’s gaze narrowed further, his patience clearly thinning.

“Better not to make a big deal?” he repeated, his voice a quiet, dangerous murmur. “Let me make this very clear: no one—no one—gets to touch you.” -funny coming from the man who's hand was gripping your chin- “You think you can brush it off, but we won’t,” Suguru whispered, his voice carrying a steely intensity that sent a shiver up your spine. He leaned in once again, his breath warm against your cheek, his presence swallowing you whole. “This isn’t just an argument that got out of hand. It’s about him laying a hand on you… him thinking he had the right to come into our home and touch you.”

There was an aching softness to Suguru’s touch as he shifted his fingers over your arm, tracing the bruises with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with his words. His gaze locked onto yours, holding you captive. “We’re not here to argue-to reason with you. We’re here to protect you,” he murmured, the promise so quiet and unyielding that it felt like it cut through the very air between you.

Caught between them, you felt your walls closing in again. You just wanted to let it go, to leave the memory of your now ex-husband behind. You’d had your final conversation with him, spoken your piece, and all you wanted now was to stop dredging it up. It felt almost humiliating to abandon the marriage after you’d willingly agreed to in the first place. You'd signed the contract, committed. And now your two guard dogs were pummeling your arranged husband because you’d changed your mind. It felt like your fault. 

Yet it seemed they weren’t going to let you brush it off, not this time. Satoru’s eyes held a glint of something fierce, something almost primal, as if daring you to contradict him, to excuse away the man who’d dared to hurt you.

“Please,” you managed, voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling on your lips, “it’s over now. He’s gone.” “Not enough ,” Satoru countered, taunting you, his gaze dark and unyielding. “Not until we’re sure he won’t come near you again. He'll keep coming back if we don't do anything about it.”

Suguru’s hand slid down, fingers lacing with yours. “Doll, we’ve given you space for long enough,” he murmured, his voice softer, yet filled with a firm resolve. You look up questioningly, not knowing what he meant. “Spac-” before you could say anything, Suguru's lips crashed into your own, possessive and demanding.

Satoru watched from the side, his heart pounding in his chest as jealousy and arousal warred within him. He always had to be first, he thought petulantly, but the sight of your lips parting against Suguru’s and the sheen of saliva covering your lips was too much to resist. He knew this was the best way to do this. Fast enough you wouldn't be able to question it. Before he could think twice, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your exposed neck, his teeth grazing against the tender flesh.

You let out a surprised gasp, your body instinctively arching into their touch. The onslaught of lips and bites sending your mind into overdrive- just like they'd hoped. Suguru took advantage of the distraction, deepening the kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, teeth occasionally nipping your lips, groaning into your mouth. Suguru's hands spread your legs, slotting himself between them. His hands remained firmly on your hips pulling you forward. Satoru's hands roamed down your body, his fingers tracing the curves he knew so well, remembering each dip and valley as if they were etched into his memory. Those late nights he’d spent attaching himself to you like a second skin felt like nothing compared to now.

Satoru’s lips moved across your neck, leaving behind a trail of love bites and hickies, moaning as if this was his greatest pleasure. Suguru wasn't any better, slotted between your legs-he began rutting against your clothed cunt, unable to help himself. The shudders that wracked your body from their touches visible. He could feel his dick harden almost painfully against his pants-who's? yes.

Suguru broke the kiss, his eyes filled with a dark possessive hunger as he stared down at you, his lips leaving a thin trail of saliva in its wake,

"You. are. ours. " he stated, his voice low and husky with a finality. " Don't forget that. No one gets to touch you but us ."

You stared up at him, drunk from his kiss as Satoru’s continued assault on your neck, his hand roaming your body, ignoring Suguru's declaration. Suguru stared down at your lidded expression, knowing he wouldn't get a response from you. He'd be sure to remind you if you forgot later on. You already looked completely fucked out and malleable from some kisses and dry humping. He shuddered to think of what you'd look like between them as they fucked your small, tight holes. He almost let out a chuckle at his own joke, then claimed your mouth again, swallowing your moans as his hands roamed down to cup your breasts through your clothes.

p.3

come home

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[itsjustrosee]

HIII I'VE BEEN SO INLOVE WITH YOUR WRITINGS SO FAR 🙏

since your request is open I'm hoping you can write this for me (I cannot express my thoughts to a full on fan fiction to save my life💀)

Request: so like reader is a runner. Minho and reader were running away from a griever like frantically trying to lose it then Minho suddenly pulled reader to a small crack on the wall so they would lose the griever. The griever was just around the area trying to find the two that's why both of the runners were just there in the crack, close together, litterly body to body😼 and you know some friction started to happen 🔥but of course they just can't do the thing😣 in the maze💀 so like after the griever was gone they both ran to the Glade and ykykyk they continued what they started🤡

If you don't get it basically smut☹️

Hehee thank youu in advance😘😘😘!!!

literally love this concept, and I will gladly accept ur request <3

SMALL SPACES (Minho x fem!reader)

Summary: look above for summary ^ (I made this enemies to lovers btw I'm sorry I couldn't help myself)

Warnings: Cursing, spice, smut (I don't really use the glade language in this one)

Word count: 4.6K (proofread, but there still might be some mistakes)

Today was like any normal day for you. You woke up at the ass crack of dawn, sloppily put on your clothes, and excited your hut. You walked across the glade, taking in the rather peaceful atmosphere while you looked up to see the sun peeking over the maze walls.

"God, mornings really aren't your thing, huh? You look like shit." Minho chuckled as you approached him while he stood waiting for the maze doors to open. He wore his signature blue shirt, which was paired with his infamous runners' vest.

Minho stood there with that shit-eating grin on his face as you stood next to him, rubbing your eyes and stretching as you let out a groan.

Since coming to the glade as a girl, all the boys have been nice to you and dare you say, rather respectful. All of them except for Minho. You never knew what you had done that warranted Minho's hatred for you, but it didn't matter because the feeling was reciprocated.

You really only needed to deal with Minho's attitude or rude comments when you both were running the maze together, which, unfortunately, was quite often. You came to the conclusion pretty early on that the worst part of being a runner wasn't the concept of getting trapped in the maze or being eaten alive with a griever, it was dealing with Minho's bitch ass.

"Not even a good morning. Starting the day off strong I see." You sigh, glaring at Minho while he checks the time. The doors should be opening soon and you wished that Ben and the other runners hadn't gotten totally hung over from the bonfire last night, resulting in them being in the medhut this morning with some really strong headaches. And it was because of that that only you and Minho would be running the maze together today.

"You know me," Minho replies while giving you a wink. You scoff at him, reminiscing about how you'd much rather be where you were ten minutes ago, sleeping in bed. "You know which parts of the maze we're running today right?" Minho asked, changing the subject.

"Yup, the outskirts of section six." You say as you roll your eyes, not bothering to mask the attitude in your voice. You put your hands on your hips, facing the maze while tapping your foot on the ground impatiently. You were ready for the maze doors to open so you could stop having to talk to Minho.

You knew yourself and you knew you wouldn't be able to stand talking to Minho much longer without giving in to the strong urge you had to maul him. But maybe then you'd finally be able to ruin his perfect hair.

I mean, how dare he have the nerve to wake up this early in the morning and look so put together. It wasn't fair.

"Well, someone's more grumpy than usual," Minho says, noticing the slight scowl you have on your face.

"I'm not grumpy." You reply while continuing to stare at the maze doors.

"Right," Minho says sarcastically before continuing, "You're going to get wrinkles if you keep making that face. Just letting you know." Minho explains as he lifts up his hand and brings it towards your face. He's about to tuck a fallen piece of your hair back behind your ear and you feel a faint blush beginning to spread on your cheeks. For a second, you're tempted to let him, but that's until you come back to your senses, slapping his hand away as you do so.

"You just love pissing me off, don't you Minho?" you snap at him as you turn to face him.

"I'd say I love seeing your reaction to me pissing you off much more," Minho replies with a smirk as he stands confidently, bringing his hands up to his chest and latching his fingers onto the snug space between his runners' vest and his shirt.

"What, seeing me get mad?"

"No," Minho says while taking a step towards you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer, his face now mere inches away from yours. "Seeing when I get you flustered." Minho finishes as he towers over you.

You look at him, shocked, and quite frankly, very bewildered.

Was he right? Yes, he definitely was, but you'd rather get stung by a griever than openly admit to that.

Nonetheless, it's safe to say his comment was exactly helping to calm the heat you felt on your cheeks from before now spreading like wildfire across your face.

You opened your mouth to say something in reply which would've been some sort of string of insults at Minho, but before you could, you both turned your attention to the maze doors which began to open. The stone screeched as whatever mechanism was built into the maze pulled the doors apart, revealing the maze and its seemingly infinite number of twists and turns.

As the doors came to a halt, a cold gust of air that the maze emitted whenever the doors opened or right before they closed, hit you and Minho. No matter how many times you felt it, it never failed to give you goosebumps all along your spine. The feeling of the wind on your skin made you remember the fact Minho's hand was gripped firmly around your wrist. And for some reason, instead of deciding to pull your wrist free right away, you decided to let him keep his hand there.

You exhaled a long and deep breath, one that you didn't even know you were holding in. You decided not to say anything else about what Minho had just said for the sake of being scared of where the conversation might lead.

So without warning, you jogged into the maze, pulling your wrist away and leaving Minho behind you.

"Hey wait up. Where do you think you're going?" Minho asked breaking into a sprint to catch up with you as you made sharp turns around corners of the maze.

"Where do you think?" You counter with an irritated voice.

"You know how to get to section six?" Minho questioned again, jogging up next to you.

You rolled your eyes but remained quiet. Speaking to Minho right now was taking up too much of your energy. All you wanted to do was stay quiet and focus on actually doing your job.

"Oh, so you're ignoring me now?"

Silence

"Fine. If that's what you want. No more talking." Minho said with an exasperated sigh.

And that's how the majority of the day continued. You and Minho mapped any remaining parts of the sixth section, though there wasn't really anything new to jot down, and stayed silent.

Even while you and Minho sat and ate lunch, neither of you spoke. You were determined to not be the one to break the silence and to be quite honest, you appreciated the quiet. But part of you missed the banter that you and Minho would get into. It helped you cope with the fact that almost the entire maze was mapped but there still didn't seem like a way out. And all in all, to you, your bickering and arguing could actually be quite fun at times, and it distracted you from having an existential crisis.

As hours began passing, you and Minho drew your searches for new areas of the maze to a close and began heading back towards the glade. You were beginning your trip back far earlier than normal, considering you were far out in the maze and not very close to the glade. If anything, it would be better to get out of the maze early than have the doors close before you could get back in the glade.

You jogged through the seemingly endless turns of the maze. Both you and Minho had gotten tired from today's work. You felt your legs burn and your energy dwindled with each stride you took toward the maze's doors.

You both couldn't have been too far from the glade when you heard it. Maybe you were ten or so turns until you reached the door, standing in a path that branched out in three different directions. One path was to your left, one to your right, and one straight ahead of you. You and Minho planned on taking the one straight in front of you to get back to the glade. However, you stopped dead in your tracks after hearing that sound, one in which you knew all too well.

The blood-curdling screech pierced the air, echoing along the walls as you and Minho just stood there. The worst part wasn't hearing the griever, but more the fact that it was far closer to you than you had anticipated.

You looked at Minho for some sort of reassurance. You wanted to convince yourself that maybe you were just hearing things, maybe you were actually just going crazy. Unfortunately, Minho's expression stayed stoic but you could see the fear in his eyes which honestly scared you more. Minho had been a runner for a while, much longer than you, so to see his carefree attitude change to something more wary and serious was new for you.

After standing in that spot for a couple moments, unable to move any part of your body, all of your worst fears were confirmed as you saw a griever turn a corner and run down the long passage of the maze that was in front of you.

Your breath hiched and for a split second, all you could do was stare. Stare at this disgusting, gruesome, and fucking terrifying creature. It was as if someone picked up a monster from your nightmares, something only your imagination would be able to conjure up, and placed it right in front of you. Something as horrifying as whatever the fuck that creature was, shouldn't have ever existed. But it did. And it was headed straight towards you.

Unlike you, Minho reacted quicker upon seeing the griever. "Come on. We need to go. Now!" Minho yelled, grabbing your wrist as he sprinted down the corridor to your right. Seeing the griever was all you needed to regain all the energy you had lost from running all day, and you quickly followed suit after Minho.

You ran as if your life depended on it, and in this case, it did. Literally.

Minho held onto your wrist tightly as he led you through the maze, the griever was hot on your tail and you both knew you wouldn't be able to outrun it for much longer.

Minho led you both into a different passage and ran down it frantically. Suddenly he pulled you into what could've been considered as a crack in the wall.

Most of the passageways in the maze ranged in various different widths. Some corridors were larger or smaller than others, but the one he had pulled you into had been smaller than you could've ever imagined. It would've been easier if you had gone in side-by-side, but at this point, that was a bit of an afterthought. Minho placed you in front of him as you both squeezed into the passage, desperate to escape the griever.

Your backs were up against opposing walls of the crevice, causing your chests to be pressed against one anothers. His hands were now placed firmly on your hips, pushing you into him as he attempted to eliminate more space around you in order to shuffle both of you further into the slit in the wall.

To be fair, you had to give Minho some credit because the griever wasn't able to reach either of you and trust me, it tried. Even as it left, both you and Minho knew it would still remain in the area, waiting for them to leave, so they would just have to wait it out.

You waited there for at least an hour already and the only issue was, of course, the lack of space. You had your hands on Minho's chest while his were gripped tightly around your waist, all while you did your best to keep your face away from his.

You would be lying if you said the tension in the air wasn't palpable.

Heat radiated off of Minho's body and beads of sweat laced your forehead. You didn't know how you could last another minute, let alone possibly another hour with your body pressed against his like this.

"It's only going to get more awkward if you don't say anything," Minho said while sighing, finally breaking the silence that had filled the air for some time. For the first time since you both got into this mess, you looked at him.

He looked just as tense as you did and you felt something in the atmosphere between the two of you shift. There was more of a longingness in the air, almost as if there was some sort of unspoken tension between the both of you.

"I don't get you Minho." You said as Minho gave you a confused look and you weren't quite too sure what you were going with it either, but you continued nonetheless, "It's like one day you hate me, then the next you're flirting with me. Seriously, is it just to tease me? Do you just like getting any sort of reaction out of me?" You said as the words just began to spill out of your mouth.

"I don't hate you," Minho replied, clenching his jaw. It almost seemed as if there was more he wanted to say but there was something that had stopped him from saying it.

"Then what is it Minho? What's your problem?" You asked with anger in your voice which was mixed for some reason with a twinge of sadness.

"The problem is that I like you (Y/N). I like everything about you." The look in his eyes matched the sadness you felt as he continued, "I've liked you for the longest time. I never said anything about it because I'm basically your boss and I didn't want to make things weird. I know that doesn't excuse me for being a dick but-" He paused, "I'm sorry. I mean it, I really am."

You looked at him, stunned once more by his words. Like a dam, all of the feelings you've had towards Minho flowed out at once. You had always vowed that you never liked Minho, not even as a person, but you knew that was far from the truth. Minho was the only boy in the glade that you had ever felt attracted to and it was safe to say the both of you had been denying that feeling for the longest time.

"Please, say something," Minho pleaded with you, looking down into your bright (E/C) eyes.

You wanted to say something. Really you did. But you just couldn't find the right words to say, so you didn't say anything at all. Instead, you kissed him. I mean, actions speak louder than words anyways, right?

You closed the small gap your face had with Minhos as you crashed your lips into his. Minho quickly got over his shock and reciprocated the kiss. In all truth, kissing Minho felt exactly as you dreamed it would. He was gentle yet passionate with you and if one thing was sure, he definitely took his time with you, savoring every part of your mouth as you allowed his tongue to enter it.

Minho drew away from you for a moment, "So I'm guessing you don't hate me anymore?" He asked, his lips already swollen from kissing you.

"We'll see about that." You answered with a cheeky grin on your face as he kissed you once more.

You melted into his touch even further than before, snaking your hands around his neck while he pulled you closer to him. As the kiss continued, it became more desperate and hungry, and neither of you could hold yourself back from each other.

At that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the fact that a griever was trying to kill you, or even that you were stuck in a giant maze. The only thing that mattered to you right now was Minho.

Minho drew away, biting your bottom lip as he continued to kiss you down your jaw and Neck, making you pull your head back slightly and moan. You felt Minho get hard under you, and it wasn't helping that the bulge from his jeans was positioned right by your throbbing core.

Though you could've stayed there, letting Minho kiss you all over, your mind reminded you of where you actually were. Part of you wanted to say fuck it, I'll take Minho right here and right now, but the more logical part of your brain knew you needed to get out of the maze now before the doors closed. And by now, the griever should've been long gone.

"Minho," you said breathlessly as he looked back at you after leaving marks all over your neck and collarbone. "We need to get back to the glade." You finish. You could see the look in his eyes and clearly, he had the same moral dilemma as you did a moment ago.

"Right- yeah, you're right let's go," Minho replied as you both did your best to squeeze out of the tiny crevice you had both wriggled yourselves into. Minho checked for the griever and thankfully it was nowhere to be seen.

Minho interlocked his fingers with yours as you ran through the maze, navigating its bends and corners. His grip was firm and protective and he was extra alert, checking behind and in front of you every so often.

Eventually, you both found yourself back in the glade with barely any time to spare. You let out a sigh of relief as you stepped onto the bright green grass, putting your head down and letting go of Minhos hand as you placed your hands on your knees while you panted.

The doors let out that familiar gust of wind and began to move once more, closing you into the glade for yet another night.

"What happened to you guys? We thought a griever got to you or something," Newt joked, walking up to you and Minho by the maze doors. You could tell a wave of relief passed over his face as he saw you both exit the maze and after he noticed that neither you nor Minho were injured.

You stood up straight again, putting your hands on your hips and giving Minho a look. You were about to tell Newt about the very close-to-death experience you and Minho just had, but before you could say anything, Minho spoke first, "Nope, we just spent too much time exploring. We made a lot of progress though." He lied.

You gave him a puzzled look. You both definitely did not make 'a lot of progress', not unless he defined 'a lot of progress' as rerunning areas of the maze you had already seen and mapped.

"We did?" You asked looking at Minho but he cut you off slightly as he continued.

"Yup, we did," Minho said grabbing your wrist and walking past Newt, "That's why we need to go to the maze room now," Minho concluded.

"Don't you guys want to eat something? Fry just made his stew, I'm sure you both are hungry by now," Newt asked, a little confused over Minho's urgency. For a while, Minho had started just grabbing a bite to eat before going to the maze room or bringing some food to the maze room as he mapped, but apparently, today was different.

"We're okay. Thanks though Newt." Minho said, still dragging you away as he waved goodbye to Newt who was left just standing there looking just as confused as you were.

After you both walked far enough away from Newt, Minho's grip on your wrist softened slightly, and soon you were both almost at the maze room.

"So are you going to tell me what that was about?" You questioned.

"Oh come on. Do you really think I'm going to let you get away with not finishing something you started?" Minho asked, pulling you into the maze room, closing the door, and sitting you down on the table in the center of the room. He stood in between your legs as he placed both of his hands on your hips, leaning his face into yours, leaving barely any room between your lips.

You chuckle slightly while looking at him, "A little eager aren't we?" You ask him while you place one of your hands on his nape and the other on his cheek.

"How could I not be? I've waited far too long for this," Minho counters, one of his hands traveling up your side as the other stayed on your hip.

You thought the tension was heavy in the maze, but now it had grown ten times greater in here.

A deep sense of longing and desperation filled the air as you looked at Minho again, meeting his eyes as you spoke, "You're not the only one who's been waiting."

And with that, Minho's lips found yours. You clung to him as you wrapped both of your hands around his neck. Minho reciprocated as he wrapped one of his arms around your back, bringing you even closer to him, while his other hand allowed itself to travel under the back of your shirt and up your spine. The feeling of his hand lingering up and down your spine sent shockwaves through your entire body.

Minho began kissing you hungrily and passionately, and being the sexually deprived teenager he was, he already grew hard again. You felt the bulge from his jeans press against your heat and you soon began to long for more of him.

You and Minho were quick to take your hands off of each other for a moment to take off your runners' harnesses. Your shirts were on the ground soon after, and you couldn't help but stare at Minho's figure as he stood in front of you.

God, this man was the definition of hot.

The way the muscles on his bicep flexed as he took off his shirt was quite possibly the most attractive thing you've ever seen. Not to mention that each and every one of his muscles was toned and defined.

Minho noticed your eyes linger on him, "Someone's staring." Minho stated as he lifted your chin up with his fingers, fiddling with the zipper of his jeans with his free hand while he did so.

"Can you blame me?" You ask, taking off your shorts and letting them fall on the ground, "You're hot Minho. I can't help but stare." You say as you begin to sit up straight. You tilted your head and placed your arms around his neck once more, staring up at him with a puppy dog-eyed expression.

Minho, who clearly isn't used to receiving praise for his looks, is floored. It's safe to say the compliment went straight to his dick because you could feel him grow even harder under you. You chuckle as you kiss Minho once more and this time, he melts into your touch completely.

Minho moves one of his hands to your back, the other moving up your thigh until it reaches your soaked panties. He moves them to the side so that he has access to your pussy and he places two of his fingers between your folds, rubbing you up and down.

A moan escapes from between your lips as you throw your head back, relying on the arms you have wrapped around Minho's neck and the hand he has on your back for support.

"So wet for me already," Minho chuckles to himself as he continues rubbing circles into your clit. Suddenly, he pushes one of his fingers into you, causing your body to jolt in pleasure and surprise.

He adds in his other finger and begins pumping them in and out of you, agonizingly slow. As if a reflex, you roll your hips against his hand and moan his name. You fail to suppress your soft whimpers as he picks up the pace, making you drown in pleasure.

"Minho please, I want you." You breathe out, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Want me to do what baby?" Minho asks as you bring your head back up to look at him.

"I want you inside me." You confess. "Please," you whimper, on the verge of begging him.

Minho kisses you softly as he takes his fingers out of you and you use your elbows to prop yourself up. Minho pulled his boxers down so they pooled at his ankles and his cock sprang out, hitting his stomach as he did so. His cock was long and hard as beads of precum dripped down from his tip. Fuck he was massive.

Minho lined himself up with your entrance and with one swift push, he entered you fully. You gasped as you sunk into him further. Your walls stretched around his girth and the quick pain you felt as he made his way inside you was quickly replaced by pleasure.

"Fuck- you're so big," You moaned out, as Minho began his thrusts.

He groaned as he began moving in and out of you. The pleasure both of you felt was unmatched as Minho gripped your hips, using them to help guide his movements.

"God you feel so good," Minho panted as he continued to thrust in and out of you.

Minho kisses you again, messily and sloppily as he continues with his movements, but neither of you can focus on kissing the other, not when he is pumping in and out of you. You couldn't help but savor what it felt like with him inside you. The way he filled you up made you feel like you were on cloud 9.

Minho kept mumbling out words of praise while he moved in and out of you and he could tell by the way your walls began to squeeze around him, that you were close. And you could tell that he was close by the way that his thrusts began growing more sloppy and desperate. But maybe it was him removing one of his hands from your hip to apply more pressure to your clit as he rubbed circles into it, that pushed you over the edge.

"Minho I'm going t-" You began to say as your voice broke but you couldn't finish your sentence before letting out a loud moan. A wave of ecstasy crashed over you all at once and you threw your head back in pleasure.

Minho groaned as he pushed into you with one final thrust, filling you up completely. It took a moment with the both of you panting before he pulled out.

You sat up straight as Minho brought his head towards your ear, "You did so well, you know that, right, baby?" Minho whispered before meeting your eyes. You gave him a smile and he gave you a soft kiss. "Want to grab some food and then cuddle in my hut for the night?" Minho asked as he pulled away, picking up his scatted clothes and putting them back on.

"Mhm," You replied with a smile. Today was quite an eventful day and to be honest you were exhausted and Minho picked up on it.

"Are you tired?" Minho questioned as he grabbed your remaining clothing and put it back on you while you yawned.

"Just a bit," You replied with a chuckle as you hopped down from the table.

"We can go to be early tonight then," Minho said while wrapping an arm around your waist and leading you outside the maze room. You pecked him on the cheek as you both walked off.

____

Bonus

"Hey Minho I know it's your day off but I can't find (Y/N) anywhere. I checked her hut and then thought maybe you'd know wher-" Newt paused as he barged into Minho's hut to see Minho now sitting straight up in his bed. "Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to your neck?" Newt asked, referring to the very obvious hickies you had ended up leaving Minho.

Minho was struggling for a response as you emerged from under the sheets in Minhos t-shirt, rubbing your eyes and looking over at Newt.

Newt looked at you both, bewildered and flustered as the dots finally connected in his brain. "You know what- Never mind. I'll leave you guys to it. Didn't mean to interrupt." Newt replied quickly, slamming the door on his way out of the hut.

You huffed and rolled back on your side in hopes of getting a bit more sleep. Minho gladly wrapped his arms around you and joined you.

Ok, this might be my favorite fic I've written so far. I'm really happy with how it turned out and I hope you guys like it too!!

Also, thank you guys again for all of the overwhelming support I've been getting. And thank you guys for 30 followers!!!!!!!!! I can't thank you guys enough for how kind you've all been, but seriously you're all so amazing and so sweet.

[dearhargrove]

Reassurance

summary You comfort Evan after he has to deal with his parents over the course of four days.

word count 730

tags fluff, just someone being there for my bb buck, short and sweet

a/n So basically I was watching the Buck Begins episode and died every minute where his parents neglected him and generally every second of that episode :( so expect some more Buck fics to come (Eddie too tho !!)

masterlist

You didn't know but you were probably the sole reason Buck wasn't completely breaking down every day he wakes up and has to deal with the two people that call themselves his parents.

After the first dinner he had felt bad, but he'd felt like he usually does with them. Alone, unwanted and never enough. That day he'd come home to you, quiet and dull.

You hadn't made him talk about it when he didn't start explaining himself, instead you simply wrapped your arms around him and held him close. That's when he'd felt loved. That night he waited until you had fallen asleep before letting himself cry.

What did he expect? For some reason he had hoped they'd changed. Or at least that they would be proud of him. After all, he'd saved a lot of people and does so every day. Instead he is reminded that they hadn't bothered to check on him when he almost died twice - first by being crushed and second because of the blood clots - and then laid in the hospital.

Those were the people supposed to love him no matter what and all he got was constant criticism.

That night you had woken up not long after him because of his missing warmth. With a worried expression you'd found him and once again, held him close. He had melted into your arms, tears starting to fall again as he clutched you close as if scared to lose you.

After reassurance you would gladly give any day you had gone back to bed, your hand on his cheek and caressing his birthmark.

Today you hadn't even known Buck would see them or be confronted by their doings. The last time you'd heard about them was when he explained that he had a brother. That he was only conceived to be a match for a bone marrow transplant.

That night had been harder than the one before. You're quite sure no matter how much you tried to show him that he wasn't just a failed way to save someone you don't think it got completely through to him. And you didn't blame him; you couldn't imagine living with something like that weighing you down.

You're in his kitchen trying one of Bobby's recipes when the door opens and Buck comes in. You could read him like a book; there wasn't a moment you weren't able to tell what he was feeling. But now? You genuinely didn't know.

He was frowning but there's a smile resting on his face and his eyes are red.

“Buck?”

He looks up, seeing you there in his sweater with a knife in your hand as you chop vegetables for a recipe from Bobby he loved, and he breaks. But instead of simply crying he chuckles, too.

“Buck, what's going on?” Your voice is worried and he just shakes his head as he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his forehead to yours. You put the knife down and reach up to cup his face and your index finger soothes over his birthmark, something you'd made a habit over the year of being with him.

“I think they're finally accepting me for.. me.” He only says and you sigh but nod. He notices your slight apprehension and quickly adds on, “But I don't want them to. I don't need their acceptance. They don't decide how much I'm worth.”

Your mouth forms an ‘o’ in surprise but you laugh breathlessly and nod, “Exactly. You're saving lives on the daily, you don't need anyone to tell you how good you are. Not your parents, not your friends, not me.”

He nods along until the last part where he cocks his head and looks at you with his signature half smirk. “I do need you to tell me how good I am, actually.” That makes you smile as well and you sigh, “That's not what I meant and you know it.”

He just shrugs and unlike when he first came in you can see pure happiness and love on his face.

“God, I love you so much, Evan Buckley.”

He grins and surges forward to kiss you passionately, his hands gripping your hips as if you'd slip through his fingers any moment.

[lordprettyflackotara]

dollhouse || jeff the killer || part five

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. tw: bondage, face fucking, jealousy sex

"Are you sure this is absolutely necessary?"

Jeff squirmed in his chair, his arms crossing sassily. You stood behind him, putting your hand on your hip.

"Trust me when I tell you that you're doing the world a favor," You countered. Jeff grumbled under his breath, allowing you to continue the task at hand. You readjusted your grip on the kitchen scissors in your hand, picking up another piece of Jeff's hair. You snipped at it carefully, Jeff's gaze forced to center on the kitchen window.

He watched Sally play soccer with Laughing Jack and Jill, who were visiting for the weekend. They typically stayed at the Trenderman mansion, one of Slenderman's better brothers. Jeff wasn't too big of a fan of them visiting, but Jeff wasn't too big of a fan of anything. Including the haircut you were giving him. "My haircut is apart of my branding you know. Everyone knows me by my hair," Jeff argued. Despite his argumentative tongue, he stayed seated and unmoving.

"Right, its totally not the large smile carved into your cheeks or the lack of eyelids," You agreed, smirking to yourself as you snipped another piece of Jeff's hair. Ben strolled into the kitchen, taking one look at Jeff's frown and giggling to himself. "Something funny Ben?" Jeff asked. Ben's gaze fell to the fridge and its contents, the blonde rummaging through it to search for non expired food.

"Oh nothing, it's just great to see you're changing your emo haircut after a decade. Never thought you'd grow out of it. Good job y/n."

Jeff gritted his teeth, a giggle escaping your lips. It was then the back door opened, revealing The Bloody Painter. His signature mask had been lifted and secured to his head, revealing his face. His bright blue eyes met yours, his gaze centering on you. "Well hello there y/n. You've matured quite a lot since the last time I saw you," He said, giving you a bright smile. Jeff didn't fail to notice this, his eyes narrowing. "Thanks. Living in a mansion full of boys will do that to you," You replied kindly. You continued to trim the ends of Jeffs hair, Ben slamming the fridge and grabbing a box of cereal. The Painter looked over at your steady hands, watching you trim Jeff's hair.

"I didn't know you cut hair," The Painter commented. You could hear Ben begin to crunch on his cereal, eating it by the handful. "She only cuts mine," Jeff barked. The Bloody Painter kept his cool, hardly acknowledging Jeff's matter of fact statement. "Well thats a shame, maybe you can make an exception sometime and cut mine," The Painter suggested. Jeff rose from his chair, shooting daggers at The Painter as he turned around. In a swift motion he grabbed your hand, dragging you out of the kitchen. "Jeff! I wasn't done!" You whined, scissors still in hand. He dragged you through the living room, his patience running too thin to make it to his bedroom. "Don't worry doll, i'll make sure you finish," Jeff growled.

He found the closest bathroom, opening the door and shoving you inside. You set the scissors aside, your arms crossing as Jeff shut the door and locked it. "Whats your problem? I only cut like half of that section!" You hissed. Jeff grabbed you by your throat, his fingers curling so intensely around your skin you audibly whimpered. "Do you get off on entertaining other guys? Hmm? Is that it?" He snarled. Your eyes widened, Jeff pushing you against the bathroom counter. You began to question him, the pale killer cutting you off before you could make a sound. "That stupid Painter was eye fucking you. How did you not see that?" Jeff questioned. He squeezed your neck tighter, a small whimper escaping your lips as you became light headed.

"Oh I see. Does seeing me get all hot and bothered rile my girl up? Make you all wet for me?" Jeff purred. You hadn't even thought of it that way, but your core only began throbbing more when Jeff planted his knee in between your thighs. "Well thats too damn bad. Knees, now," He ordered, shoving you down towards the floor. Your knees hit the tile harshly, promising to leave bruises the next day. You began to reach to fiddle with his belt. the pale killer slapping your hand away. "Did I say you could use your hands? Stupid slut," Jeff spat. He undid his own belt, admiring your eyes gleaming with submission.

"I-I just assumed-" You stuttered, Jeffs hand gripping your chin cutting you off. "I-I-I," Jeff mocked you. He bent over, grabbing your wrist and holding them behind your back. "All I need from you is to put your pretty mouth to use," Jeff said. He used his belt to tie your hands behind your back, your mouth running dry as you looked up at him. He undid his pants, his cock hard and leaking precum in front of your face. "Go on, make yourself useful," Jeff taunted. You kitten licked his slit, the pale killer holding back a groan. He grabbed your head roughly, forcing you down on his cock. You gagged as he hit the back of your throat, the sound gratifying to Jeffs ears.

Jeff's hips were merciless, the mere thought of The Bloody Painter talking to you sending him into a possessive frenzy. Usually Jeff wasn't as rough as this, but with each thrust he thought of anyone else seeing you like this. You were his. And he needed to make sure you knew it. Tears prickled out of the corner of your eyes, gagging as Jeff pounded your throat. Briefly he removed his cock from your throat, allowing you a brief moment to breathe. Saliva connected you to his cock, a thin string hanging between the two of you before he forced you back down onto his shaft. You struggled against your restraints, your jaw forced to fall slack as Jeff violated your throat as he pleased.

"You look so pretty with your mouth stuffed full of my cock," Jeff cooed. You felt his cock twitch, his orgasm coming faster than you expected. Jeff sensed this as well, pulling you away. "Nuh uh, want to you to watch me fuck you," Jeff chuckled darkly. He forced you to your feet, turning you away from him. His rough hands yanked down your shorts and panties, before grabbing your ass. He teasingly ran his fingers up and down your slit, grinning at the feeling of how wet you were for him. You groaned as he briefly brushed against your clit, your core throbbing for more. "Jeff I need more," You whined. Jeff pressed you against the counter, grabbing you by your throat.

"Look at yourself pretty girl. You're gonna get what you want," Jeff grinned. You made eye contact with him through the mirror, swallowing as he rubbed his tip up and down your slick. "Wait you aren't going to prep me?" You asked, becoming breathless. Jeff smirked as he began to push instead of you, your walls struggling to accommodate to his size. "I don't think you need it doll. After all, you were so cock hungry for The Painters dick I think you can handle mine," Jeff snickered. He pushed himself in slowly, deciding to have mercy for a brief moment. Your body trembled as he made his way inside of you. "So full, too full," You slurred, his cock bottoming out.

Jeff's hand slithered up to your mouth, bringing two fingers to your lips. "Suck them whore or I won't move," Jeff growled. You did as instructed, taking his fingers into your mouth. "There we go. Theres my obedient little whore," Jeff grunted, smiling with pride as he made eye contact with you in the mirror. He began to thrust inside of you, the feeling of your tongue swirling around his fingers only making him harder and more eager. You struggled to contain your sinful noises as Jeff pounded into you, the pain of being stretched out fading into an all too familiar pleasure. You watched Jeff in the mirror, his lip tucked between his teeth as he watched his cock side in and out of you.

"You're practically fucking milking me doll, fucking hell," Jeff panted. With his spare hand it made its way to your clit, drawing fast and sloppy circles around it. Your eyes fluttered closed, your thighs trembling as the cord inside of you tightened tighter and tighter. "Call yourself a slut, now," Jeff ordered. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, his pupils blown with lust. You swallowed, struggling to continue sucking his fingers. "I'maslut," You chanted, your words muffled by Jeff's long fingers. He shoved his fingers down your throat, relishing in the sound of you gagging as his cock abused your g spot. "That's it doll. That's fucking it. Do you think he could fuck you like this? Huh?" Jeff growled. You shook your head no, Jeff removing his fingers from your mouth.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you," Jeff chuckled. He took his hand and wrapped it around your neck, giving him more leverage to ram into you. "No! Only you Jeff. I swear, only you," You cried. You knew your orgasm was close, the pale killers fingers never slowing as they rounded your clit. "That's what I thought. Now why don't you let everyone know how good I make you feel and cum for me?" Jeff suggested, his suggestion more of an order. He had trained your body well, your orgasm washing over you as soon as you heard he had granted you permission. Your vision went white, Jeff's cock continuing to ram into you as you shook under him. He grunted your name as he came, pulling out his shaft and releasing on your ass and lower back.

He grinned as he looked at his painted masterpiece. Yeah, The Bloody Painter may have been a painter, but Jeff was an artist.

[hyunnielix]

how many things. | h.h

Series Masterlist

'Remember when you left once That never made too much sense to me'

— hyunjin x (f) reader

— word count: 2.7k (unedited)

— genre: non-idol au, artist!hyunjin, second chance romance (I know who would've thought. eventual smut (not in this chapter sorry). dance coach!reader

— warning's: fluff, angst, kissing! Hyunjin being insane. very emotionally charged

→ playlist on spotify

Outside, gray light filters through the blinds, casting muted shadows across the space. Your room, inhabited by a quiet stillness. The knot in your chest hadn't loosened since last night.

Clothes were draped over the back of a chair and spilling out of an open dresser drawer, abandoned in your haste to change out of last night’s soaked dress. The hot chocolate mug Felix made for you sat half-empty on the bedside table. Your bed was unmade, the sheets tangled from tossing and turning, while a fluffy blanket lay half on the bed and half on the floor. Felix's mattress looked like a patchwork of borrowed blankets and mismatched pillows, wedged awkwardly between your desk and the bed. His backpack was propped up nearby, like he was ready to stay for as long as you needed him.

You blinked against the grogginess, rolling over to grab your phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up, and there they were—Hyunjin's texts. A long string of apologies and explanations, each word pulling at the threads of your resolve. It stirred something within you—frustration, maybe guilt, even the faintest pang of longing. But it’s all tangled with the memory of last night’s discomfort, the way your stomach dropped when you unveiled that painting. You glanced down at Felix, still asleep on the mattress on the floor, his soft snores echoing through the room.

You scroll slowly through the messages:

Hyune: I kept replaying everything in my head last night. I need to say sorry again… for the painting, for everything. I never meant to hurt you.

You frowned, the corner of your lip tugging downward as your thumb hovered over the screen, scrolling through the long paragraphs.

Hyune: I really messed up. I didn’t think about how it could've made you feel. It was selfish of me. I don’t expect you to be okay. I just want you to know how sorry I am.

There was an hour-long pause between his latest texts, a noticeable gap and the timestamp stared back at you, emphasizing the hesitation.

Hyune: Can I just ask you something? Is there any way I can fix this. Or have I ruined it for good?

The silence between his words felt heavier than the texts themselves, and you wondered what he’d been thinking in that hour. You tried to decide how to respond, or if you even should.

Deciding against it, you clambered out of bed, the cold floor beneath your feet grounding you as you carefully tiptoed over Felix’s makeshift mattress, mindful not to disturb his sleep. You moved around him as gently as possible and made your way to the corner where your gym bag sat.

You grabbed your gear, pulling out a pair of leggings and a loose tank top, the soft fabric a welcome change from your pajamas. You stripped out of them. After slipping into your workout clothes, you grabbed your sneakers and tied them. You gave yourself a moment to breathe before heading out.

Finally reaching the door, you slipped out of the room and into the quiet hallway. To no one’s surprise, Minho was already up, sitting at the dining table with his signature mug of coffee in hand. His sharp gaze flicked to you as he took a slow sip. "Feeling any better?"

You shrugged, but immediately regretted the motion, a sharp pain shooting up your back. You cringed, wincing as the discomfort intensified. Instinctively, you rubbed your hand against the affected area, trying to ease the ache. Some days it was more bearable, others, like today, felt like every movement made it worse. You pressed your palm harder against the sore spot, hoping the pressure would bring some relief. Time for painkillers.

"Is it your back again?" Minho asked, his voice casual.

You nodded, unable to hide the discomfort that was clear on your face. "Yeah."

He didn’t immediately respond, his eyes drifting to his watch. Minho’s expression remained unreadable, but the way his fingers grazed the edge of his watch seemed to convey that he was weighing his options—whether to ask more, or just let you be.

"You heading off to some classes?" he asked, his tone shifting into something more neutral. You noticed the flicker of concern in his gaze, though it was subtle enough that you might have missed it if you weren’t paying attention.

"I was supposed to be teaching back to back classes but too many of the students called in sick. So looks like it'll only be one today. I'm lucky I woke up before my alarm." You shuffled toward the kitchen, your mind racing as you tried to remember where you’d last put your prescription. Reaching up to the top shelf, your fingers brushed along the unfamiliar bottles, until, "Hah! gotcha."

You finally found your prescription, tucked away in the back of the cabinet. Without hesitation, you grabbed two of the pills. You didn’t bother with water and swallowed them dry. Not the ideal way to take them, but it was the quickest and right now, you didn't have the patience for anything else.

"Don't overwork yourself."

"Yeah, Minho I get it. I'll be fine."

Minho didn't let up, his gaze locking with yours as he leaned back slightly, placing his coffee cup down. "I know what you're like. You’ll throw yourself into your work until it consumes you. But you can't afford to do that this time." His words hit harder than expected, not because of their harshness, but because they were true. Minho knew you too well.

"I won't. I just need to clear my head and this is the perfect excuse." You avoided looking at the artwork in the hall. It sat there on the wall. You hesitated for a moment, then finally glanced at it. "Can you take down that painting?" you asked, your voice quiet but firm, almost as if you were asking him to erase a memory that still lingered.

Minho didn’t miss a beat, his eyes brightening with a glimmer of hope. "I can do that."

You nodded quickly, feeling a strange mix of relief and guilt. "And when Felix wakes up, can you tell him thank you for staying over? Okay, bye!"

Minho opened his mouth to say something but you were already walking toward the door, the sound of your shoes clicking against the floor as you made your way out. Without looking back, you shut the door behind you with a soft click, the weight of it momentarily lifting as you stepped into the apartment hall.

The dance studio was alive with the sound of music and the shuffle of feet. The class worked through the routine, slow but with precision. Just how you liked it.

The spacious room had mirrors lining one wall, reflecting the movements of the students. The floor, once smooth was now well-worn from countless hours of practice. The choreography had been coming together, but there were still a few kinks to work out—people stumbling through transitions, steps slightly off-beat, or missteps that threw the flow off. You could feel the tension building in the room as everyone tried to perfect their movements.

One of the students, Jaehyun, lingered at the back of the group, his steps faltering with a heaviness which didn’t go unnoticed. Your gaze shifted to him, drawn by the subtle struggle in his movements.

"Jaehyun, more sass!" you called out, watching as he hesitated for a moment. You stepped forward, adjusting your stance, demonstrating the movement with a sharp flick of your wrist. "Yeah, there you go!" you encouraged, nodding as he began to mirror you. You flicked your hand away from your body, exaggerating the motion to show him how the energy should move—quick, confident, and full of attitude. "Flick it away from you," you said with a grin, your own body flowing with the rhythm.

Your back ached in response to the constant motion, the familiar tightness creeping in as you push through the routine. With every pivot, the pain gnawed at the edge of your concentration, but you tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the music and the rhythm. As you demonstrated each step, you could feel the weight of the room’s gaze, every student focused on perfecting the choreography you were teaching. The pressure to keep everything fluid and precise only made the ache in your back worse.

A figure in the background caught your eye, leaning casually against the wall. He was dressed in a loose tank top and baggy pants, his posture relaxed but somehow out of place in the midst of the class. But what really drew your attention was the ridiculous hat perched on his head covering the top half of his face.

Hyunjin lifted his head up, meeting your gaze with an almost amused expression.

Your voice cut through the quiet murmur of the classroom like a whip, drawing every pair of eyes toward the back. "What are you doing here?"

Everyone halted and the sudden shift in the atmosphere made you realize how unprofessional you were being. You quickly gathered yourself and cleared your throat.

"Let's all wrap it up and take a break," you addressed the class, trying to regain control of the situation.

You strode toward him, your movements quick and deliberate, and gripped his wrist firmly. Your eyes flicked toward the storage room and you felt a sharp sense of urgency. Whatever this was, it needed to be dealt with away from the class. Half of the students watched with curious eyes. You swore under your breath and turned, leading him to the room.

You wrenched it open and tugged him into the small space, barely big enough to fit both of you. The air smelt like cleaning supplies and a faint scent of sweat from earlier classes. You awkwardly manoeuvred, the shelves filled with equipment pressing against you on either side. Reaching for his stupid hat, you snatched it off his head, placing it on a shelf.

You glanced up at him, irritation simmering beneath the surface. "What, you're stalking me now?" The words were sharp, cutting through the tension that filled the tiny room.

Hyunjin leaned against the shelf with a grin, clearly amused by the situation. He tilted his head slightly, his usual playful demeanor shifting the focus of the moment. "We met in a very similar fashion to this, didn’t we?"

He moved with an almost casual grace, his fingers trailing along the dusty shelves. His words caught you off guard, distracting you from your blinding anger. "Caught in a closet by our dance teacher?" Hyunjin continued, his lazy smirk growing. He seemed to enjoy the absurdity of the situation.

For a second, the tension between you both eased and the air in the small, cluttered room felt less suffocating. You let out a quiet sigh, your annoyance still simmering, but the familiar situation almost made you forget for a moment what had brought you here.

"This time with the dance teacher," you mumbled, your voice lower than you'd intended, barely a whisper in the space between you.

Hyunjin's response was a soft, knowing "Mhm," but it wasn’t the words that caught your attention. His eyes flickered to your lips for just a heartbeat, and it made something inside you tighten, though you couldn’t tell if it was annoyance or something else entirely.

You clenched your jaw, your fists balling and then straightened up, shaking off the moment. "This is a very good time to talk about boundaries," you said, your voice firm, though you couldn't help but notice how his body seemed to draw your gaze—his defined obliques subtly visible under the loose fabric of his shirt as he shifted slightly, the muscles shifting with the movement. You found yourself admiring them against your will and a rush of heat crept up your neck.

Stupid. Attractive. Infuriating Man.

Once, those ridges, those lines of muscle, had been yours to explore, your hands mapping every inch of his frame with reverent precision. You could almost feel the memory of his warmth, the way his skin had felt beneath your touch...

You snapped yourself out of it, blinking hard as you tried to focus, to remind yourself that this was not the time to be distracted. Boundaries. Keeping things professional. Right.

Before you could even react, Hyunjin surged forward, his movements too quick for you to anticipate. His delicate hands cupped the underside of your jaw, fingers warm and firm against your skin as he tilted your face up to meet his. The proximity sent a jolt of surprise through you, but you couldn’t pull away in time. His lips were on yours in an instant, demanding and urgent, and the sensation of him pushing you back against the shelves startled you.

"Ahh," you hissed, wincing as the pain from your back flared up, sharp and sudden.

Hyunjin pulled back just slightly, his eyes filled with a flicker of guilt. "Sorry, I forgot," he murmured, his voice softer now. His hand slid up your back with surprising tenderness, finding the sore spot, and he cupped the area with a gentleness that caught you off guard. You felt his warmth, the contrast of his hand against the ache in your muscles almost soothing. He brushed his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

Your head spun. His proximity, suffocating, but something about the moment made you hesitate. "Is sorry the only thing you know how to say now?"

His body pressed against yours again in response. There was no escape from the intensity of his gaze or the force of his presence. His actions were desperate as though he was trying to claim something lost.

Your heart raced, a mix of confusion and anger flooding through you. But despite the chaos in your mind, you melted into him, your resolve faltering. His hand slid around your torso, pulling you impossibly closer. His touch commanded your attention, pulling you deeper, until there was nothing but the heat of his body against yours and the searing press of his lips.

It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a battle—a desperate attempt to close the chasm of time and pain that had kept you apart. It was as if he was trying to erase the years of longing and regret through sheer closeness. But as quickly as you’d given in, you broke away, pushing him back with trembling hands.

"Hyune... we can’t do this. Not again. I can’t." Your voice cracked, betraying the storm of emotions brewing inside.

Hyunjin's eyes bore into yours, dark and unwavering. "Call off the class," he said, his voice low but commanding. He stood before you, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

"What?" you asked, barely processing his words.

"Call off the class. Now," he repeated, and something about the weight of his gaze made you comply without question.

You opened the door, poking your head out into the hallway where the students sat waiting. They turned to you, curiosity etched on their faces. "Class is dismissed today. I’ll make up for the lost time in the next session," you announced, your voice strained but steady.

You closed the door and turned back to him. "You can’t do this to me, Hyune. You can’t just come back after three years and expect everything to be the same."

His reply was simple, almost haunting. "You waited."

Your breath hitched, your mouth falling open. "I did," you admitted, the weight of those words settling heavily between you.

"You shouldn’t have waited," he said, his voice softer now, almost broken. "You should’ve been happy. You should’ve found someone."

The questions you’d buried deep for years tumbled out before you could stop it. "And what about you? Are you happy? Did you find someone else? Did you fall for someone? Did you treat her well?"

You saw it immediately—the way his entire body tensed, his shoulders stiffening as if bracing for a blow. His eyes flickered, the light in them dimming, and for a moment, he looked like he was struggling to breathe. His jaw tightened, the muscle feathering with the effort to hold back whatever turmoil your words unleashed.

"No," His response came, cutting through the air like a blade, "I can’t find you anywhere but here."

Then they came—the tears, streaming down your cheeks as his words wrapped around your heart.

[surielstea]

Move Me, Baby

Eris Week, Day Seven: Free day

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader (arranged marriage)

Summary: Reader and Eris slowly fall in love with both the music and each others movements, on the dance floor and off.

Warnings: Smut | minors dni | Beron being Beron | p in v | 18+ | creampie | begging | praise | suggestive | teasing/taunting

A. Note: Last Eris Week day, and it would not be a Surielstea Eris fic without a ballroom scene, so enjoy… ;)

3.9k words.

Eris has never felt this way before. This eagerness and anticipation. But this female, his betrothed, she was changing things, stirring up feelings that he had long since thought dead. Hope, being one of them.

He stood outside my door anxiously, silently pacing back and forth as he waited for the clock to strike seven, when he was supposed to be here. He hadn't meant to come so early, but his impatience got the better of him and suddenly he was dressed and ready and meandering towards my chambers.

I was unaware of the males presence just outside my room, too busy admiring myself in the mirror. The dress Eris had gifted me this morning was exquisite. Made of the smoothest silk, the deep green shimmering fabric catching the light as it moved like water— and when I put it on I looked as beautiful as an emerald.

The cut of the dress was beyond flattering, with a low neckline and form fitting bodice that hugged me in all the right places. The skirt of the dress was long and flowing into a train that blended from emerald to a glimmering gold.

I decorated myself in golden jewelry, adorning a few rings that paired well with my engagement ring.

I looked to the clock on the wall to see it a minute past seven, when a knock sounded at the door.

I smiled slightly and strides over to the door, I took a moment— making sure my hair was still neat and my painted lips weren't smudged for the umpteenth time. Then I swung open the door and was greeted with the Heir of Autumn.

Eris froze as soon as he saw me, his eyes drinking in every inch of me. His mind went quiet and his throat dried, he had always thought I was gorgeous but tonight I was downright devastating.

I noticed how he stared particularly long at my chest, his eyes roaming over my ample cleavage on display.

Finally, he looked to my eyes and sucked in a sharp breath, understanding that he had been caught.

"You're late, Vanserra," I say and he gives me one of his signature smirks that had my knees buckling. "What's your poor excuse?"

"I know, I know," He rolled his eyes at my chiding tone. "By all of one minute." He adds and I smile up at him. He reaches forward and brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. "You look absolutely sinful," He said as I linked my arm with his.

I smile broadly. "I know," I sent him a wink and his smirk only widened.

We walked in silence towards the ballroom, but every now and then Eris would steal glances down at me and how perfectly the dress he chose for me hugged my dips and curves. He had never seen something so worthy of worship.

He wanted to be closer, linking arms wasn't enough, he needed more than friendly contact— but he had promised a night of dancing and sparkling wine, not a night in his bed, no matter how much he fantasized about the latter.

"Act like you're in love with me," I say through a tight lipped smile as two royal guards open the large wooden doors leading into the ballroom.

He momentarily wagers how brutal my glare would be if he rolled his eyes, but decided it best to place a hand on the small of my back, bare due to the low cut of my dress.

We strode into the ballroom as one, his protective grip on me claiming me off limits to any male who thought they were good enough for me. I ease into a graceful saunter, nodding my head at bowing guests and curtsying court members. My fae ears perked up at the sound of soft music playing from the live orchestra in the center of the ballroom, filling the large hall with notes and tunes of beauty. I would've lost myself in the sound of it if Eris hadn't guided me over to the dais, where his father and mother sat in their thrones— or rather throne, the Lady of Autumn was sat in a simple, cushioned chair instead.

Eris's mask of cold calculation slipped in place as his arm left my waist in favor of bowing to his parents formally. I do the same, curtsying with a feminine grace that took years of practice.

"Father," Eris rose from his position and I did so I few moments afterwards. "Mother," He nodded his head.

The High Lord gazed at me with a sickeningly honeyed expression, as he always did, and Eris's hand slipped back into mine protectively. The movement doesn't go past either of their notices, but while Beron narrowed his eyes, his wife smiled softly.

"Our newly weds," The Highlord purrs, his eyes taking me in with feline enthusiasm. "You look absolutely delectable tonight, my dear," He hums and I nod with a soft smile.

"Thank you, my lord," I will myself to sound polite and pray it doesn't come off as sarcasm. Eris's hand squeezes mine, relaxing me slightly.

"You are quite proper compared to the last lovers my son has taken into his bed," The high lord says and Eris stiffens.

"Father, I would appreciate it if we didn't discuss past partners while in the presence of my wife." Eris said with a terse voice.

'My wife.' He had said, the words still echoing off the walls of my mind as Beron replied, "Oh c'mon, boy. I'm only teasing, surely she isn't too bothered by it. Right my girl?" His cold gaze slides back to me and my back straightens under the weight of his gaze. I try not to cringe at the nickname and the possessiveness that came with it, but Eris made his distaste clear.

"I don't mind in the slightest, My Lord," I say with a soft voice, leaning into Eris's side, telling him it was all a ruse and I was fine, that even if I was upset I didn't need his protection. But I could still feel the heat rolling off of him, he was ready to pounce and shred into him like one of his smokehounds might.

"See? Shes a perfect little obedient wife, isn't she?" Beron arched a brow, directing all his attention at his son. I wanted to reassure Eris, to tell him his father was only saying all this because he knew that when he spoke of me it got under his skin the most, but that comment, it made my stomach knot and bile threaten at the back of my throat.

Beron smirks, satisfied at the level of discomfort he had breached in both of you. "She is perfect, yes. I would have no complaints." Eris said with a cool grace that I marveled at.

Berons smile widened with amusement, to my dismay. "You've got quite the grip on my son, girl," He hums. "Wrapped around his finger." Beron leans lazily back into his throne. Neither of us supply a retort, which seemed to invoke enough boredom for him to excuse us. "Well, off you go then. The guests have come to see that happy couple dance."

We bow in a synchronized motion once more before Eris whisks me away towards the dancing aristocrats, planting his hands on my hips and holding my back to his chest as he guided me through the grand hall, as far as he could get from his father.

"You didn't have to answer that, you know," He mutters beside my ear, his lowered voice sending a shiver down my exposed spine.

"Answer what?"

"What my father said. About me being with other lovers, you didn't have to agree with him." He clarifies and I frown, my brows bunching.

"I simply didn't see the point in starting an argument with the High Lord at a ball thrown in our honor," I supply, whirling around to face him, he was much closer than I was anticipating and I had to crane my neck to look up into his gold flecked amber eyes.

"I only meant that you didn't have to go along with his teasing, I can't imagine it's very amusing to think about your husband's past partners." Eris expressed.

"Why?" I tilt my head. "I don't have an issue with you being with women prior to me, we live long lives, I don't have any right to be upset about what's happened in the past." I say while mindlessly straightening his dark green suit jacket. He let out a strained sigh and I glanced up at him, a smirk pulling at my lips.

"Don't tell me you're jealous, Vanserra," I taunt and he scoffs, looking anywhere but my eyes.

"Please. I am not, that's laughable." He shakes his head.

"Really? So my past relationships don't affect you in the slightest?" I suggest with an arched brow.

He looks down at me, it was humiliating the way he towered above me. "No, I suppose you're right that it is jealousy. My perfect little obedient wife having a history of other males certainly does not please me." He retorted and I sneered at the recall of his father's description of me.

"You're almost too easy to rile up these days, My Lord," I grin devilishly up at him.

"Oh, you're pushing it Princess," his hands return to my hips. "If it's anything, it's the dress you're wearing that is riling me up." He stated amusedly and I smirk, not falling into the flustered haze he wanted me to.

"It's only a dress," I reply innocently. "One that may end up on the floor of our bedroom tonight if you play your cards right."

"Keep talking like that and I doubt this dress will even make it to the bedroom." He remarks and I curse myself for blushing, losing the little game we had been playing as a rush of heat washes down me.

"Is that a threat, or a promise?"

"Could be both, but I'd mark it as a warning."

"Careful now or we might find ourselves skipping this ball entirely." I grin at him mischievously.

"Is that such a bad thing? I'd much rather have you to myself than watch all these people gawk at you," He smugly says.

"We must dance at least once, first." I say with a knowing certainty, pulling him closer to the dance floor, towards the rising music that I could feel thrumming through my bones.

He lets out a low grumble but obliged anyways, and took my hand in his, his other on my waist. "Alright, one dance and then I will carry you back to our rooms if I have to." He said with a defeated sigh, his eyes roving over me as I pulled him onto the tiled floor, in the center, closest to the music.

"So impatient," I tease while placing a hand on the nape of his neck.

The music flows into a new song, and like clockwork Eris and I easily slip into a graceful waltz. It came like second nature, spinning and twirling beneath the warm lighting, the gold of my dress fanning out, the other dancers giving us a wide berth at the flowing fabric.

I was far too aware of the eyes that were on us, some stealing glances between turns, others outright staring. But my husband didn't seem affected, he was too caught up in my movements to comprehend the idea of anyone else. I flash him a wide smile as he twirls me, then pulls me into his chest with enough force to invoke my crashing into him.

The music ceases and we're met with our heavy breathing, his hands tightly on my hips. "We have danced," He stated with a puff of breath. "And now I am free to be as much of a selfish ass as I wish," He hummed, slipping his hand into mine and pulling me off the dance floor before the next song could start.

I let out a soft laugh as he steers me through the throng of court ladies attempting to get our attention that he ignored, and continued to lead me towards the door. "Calm down, your highness." I purr, squeezing his hand slightly. The use of the nickname made him pause, and he turned back to look at me. "We can't just ditch halfway through a ball that was set in motion for us," I explain.

"There's nothing left for us to do here, aside from me standing here, watching as the others stare at how ravishing you look tonight." He intoned and I flashed him a lovely, innocent smile.

"And that's such a bad thing?" I bat my lashes up at him and he smirks, taking a step towards me and closing the distance between us.

He leans in closer, his voice a rolling purr as he says, "You have no idea how incredibly torturous it is to watch every one here foam at the mouth over the sights of you in that dress"

"You're being dramatic." I scoff, looking at the crowd surrounding us who quickly averted their gazes. "The looks everyone was casting our way had little to do with me." I shrug and look back to the Heir.

"My fawn, do not go shy on me now. You look like an angel tonight." He shakes his head and turns away from me again, his hand still interlaced with mine as he pulls me through the large doors which the guards closed behind us, shutting the peering eyes of the crowd out.

"An angel, hm? Careful Vanserra you're starting to sound like you have some real feelings for me." I say, bumping into him playfully.

"My 'Real Feelings' for you would be on display the moment we walked into that ballroom if I wasn't worried about ruffling our people." He makes clear and I grin. Our people. I might have been from the winter court but he was fully prepared to share his lordship with me, as his high lady.

"Oh?" I glance up at him. "And what exactly do these 'Real Feelings' consist of?" I say while continuing the journey back to our chambers.

"Would you like a demonstration?" He suggests as we reach the doors of our suite.

"I've always been a visual learner." I retort, the flirtatious hum in my voice enough to send any male wild.

"You know exactly which buttons to push to drive me mad, don't you?" He asks while throwing open the door and following in after me.

"I don't hear you complaining." I shrug, my snarky attitude sending him into a spiral. He tightened his hold on my hand and pulled me back, pressing me into the door and pushing it shut with my weight.

"No, I'm certainly not complaining." His hand comes to my waist, and the click of the lock makes my ears perk up. "Quite the opposite actually," He confesses, leaning forward and pressing a claiming kiss just below my jawline, licking, sucking, and biting at my neck. I let out a soft sigh at the feeling of his lips on my skin.

"Eris," I murmur through a hushed moan.

"Yes, love?" He voices, the sound vibrating against my neck.

"You're moving too slow, I think you've been patient enough with me." I grumble, my hand slinking into his deep red hair and tugging on it slightly as he tortures a particularity sensitive spot just below my pulse point.

"You're going to be the end of me." He grumbles, his restraint slowly slipping from his grasp. "Do you have any idea what I want to do to you?"

"Enlighten me." I smirk with lustful eyes, a challenge.

"The list of things would take us days to get through, my dear." He admits and my core heats at the idea, a wicked grin on my lips.

"Good thing we've got nothing but time." I suggest.

"You're not making it easy for me to maintain my control." He grouses against my skin.

"Who says I want that?"

"You're toeing a dangerous line, pretty girl." He narrows his eyes on me, a cold smirk playing at his lips.

"There's no line, it's just a statement." I retort, my hand tugging at his hair while the other undoes the buttons of his shirt. "Right now there is nothing I want more than for you to lose control." I admit and his teeth brush over my neck as he grins wildly.

"Have it your way love." He grabs my hips and pulls me over to the bed, practically carrying me and settling me down onto the bed.

"Please." I press my thighs together, my hands fumbling to get his shirt off.

"What do you need?" He hummed, coming to hover over me, his muscled arm mmm flexing with the movement.

"You, I need you." I murmur as he dips down, his lips sealing over that same sensitive place on my neck, biting and kissing around it, forming a group of purple marks around the area.

"Oh yeah?" He purrs, his knee coming down to press in between my legs. I gasp, gripping the sheets beneath me as he allowed me to grind down on it, friction sparking up my spine.

"Yes, oh gods, yes I need you." I sigh, my head tilting back, giving him further access to my throat.

"And what do you need me to do to you, my pretty wife?" He asks and my mind reels with possibilities. A list, he said he had. I wanted every item on that list crossed off by the end of tonight.

"Eris I can't take it anymore, please," I writhe beneath him, biting into my lower lip to stop myself from pleading with him any further.

"Keep begging and I'll consider it." He drawls, his voice low and flooded with lust.

My breath hitched as I let out a soft, "Please." My head is heavy with need and my core thrummed. "Please take me right here, right now. Do whatever you want to me Eris just, please, I need you inside of me." I whimper, pathetic, that's what I was, and I'll be full of shame in the morning when I remember how needy I am, but right now the only thing I cared about was his touch.

A resounding tear sounded through the room and I gasped, looking down to see my dress falling from my frame. "I warned you what would happen to this dress if you kept your teasing up." He growled and I grinned, showing off all my teeth.

"I've never been too mindful of warnings." I utter, hands moving to the buckle of his pants as he kisses across my collar bone.

"I'm painfully aware." He grits through his teeth, holding back his groan as I palmed him through his pants.

He pulled back to look down at me, taking in every dip and curve of my body, his hands caressing over my waist and it felt like flames licking up my side. "Gods you're beautiful." He murmured, mostly to himself.

I revel in his touch, left only in my underwear before him. He helps me with the task of his pants, thrashing them off and discarding them onto the floor to join my ruined dress.

His hard length met my clothed cunt and I gasped, my hands forming into fists at the sudden stimulation.

"Eris, please," I whine, my brows furrowing with need. He smirks and in one fluid movement he's moving my panties down my thighs, revealing how wet I was, all for him. He grunts at the sight, his eyes losing any emotion except desire, lust.

His eyes trace the outline of my body as he leans down, his lips pressing to mine and I moan as his cock pressed into my aching folds. He takes the opportunity of my open mouth to slip his tongue in, exploring with it eagerly, flicking and curling it so skillfully that it made me wonder what it could do in other places.

"You sure about this, baby?" He panted into my mouth, his words ghosting across my raw lips.

I nod, fervent to please him, to feel him.

"Words beautiful, use your words," He whispered over my lips.

"Yes, Eris, please— I'm sure," I whimper and he grins, my words all he needed to hear before aligning his head with my entrance and pushing in.

I gasp at the stretch, my hips lifting and back arching in adjustment as he continues filling me, inch after inch, seeking new unfound levels of pleasure. I move my hands to his back, muscles shifting as he leans down.

His hips meet mine, fully sheathed inside of me. I look down at where we connect, my pulse picked up as he begins to move, and I watch, stare as he pulls out only to thrust back in, stretching me wide.

He continues his brutally slow pace, groaning and panting filling the room as I grow more and more used to the pain, slowly morphing into pleasure.

“Yes, Eris, yes,” I chant, shoving my head back into the pillows, eyes rolling back as he molds my elastic walls to his cock.

“You’re doing so well, such a good girl,” He praised, leaning over me and pressing a kiss to my cheek, his touch all too innocent as one of his hands comes up to grope my breast. His touch was smoldering and burning, but I delighted in it, for it was purely him and no one else could replicate the marks he left on my skin.

“Eris,” I whimper, his name the only thing my mouth could form, everything else was an incoherent moan. “Eris,” I repeat and I realize I was praying to a god willing to answer my every request.

“I know, I know,” He said over my skin, his warm voice like embers still crackling. “You going to come, my love?” He taunts, but I was too caught up in reaching my high to pick up on his teasing tone.

I nod frantically, scratching my nails down his back.

“Go ahead, come for me.” He implored and I let out a cry of pleasure as his thumb presses to my clit, the bundle of nerves sending shockwaves up my spine.

A wave of white hot ecstasy washed down my spine, staining my cheeks, warming me down to my very bone.

His climax was quick to follow, my clamping down on him beckoned him to barrel towards his peak, his release seeping into my most untouched places.

He co tinted to guide me through my high, slowly coming down. He leaned forward and placed a supple kiss to my sweat slick forehead. “You did so good, my dear,” He murmured into my skin as he slowly pulled out, grunting softly as I milked him for all he was worth.

“Come now, let’s get you cleaned up,” He gathered me into his arms and I smiled softly at the warmth and familiarity of his embrace. And I knew then, as I found comfort as he cradled me, that it was no longer just sex, but rather what I had been craving for years and hadn’t been able to name it. This intangible thing that I had always yearned for without realizing it, love, I loved him. I knew there was no return from this point on.

Eris Week Tag List: @adharanotfound @mp-littlebit @its-me-meg @olive-main @bookwormysblog @inurus @iwishiwasaprincess @randomgurl2326 @tigerlily00 @i-know-i-can @bubybubsters @booklover0318 @lalaluch @hallabongy @paintedbyshadows @ninthcircleofprythian @chasing-autumns-chill @deepestmentalitypersona @myromanempiree @rosewood-cafe @witchmoon10 @andreperez11

[soapylvrs]

how soon is now?

natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

act I. chapter [002]

warnings: none i don’t think?

APRIL 1995,

Heavy pants left your lips as you jogged off the pitch, mind set on having some water and nothing else. A soccer match against St John's Highschool was quickly approaching, and Jackie Taylor was ensuring the Yellowjackets would be ready to 'kick ass'.

Basically, the next few training sessions would be absolute hell.

Grabbing your water bottle, you relished in the feeling of the cool liquid flooding your dry mouth with relief. Jackie had permitted the team from water breaks this session, aiming to train the girls to build up their strength to be able to play a match without stopping. She called it 'endurance training' or some shit. You thought it was absolute bull. You turned your head to see Lottie panting just as hard, scowling at the back of Jackie's head. Apparently Lottie thought it was absolute bull too. You laughed, nudging who you considered to be your closest friend, "come on, it wasn't that bad," you grinned, running a hand through your sweaty hair as the two of you began your walk to the changing room. "It was worse! That girl is pure evil, I need my water breaks," Lottie huffed, cheeks flushed and dark hair plastered against her glistening forehead.

You laughed again, the sound loud and happy, you really did love your soccer team. Especially Lottie. Lottie who just managed to understand you. Lottie who never asked any questions, just made sure her comforting presence was always known, and a spare bedroom in her house was always welcome.

You liked the rest of your team too. Shauna was probably another favourite. She was sarcastic and intelligent, and the two of you had fun together. Whenever you slept over at Shauna's house you would both spent hours prank calling people, your favourite victim being Randy Walsh. However, your sleepovers were not very regular, as the majority of the time Shauna was busy with Jackie, answering her every beck and call- in particular, every time Jackie and her annoying boyfriend Jeff broke up (however it 'never lasted long enough to count')

Not long later, you exited the girls' changing room alone in a pair of old joggers and your Yellowjackets hoodie. You had stayed a little later than most of the other girls so that you could hit the shower. And to prolong your time before having to go home, of course. Lottie had offered to take you to her house to stay the night, but you, not wanting to interfere with a night she knew Lottie's father would be celebrating his birthday, did not want to overstep; piloting decline your best friends invitation and ensuring her you’d be okay.

The sky was beginning to fade from blue to a dark grey, the sun retiring its post and making way for the pearly skin of the white moon that illuminated the school parking lot. You had taken your mum’s car to school today, downright refusing to walk home after what you knew would be a hardcore soccer practice with no water breaks. Your mum Edith, too drunk to truly comprehend what her child was saying, had given up the car without too much of a fight, muttering under her breath something about you being a "lazy little shit" as she flopped down on the couch with a beer at seven in the morning.

Locating your beat up and rusted truck in the parking lot, you climbed in and shut the door, throwing your gym back onto the passenger's seat with an elongated huff. You were exhausted. All you wanted to do was climb into bed and never wake up. Taking a moment to yourself, you rested your elbows on the steering wheel, chin finding respite in your palms as you took in a breath and simply existed for a few minutes. No expectations. No complicated high school crap. No Edith. Just as you were about to start up the truck and face your mother, you noticed her walking across the carpark with her signature swagger.

Natalie.

The two of you hadn't spoken since your incident the other night—not that you ever really spoke anyway. You weren't friends. Just teammates. And yet, as you watched Natalie search for someone in the parking lot (likely her friend Kevin, who picked her up most nights) and end up unsuccessful, you felt a pang of something in your chest.

It wouldn't be right to just leave her there, would it? It's was only getting darker, and colder. You wasn't too keen on Natalie, but your empathy would always get the best of you. Besides, Natalie wasn't that bad. The rumours that flowed through the school hallways did little to warp your opinion of the bleach blonde. Natalie was just...very intimidating. But she wasn't a bad person, somehow a part of you knew that.

Swallowing your nerves of being shut down by Natalie again, you beeped your horn, winding down the windows of your truck.

Natalie turned on her heel, searching for the source of the sound with a slight scowl, eyebrows raising slightly when she saw you.

"Um—do you...want a ride home? It's getting kinda dark," you called out, voice soft and inviting if not a little awkward as you nervously gripped the steering wheel too tight. Natalie hesitated, clearly shocked by the invitation, her face unreadable for a second as she considered the offer. After a few agonising seconds she replied, "Yeah, okay," in that raspy voice of hers, approaching your truck. You, slightly caught off guard by her acceptance, especially due to your last interaction, fumbled to throw your gym bag off the passenger seat and onto the backseat, just in time for Natalie who pulled open the door and slid in casually; closing the door behind her with a slam. Instantly, the scent of cigarettes, cheap perfume and something else so completely Natalie filled the truck.

The two of you sat in silence for a for a few moments, before Natalie spoke. "Fucking Kevin forgot to pick me up, again." Her voice seeped with subtle annoyance as she glanced out the window. You huffed out a quiet laugh as you started up the truck, wincing at the groaning noises it made- it was a very old piece of metal, though you doubted Natalie gave a shit. "That's okay," you said, voice soft, "just tell me where to drop you off."

As you pulled out the lot, you hesitated, "Um—I've got some tapes, in the glove compartment. Pick whatever you want," you said. Natalie raised her brow in interest, reaching her hand into the compartment and pulling out a handful of your cassette tapes. She flicked through them silently, picking one out and putting the rest back where she found them. She put the tape in and the two of you sat waiting, you being curious to see what the casually cool, famous Natalie Scatorccio's music taste was.

Fiona Apple's album Tidal began to play softly through the speakers. You smiled, glancing at Natalie as you continued to drive, "You're a Fiona fan, then?" you asked lightly. Natalie looked at you, nodding after a beat, "Yeah. She's good." she eventually said, voice steady. You nodded in agreement. "I'd kill to see her in concert," you sighed wistfully, hands gripping the wheel as you continued to drive, "okay, so—which way?" you asked as you pulled up to a junction. Natalie was quiet for a moment, as if debating something internally. "Left," she muttered, eyes on your face, gauging her reaction. "Then left again."

You nodded, face remaining neutral. Of course you knew where left, then left again was. The trailer park. If Natalie thought that you were going to judge her for that, she clearly didn't know you at all. You couldn't give a shit if Natalie was from the trailer park.

The rest of the drive was completed in silence, not awkward, but not completely comfortable. A slight tension had settled between the two teens, something neither girl could properly identify as you sat there, side by side. Natalie's gaze remained towards the car window, watching the world go by as she fiddled with the rings on her fingers, which had been painted black a few days prior and were now chipped and peeling. A couple minutes later as the trailer park came into view, you pulled the truck up at the sidewalk, cutting the engine.

It was silent for a few more seconds, before anyone spoke. "Thanks," Natalie muttered, voice slightly tentative, "you didn't have to."

You offered her a friendly smile, "Don't worry about it, Natalie. Any time." you said. Natalie let out a huff of amusement. "You don't need to call me Natalie." she murmured, eyes flickering with someone you couldn't understand, "Nat is fine," she finished, her lips pulling into not quite a smile but definitely not a grimace either. You nodded, "Right, Nat. If you ever need a lift just...let me know."

With a nod and another mumble of thanks, Nat got out the truck. She didn't look back, gym bag slung over her shoulder and that same signature swagger, you watched the blonde pull a cigarette from out of her pocket, just as she round the corner into the trailer park. Then, she was gone.

You blew out a breath you didn't know you were holding. That went surprisingly...well? Considering the last time the two interacted, Nat had practically yelled in your face, you would take this interaction as a definite win. Nat had accepted your offer and you both had actually managed a decent conversation. Plus, she had good music taste—as to be expected. The scent of her lingered, and you found yourself strangely enamoured by it. Then, as if realising where your thoughts were going, you shook your head as if to rid yourself of any thoughts besides getting into bed.

Why did you care so much?

...That isn't something you’re willing to address right now.

Sighing, you pulled away from the sidewalk to begin your journey home. With any luck, Edith would already be passed out on the couch.

Ten minutes later and you were walking into her house. Within five seconds, you heard obnoxiously loud snores coming from the living room. As expected, your mother was out cold. Good. Too tired to bother cooking something (and risking Edith waking up) you quietly trekked to the sanctuary of your bedroom. You just wanted to sleep. You let out a sigh as you kicked off your trainers and changed from your joggers and hoodie into an oversized t-shirt with a picture of The Smiths on it. Then, you collapsed onto your bed, finding comfort in your soft duvet and obnoxiously plump pillows.

You lay there, thinking about the day. About Jackie and her 'endurance training'. About Lottie and how appreciative you were to have a friend like her. About Nat...someone that you struggled to stop thinking about for no apparent reason. You thought about her raspy voice, her pretty bleached hair and the scent of cigarettes that always clung to her. Where the hell was all this coming from? Why was it happening? You groaned out loud, burying your head into your pillow and screwing your eyes shut. No more thinking about her. No more.

As you settled off to sleep, you knew one thing; you definitely wouldn't be able to stop thinking about her. The only question was why?

taglist: @priyajoy @deimaisgail

[simplygojo]

The Devil He Made Me - Ch. 5

Authors Note: THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR KINDNESS ON THE LAST CHAPTER!! I hope this one is also up to your standards!

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f/reader

Series Summary : After being found by Gojo and his first year students in a sticky situation, y/n joins Jujutsu High under the close supervision of Gojo. As time passes, the two of you become close, with a strong unspoken bond forming as you work together. Although, there is something dark looming over the situation, and those at Jujutsu High are determined to get to the bottom of it, before it is too late.

Chapter Summary : Y/n shows significant improvement in her cursed techniques over the next few weeks, but her nightmares continue to haunt her each night. Soon, Gojo sends y/n and the first-years out on a mission to tackle a special-grade curse, but the mission quickly goes wrong when some foul play is suspected.

Taglist: @mawhoreagaa; @peqch-pie; @blue-serendipity; @simplyyyuji; @starrnai; @sorcerersseestars; @n1vi; @angryglitterperfection; @krak-jj; @coweringbear; @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni; If you'd like to be added to the taglist, leave a comment to let me know :)

Word Count : 6.2k (sorryyyyyyy I had a lot to say in this one)

Warnings : Violence, blood, suggestive remarks, also mildly unedited...

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

The past two weeks brought about a change in you. Since the day your cursed techniques had emerged in full, something had shifted—not just in your power but in your confidence.

You’d been training harder, pushing your limits as often as you could, determined to master the new abilities that had manifested. 

Gojo had taken you and the first years on several missions—low-level cursed spirits that provided practice but nothing particularly challenging. Still, you could feel it in the air, the sense that something bigger was coming.

One evening, after a quiet day around the school, you found yourself in the common room, staring out the window as raindrops ran down the glass. The patter of rain was calming, yet your mind was restless. 

Your limbs ached from the long days of training, but it wasn’t the physical strain that bothered you.

It was the nightmares—relentless, vivid, and painful—that plagued you every night. You hadn't spoken about them yet, unsure if they even meant anything, but they were getting harder to shake off.

The door slid open, and you glanced up to see Gojo sauntering into the room. His white hair was slightly tousled, and as always, his signature rounded sunglasses did a poor job of hiding his striking eyes, but his grin was unmistakable.

“Hey,” he drawled, hands shoved casually in his pockets. “You look like you’ve seen better days.”

You let out a soft chuckle, though your smile barely hid the exhaustion. “Thanks, I really needed that boost to my self-esteem.”

Gojo smirked, taking a seat beside you on the small couch, tilting his head with that annoyingly charming confidence.

“You know, I’ve noticed you’ve been skipping out on sleep lately. Must be tough, trying to keep up with me and all.”

You blinked, raising an eyebrow. “How could you possibly know that?”

His grin widened, eyes glinting mischievously behind his sunglasses. “I’ve got great eyes, remember?” He said, shooting you a wink.

You rolled your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “Right.”  You realized he was referring to his Six Eyes technique. 

So does he just know everything? You thought. 

Gojo clasped his hands together and stretched them out in front of him. “So, what’s up?” He asked, looking over at you. “What’s keeping you up at night.”

You hesitated for a moment, biting your lip as you tried to figure out how to bring it up. 

“What? Are you dreaming of me, y/n?!” He said, dramatically clutching at his heart, a sly grin plastered on his face. 

You punched his arm, “Shut up, you wish.” You teased with a smile on your face. 

“There is something I’ve been meaning to bring up to you though…” The words felt heavy on your tongue, but there was no point in hiding it anymore. “I’ve been having these weird nightmares,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended. “Every night, for the past week.”

Gojo didn’t interrupt, his head tilting slightly, in an almost cat like manner, as if urging you to continue.

“They’re always the same. Just…pain. Searing, unbearable pain, so real that it sticks with me even after I wake up.” You paused, rubbing your temples.

“But there’s nothing else. No images, no memories—well, there are, but as I wake up, they all fade away, and it’s just the pain. It feels like—like it’s not just a normal dream.”

For a long moment, Gojo said nothing, his playful demeanour fading into something more serious. His face softened, and his eyes looked deep in thought as he stared in front of him. After a moment, he sat up slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he processed your words.

“Nightmares, huh?” he said, his voice lower now. “Didn’t think you were the type to lose sleep over those.”

You sighed as you began fiddling with your necklace. “It’s not about losing sleep. It’s…they feel too real, Gojo. Like they’re more than just dreams. I don’t know if it’s connected to my cursed energy or something else—I’m still new here—but I know that it’s getting worse. I wake up every night with this... lingering feeling, like something’s waiting on the other side that I can’t reach.”

Gojo leaned back against the couch, his head tilted up as if considering something deeply. “Sounds like your body’s trying to tell you something. You’ve been pushing yourself pretty hard lately—maybe too hard.” His voice dropped slightly as if to drive the point home.

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, he held up a hand. “But, if it’s not that,” He continued, “it could be your cursed energy evolving. Sometimes, when your energy changes, the body reacts in weird ways. Nightmares could be one of them.”

You shook your head, frowning. “But why pain? Why something so... specific?”

Gojo shrugged, but his tone was thoughtful. “Your cursed energy is different. It’s still evolving, and it might be trying to tell you something you don’t fully understand yet. Or...”

He paused, the playfulness slipping back into his voice as he gave you a knowing smirk. “Maybe you’re just being dramatic.” 

You shot him a sharp glare. “Hey! What the hell!? You know I am not being dramatic!” You shouted at him accusingly. 

Gojo let out a loud laugh in response, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at you with a smug grin. “Relax, relax, I’m just messing with you.” His voice was teasing, but there was an underlying softness in his gaze, which did not budge from yours, that made you pause.

You huffed, crossing your arms in front of you, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, that’s what everyone loves about me,” Gojo replied smoothly, stretching his arms above his head before letting them fall back onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. 

"But seriously, you’ve gotta ease up a little. If you want, we can see if Shoko can monitor your dream or something to find out some answers."

You raised an eyebrow, turning to look at him. “Shoko? You think she can help with this?”

Gojo shrugged, leaning back on the couch as if the suggestion was no big deal.

“She’s smarter than she lets on. If anyone can figure out what’s going on with your cursed energy, it’s her. Plus,” he added with a smirk, “she’s got that whole ‘doctor’ thing going for her. You know, credentials and all.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his casual tone. “You make it sound like you’re just recommending a spa day or something.”

“Well, to be fair,” Gojo said, grinning wider, “a spa day wouldn’t hurt either. You’re wound up tighter than a cursed spirit. A little relaxation could do wonders.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to feel more personal. “You’re not a machine, y/n. It’s okay to take a breath.”

He had a point, though you hated to admit it. The nightmares, the intense training, pushing yourself so hard day after day—it was starting to weigh on you—And you were not some expert sorcerer. But stopping felt like giving in, like letting the fear of the unknown win.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I guess you’re right,” you admitted reluctantly. 

Gojo gave you a triumphant grin, clearly pleased with himself. “I’m always right, you should know that by now.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. "Thank you.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk taking on a mischievous edge. “Oh, you’re thanking me now? Careful, y/n… You keep this up, and I might start expecting more gratitude.” He stood up, but his eyes never left yours.

You shot him a playful glare. “You wish.”

Gojo leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping into a lower, teasing tone. “Oh, I do. And trust me, I’ve got a pretty vivid imagination.” His gaze lingered on you for just a beat too long, a suggestive glint in his eyes.

Your heart skipped a beat, heat rising to your cheeks despite your best efforts to stay composed. “Oh God—Shut the hell up,” you muttered, trying to ignore the way his words had affected you.

Gojo laughed, straightening up as he made his way toward the door, giving you a playful salute. “Catch you later, y/n! Sweet dreams.”

You groaned, his laughter echoing down the hall. Even after he was gone, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, your pulse still racing from his remark. 

With Gojo, every conversation felt like a tightrope walk between playful teasing and full-blown flirting—and that unpredictability made everything between you that much more entertaining. 

—

The following evening, after a particularly gruelling training session, you found yourself lounging in the common area with Maki, Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi. The air was light, filled with the sound of Nobara’s laughter as she playfully taunted Yuji for losing yet another sparring match earlier that day.

“You’ve gotta stop holding back, Yuji,” Nobara teased, nudging him in the ribs. “You’re making me look bad.”

Yuji pouted dramatically. “I’m not holding back! You just fight dirty.”

Maki snorted. “She’s right though, you know. You’re still telegraphing your punches like a rookie.”

“Hey! I’m getting better!” Yuji protested, throwing his hands up in mock defeat.

“You’re getting something,” Megumi chimed in dryly from his seat, not bothering to look up from the book he was pretending to read. “Not sure if it’s ‘better’ though.”

You grinned at the banter, feeling a warmth in your chest as you watched the exchange. It was nice, these moments of camaraderie. 

You had no memories of your life before waking up in that forest. You didn’t know whether you had friends or a family somewhere, so it felt nice knowing that, despite that, you were surrounded by people. 

Even though there was constant danger surrounding your life as a sorcerer, there was comfort in knowing you had people who had your back. People who you could laugh with, spar with, and, when the time came, fight alongside.

Maki leaned back in her seat, glancing over at you with an amused smirk. “You’ve been quiet, y/n. Something on your mind?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but there was a heaviness in your chest that you couldn’t quite shake. “I guess I’ve just been thinking about some stuff.”

Nobara leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand as she eyed you. “Like what? Spill it, y/n.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should say it. But these were your friends—if anyone would understand, it was them. You took a deep breath. “Apparently, the higher-ups are suspicious of me.”

The room went quiet for a moment, the atmosphere shifting. Yuji, who had been lounging on the couch with his head tilted back, sat up straighter. “Suspicious of you? Why?”

You gave a half-hearted chuckle. “I don’t know. Maybe because of the whole... cursed energy—found with no memories in a forest—thing. It’s different from what they’ve seen before. I guess they don’t trust it.”

Yuji frowned, his brow furrowing. “That’s messed up. They tried to kill me last year, too. If Gojo-sensei wasn’t around, they probably would’ve executed me by now.”

“Wait, what?” you blurted, eyes widening in disbelief. “They tried to kill you? Are they trying to kill me?”

He nodded, a humourous smile on his face. “Yeah, when they found out I had Sukuna inside me. They don’t exactly give you the benefit of the doubt when they’re scared of what you can do.”

Maki crossed her arms, her expression hardened. “The higher-ups are always looking for reasons to control or eliminate anything they don’t understand. But they probably aren’t going to go that far with you—you aren’t cursed. You’re just different. They’re cowards, hiding behind their rules.”

Nobara scoffed. “Seriously. They’re a bunch of old geezers who think they can decide who lives and who dies.”

Megumi, who had been quietly observing the conversation, finally spoke up. “They’ll leave you alone as long as Gojo-sensei has your back. He’s the only reason they don’t go after Yuji anymore.”

You felt a lump form in your throat at Megumi’s words. It was comforting to know that Gojo was protecting you, but it also felt like a heavy weight to carry.

“I guess... but what if they find a reason to come after me anyway? What if Gojo can’t protect me forever?”

Yuji leaned forward, giving you a reassuring grin. “If that happens, we’ve got your back. You’re one of us now, y/n. The higher-ups can suck it.”

Maki smirked. “Yeah, and I’d love to see them try. They wouldn’t know what hit them.”

Nobara gave you a firm nod. “Exactly. We’re a team, y/n. They’ll have to get through all of us before they even think about touching you.”

Your heart swelled at their words, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

Despite the uncertainty, despite the danger that came with being a sorcerer, there was a deep sense of comfort in knowing that you weren’t alone in this. You had friends who would stand by you, no matter what.

“Thanks, guys,” you said quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It means a lot.”

Yuji grinned, the mood in the room lifting again. “Hey, don’t mention it. We’ve gotta stick together, right?”

Maki nudged you with her elbow. “Besides, you’re not going anywhere. If the higher-ups have a problem, we’ll deal with it when the time comes. You really need to try and relax, y/n.”

Megumi’s gaze softened, and he gave you a brief nod of agreement. “Exactly. You’ve earned your place here, y/n. Don’t let them make you feel otherwise.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling a warmth spread through you. Maybe things weren’t as hopeless as they seemed. Maybe, with friends like these, you could face whatever came next—together.

—

The next day, Gojo gathered you, Nobara, Megumi, and Yuji together in a classroom. “We’ve got a special grade curse,” Gojo announced, his tone unusually serious as he addressed the group. “Abandoned hospital on the outskirts of town. Reports of multiple cursed spirits, and they’re getting stronger by the day.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the mention of a special grade curse. The last few missions had been easy in comparison, but this? This was going to be a real test of everything you’d learned so far.

—

The abandoned hospital loomed before you, its decaying walls and shattered windows casting eerie shadows in the dying light. Vines had overtaken much of the exterior, twisting through broken glass and crumbling stone, giving the building the appearance of something that nature itself was trying to reclaim.

"Classic horror setting," Yuji muttered as you all stood in front of the hospital. "Why is it always places like this?"

"Spirits like places where humans suffered," Megumi said quietly, his dark eyes scanning the perimeter. "Hospitals, prisons, battlefields—they’re drawn to them."

"Stay alert," Gojo said, his tone more serious now as he led the way deeper into the building. "Special grade curses are unpredictable. We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet."

You could feel the tension rising in the group. 

“Anyways, good luck, students! Don’t die!” Gojo shouted in an animated sing-song voice, giving one final wave as the veil lowered between you.

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Well isn’t that encouraging. What a weirdo.” 

As you entered the hospital, the air immediately grew colder, and the stench of mould and decay hit you like a wall. 

You felt your insides stir—this place was so spooky—they were reacting to the oppressive atmosphere that pressed down on your chest.

It was hard to tell what was more unsettling—the building’s slow disintegration or the cursed energy that seemed to pulse within its walls barely contained.

As you moved through the hospital's dark, twisting hallways, your mind was racing. The last few missions had been tough on you, but you had proven yourself over and over again. You were ready for this—right?

Even though you had faced some curses before, there was always an element of unpredictability, especially with a special grade. They didn’t play by the same rules as lower-level spirits, and you had only been a sorcerer for a total of a few weeks.

But you knew you had no choice but to come along with everyone on the missions.

Gojo had said that he needed to keep you busy and away from the school grounds where Principal Gakuganji of the Kyoto School and other suspicious higher-ups had access to you. 

So you just agreed, you didn’t want to do any more tests, you knew you were telling the truth. 

As the group approached the hospital's central operating room, where the cursed energy seemed to be strongest, the floor beneath you suddenly shook. 

A deep, guttural sound echoed through the walls like the building itself was alive and groaning in pain.

"Here we go," Yuji muttered, cracking his knuckles, his fists igniting with the usual blue hue.

The door to an operating room burst open, and a wave of cursed energy hit you like a physical force, forcing you all to slide back. 

Inside the room, a grotesque figure hovered in the air, its body a twisted mass of blackened flesh and pulsating veins. Its face—or what was left of it—was a gaping maw of jagged teeth, and its limbs dangled unnaturally as though they had been broken and twisted in every direction.

"That’s a special grade, alright," Nobara said through gritted teeth, her hands already wrapped around her hammer and nails.

The cursed spirit let out an ear-piercing screech, and the room itself seemed to warp and distort under the pressure of its cursed energy. You covered both of your ears at the piercing noise. 

Shadows twisted and stretched along the walls, making it difficult to tell where the real threat was coming from.

"Formation B!" Megumi called out, taking the lead as the team snapped into action.

You moved to the side, focusing your energy into your palms, ready for action. Gojo had warned you about overextending, but now was not the time to hold back. As the others engaged the cursed spirit, you felt your energy pulsing within you, stronger than ever before.

The battle was intense. Yuji charged in with his usual reckless enthusiasm, landing powerful blows on the curse, while Megumi summoned his shikigami to distract and confuse the creature.

Nobara, always precise, launched her nails with deadly accuracy, each one imbued with her cursed energy.

But despite their combined efforts, the curse wasn’t going down easily. Its grotesque form seemed to regenerate almost instantly after each attack, its twisted limbs snapping back into place as it shrieked and lashed out with dark tendrils of cursed energy.

Suddenly, you noticed more curses charging down the narrow hallway—no—not more curses, duplicates of the special grade? 

“Uh, guys, we have a few more problems coming this way!” You shouted, sending a beam of cursed energy at one of the creatures.

Their grotesque forms slithered out from the shadows, their eyes glowing with a sickly light as they attacked with reckless abandon. 

The cursed energy in the air was heavy—borderline oppressive, and as the battle wore on, you realized with a sinking feeling that you were being overwhelmed.

Gojo, for the first time, wasn’t watching over you.

As you fought, your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline surging through your veins. The cursed spirits were relentless, their attacks growing more vicious by the second, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself separated from the group, struggling to hold your own.

And then you felt it—a foreign cursed energy, dark and unfamiliar, taking hold of you. 

It surged through your body like wildfire, the feeling of it coursing through you—it was strong. Without thinking, you raised your hand, mimicking the shape of a gun with your fingers, aiming toward the cursed spirit in front of you. 

A blast of black-coloured cursed energy surged from your fingertips, its force unlike anything you'd ever experienced. 

The energy was different from your usual vibrant blue—it was pitch black, rippling through the air with an ominous weight. 

There was a heaviness to it, darker, more sinister, but at the same time... strangely familiar. It moved through you like a shadow, one you hadn't realized was lurking within.

The cursed spirit in front of you didn't stand a chance against the sudden surge. The black energy ripped through its grotesque form, sending it flying backward, crashing through walls like they were paper. 

The ground beneath you trembled as the creature's screech echoed in the air, growing distant as it was hurled away, disappearing into the rubble.

You tried to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly, the world tilting slightly from the exertion. 

Before you could even see if the special-grade curse had been exorcised, a new threat emerged—swift, a lower-level curse appearing out of nowhere, claws sinking into your abdomen.

The impact was immediate, brutal, knocking the wind out of you. You doubled over, your mouth filling with the bitter taste of blood as it poured out uncontrollably.

You barely had time to process the pain before the curse hit you again—this time, its hand wrapped around your head, slamming your skull into the cold, unforgiving concrete tiles beneath you. 

The ground splintered on impact, the sharp sting reverberating through your entire body. Stars danced in your vision, your mind struggling to focus, to hold onto any semblance of control.

Panic clawed at you as your heart hammered in your chest. The dark energy you’d released moments ago had drained you, leaving your body weak, vulnerable.

You could feel it—the slow creep of defeat as the curse pressed its advantage, its grotesque laughter filling the air, a mocking sound that only fueled your fear.

Your body trembled as you tried to raise your hands, summoning the familiar blue shield of your cursed technique. 

The shimmering barrier flickered to life just in time, forming a protective dome around you.

The curse snarled in frustration, raining down blow after blow, but your shield held—for now. Each hit reverberated through your bones, the blue light shuddering with each impact.

But the cracks were already forming. You felt them—spiderweb fractures spreading across the surface of the shield, each hit making it weaker, thinner. 

You clenched your fists, pushing every ounce of energy you had left into maintaining it, but that dark energy had drained you. The curse was too fast, too relentless.

A crack split through the shield, a web of blue light that shimmered before faltering, and your heart raced as you realized the inevitable.

You were going to die.

​​The cursed spirit’s claws were mere inches from your face when the blue light of your shield finally gave out. Your last line of defence crumbled like shattered glass, leaving you exposed, and the curse roared, lunging for the kill.

For a heartbeat, everything froze. Then, out of nowhere, you felt a familiar presence surge forward. 

Gojo. 

His cursed energy slammed into the battlefield. The air around you shifted, becoming dense, almost suffocating.

The cursed spirits recoiled instantly, their monstrous forms trembling as if they could sense the inevitable destruction headed their way.

Gojo appeared in front of you in a blur of motion, levitating just above the ground, standing tall between you and the four special-grade curses, his back to you as if daring them to try anything.

His aura crackled like electricity in the air, the sheer force of it pressing down on everything around him. You’d felt his power before, but never like this—never so raw, so lethal.

The cursed spirit that had nearly killed you snarled, preparing for another attack, but Gojo didn’t flinch. He raised a single hand, fingers splayed casually, but his tone was ice-cold.

"Stay back."

One of the special grades, a grotesque mass of limbs and dark energy, didn’t heed the warning. It charged forward, screeching, its enormous claws slicing through the air, aiming directly for Gojo’s head. But before it could get close, Gojo moved.

It was so fast you barely saw it—just a blur of white and blue as Gojo flicked his wrist.

A ripple of cursed energy erupted from him, invisible but devastating. The curse was obliterated on contact, torn apart mid-air with such force that the shockwave blasted debris in every direction.

The ground itself cracked beneath the sheer impact of Gojo's technique.

The other three special grades barreled around the corner, coming from where you had been separated from the group, likely sensing the death of their comrade.

Their twisted forms shrank back for a moment, cautious, as Gojo turned his head slightly to glance at them. His grin was there, but it was chilling—predatory, and his eyes were sharp.

"Next." He said coldly. 

Another one of the special grade duplicates, a hulking beast with jagged scales and red eyes, let out a bone-shaking roar and lunged at Gojo.

This one was smarter, possibly the main body, using its enormous bulk to tear through the ground and debris, sending it flying toward Gojo. But it didn’t matter.

Gojo barely blinked as he raised his other hand. His cursed energy flared, but this time, it was different—stronger. T

here was a low hum in the air, the kind that made your skin crawl. With a flick of his fingers, the air in front of him seemed to ripple, and in an instant, the curse was halted mid-charge.

It stopped as if hitting an invisible barrier, limbs flailing, confusion flashing in its eyes.

This must be Gojo’s infinity. 

Then, Gojo clenched his fist, and the curse was crushed—its body caving inwards under the pressure of his cursed energy.

It let out a final screech before it was flattened into the earth, nothing but dust and blood splattered on the ground where it once stood.

The third curse, a lanky figure with long, twisted arms, hissed, its grotesque eyes flicking between you and Gojo as if weighing its chances. Without warning, it shifted its target—to you.

In a blur of motion, the curse moved faster than you could track. One second it was by Gojo, and the next, it was in front of you, its arm outstretched, claws aiming directly for your throat.

You didn’t have time to react. You could barely breathe, the pain from your earlier injuries making every movement agonizing. Blood dripped from your wounds, pooling beneath you as you struggled to stay conscious. 

Your vision blurred, and the only sound you could make was a weak gasp as the curse closed in.

But it never reached you.

Gojo’s energy flared again, a wave of blue light cutting through the air like a blade. The curse froze mid-strike, its arm mere inches from your neck.

Then, with a sudden explosion of power, it was ripped apart, and shredded into pieces by Gojo’s cursed technique. The pieces fell to the ground with a sickening thud, leaving you gasping for air.

“I’d really advise you to stay away from my students,” his voice lower, more dangerous than you’d ever heard it. “I can be quite protective over them.”

There was only one curse left now, and it was by far the most powerful. 

The final special grade stood at the far end of the battlefield, its monstrous form pulsing with energy. It was larger than the others, its body covered in thick, armoured plates that gleamed in the dim light. Its eyes, burning with malice, locked onto Gojo—and then onto you.

The curse bared its fangs, a guttural laugh vibrating through its chest. “You,” it hissed, its voice dripping with malice, “Don’t you feel it?” 

The curse taunted, eyes gleaming with twisted amusement. “It’s almost time for you!” It yelled with a wicked snarl, its voice rising to a fever pitch.

Gojo didn’t react at first; his body was still, and his gaze was fixed on the curse. But you could feel it—the rage building beneath the surface, bubbling up in waves.

"Where did you and your ugly little friends come from?" He asked the curse, ignoring its previous statement, slowly walking towards it.

“When I lowered the veil, there was only one of you. No way I missed these other guys.” 

The curse snarled in response, but before it could move, Gojo was already in front of it.

“If you don’t answer my question—I’ll kill you.” He said coldly.

The curse spoke in response but ignored the question Gojo had asked it. “Dirty human.” It managed to get out.

Gojo’s hand shot forward, palm outstretched, and his cursed energy exploded.

The impact was instantaneous. The curse was blasted backwards, crashing through walls, buildings, anything in its path. But Gojo didn’t stop there.

With a burst of speed, he was on the curse again, kicking it with such force that the ground cracked beneath their feet. The curse let out a deafening roar, but Gojo’s expression remained unchanged—cold, furious.

His cursed energy wrapped around the curse, constricting it like a vice, squeezing until the armour plates cracked and shattered under the pressure.

“You think I’d let you live after that?” Gojo’s voice was calm, almost too calm. “You were going to kill them. You were going to kill my students. That’s pretty rude, you know.”

The curse screeched, but Gojo tightened his grip, his cursed energy surging. The ground beneath them split apart, deep fissures forming in the earth as Gojo’s power reached its peak. His eyes, glowing with that terrifying blue light, locked onto the curse one final time.

“You made the wrong choice.”

With a final, devastating blow, Gojo obliterated the curse. The explosion of energy sent shockwaves across the battlefield, levelling everything in its path. When the dust settled, there was nothing left of the curse but ash and rubble.

Gojo stood there, breathing heavily, his fists still clenched at his sides, blood smeared across his face. His cursed energy lingered in the air, buzzing with intensity. Slowly, he returned back to you.

You were slumped against a pile of debris, barely conscious. Blood coated your skin, pouring out of your mouth and wounds, your breathing shallow and ragged. 

You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The pain was overwhelming, and darkness threatened to pull you under.

His cursed energy still crackled in the air, fierce and oppressive, like a storm that had yet to pass. But that didn’t matter now.

What mattered was you.

His heart hammered in his chest as his eyes locked onto your broken form.

Your body was covered in blood, your skin pale, your breathing shallow and labored. He could see the faint rise and fall of your chest, but the sight only made his stomach twist. He was there in an instant, dropping to his knees beside you.

"Satoru..." you whispered, your voice barely audible, but it was enough to catch his attention. 

He flinched slightly at the sound of his name from your lips—so familiar, yet, in this moment, it felt like it held a weight that was too much for him to carry.

His breath hitched, and for a second, his mask of invincibility cracked.

He was no longer Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, the untouchable protector. He was just Satoru, the man who nearly lost something far more precious to him than a battle.

The word echoed in his head, not from his lips, but from your past whisper when you'd said his name before, breaking the invisible wall between you two. Now, as he knelt before you, it felt different—more raw, more real.

His hands hovered above your wounds, trembling, unsure whether to touch you, heal you, or just... hold you.

The usual cocky smirk that adorned his face was long gone, replaced by an expression of sheer panic, something so uncharacteristic of him that even he struggled to recognize it.

“You almost died,” he muttered, voice low and thick with emotion. His eyes, for once, weren’t hidden behind his glasses or his blindfold. His gaze wasn’t calculating or aloof. It was vulnerable, filled with something he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge until now. 

You could barely register the words through the haze of pain. Everything was blurring, the edges of your vision fading in and out. Your body was so weak, every breath you took was a battle. 

Yet, even through the fog of agony, you could feel him—his presence, his cursed energy, the way his fingers ghosted over your skin. The gentle tremor in his touch told you what his words couldn’t.

“Save your strength. We’re getting out of here. I’ll take care of everything.”

But there was no more strength left in you. Your vision darkened further, and your body slumped into his touch. You were fading, and Gojo knew it. 

His emotions roared in his chest, battling against the calm control he was supposed to maintain. He couldn’t lose you, not like this.

“Damn it,” he hissed, his voice trembling with an edge of desperation. 

He whipped his phone out of his pocket quickly and held it up to his ear with his shoulder, his thumb gently brushing over your wrist to reassure himself that your pulse was still there. 

“Damn it, y/n...Shoko! I am coming back to the school now, y/n is in critical condition—please be ready.” He hung up the phone with urgency.

The faintest rise and fall of your chest reassured him you were still with him, barely hanging on. But that was enough for now.

The last thing you saw before unconsciousness took you was his face, inches from yours, those baby-blue eyes soft yet filled with an intensity that sent a warmth flooding through your cold body.

Gojo heard footsteps running down the hall. 

The first to arrive was Yuji, his eyes wide with worry as he took in the scene. "Gojo-sensei!" he called out, his voice shaky as he stumbled over the rubble toward you both.

Nobara and Megumi were right behind him, their faces pale, their exhaustion evident, but the sight of you drained the colour from their faces even more.

Yuji’s gaze landed on your bloodied, battered form, and his heart sank. “Y/n…” he whispered, his voice full of disbelief. He rushed forward but hesitated, unsure if he should get closer. “Is she…?”

“She’s alive,” Gojo muttered, his voice low and tight as he attempted to keep up his lighthearted attitude, “What kind of teacher would I be otherwise.” He let out a soft chuckle, “But she’s hurt—badly.”

Megumi’s eyes darted between Gojo and you, his normally stoic expression faltering.

He had seen you fight, and all three of them felt you unleash that dark black-hued cursed energy, but seeing you like this—so fragile, so broken—it was something none of them had been prepared for. "What happened?" he asked, his voice rough.

Gojo shifted slightly, his grip on you tightening as he stared down at your unconscious form, the tension radiating from him palpable. "Something was off," he finally said, his voice laced with frustration and suspicion.

The students exchanged confused glances. Yuji frowned, stepping forward. "What do you mean?"

Gojo sighed, his usual playful demeanour nowhere to be found as he continued, "When I lowered the veil, there were no signs of these other cursed spirits. Not even a trace of their energy. I was monitoring everything, and they didn’t exist... until they did."

Nobara’s brow furrowed, the gravity of the situation settling in. "So, what? They just appeared out of nowhere?"

"Exactly." Gojo’s voice was sharp, filled with a rare intensity that made the air feel heavier.

His usually carefree posture was replaced with something far more serious, more protective. "Curses that strong don’t just pop up. Someone—or something—wanted us caught off guard. Those curses weren’t supposed to be there, especially not after I lifted the veil."

Megumi’s eyes darkened with realization. "A setup."

Gojo nodded, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the surrounding area once more. "That’s what it looks like. Whoever orchestrated this knew we’d be here. And it seems they wanted y/n—" he glanced down at you, his expression softening just slightly, "—and the rest of you vulnerable. If I hadn’t come back when I did…"

Yuji’s fists clenched, anger simmering beneath his usually easygoing expression. "But why now? And why would they target y/n like that?"

Gojo didn’t answer immediately, his gaze still fixed on you. His jaw tensed as if holding back something deeper. "I don’t know yet," he finally said, his voice low. "But this wasn’t just a random attack. Someone’s playing a dangerous game."

Nobara, ever the blunt one, crossed her arms, frustration clear in her tone. "Whoever they are, they’re going to pay for this."

Gojo’s lips twitched, a shadow of his usual smirk returning, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Oh, they will," he murmured, voice dark with a rare, controlled anger. "But for now, we need to get y/n back to Shoko. She’s lost too much blood, and this cursed energy…"

His voice trailed off, and for a moment, none of the students spoke. The atmosphere was thick with unease, the weight of what had just transpired sinking in. Whatever this was, it was far from over.

"Let’s move," Gojo finally said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He stood, lifting your body with a gentleness that seemed at odds with the sheer power he had unleashed only moments ago. 

As the others gathered around, a collective sense of resolve washed over them.

They might not know who or what had orchestrated the attack, but one thing was certain: they would fight back.

And Gojo would make sure that whoever was behind it would regret ever targeting you.

[seethesin]

rotaries and roses

pairing: Tattoo Artist!Corky x Florist!F!Reader

tags/warnings: modern au, tattoo artist/florist trope, first time tattoos, suggestive themes, cursing, teasing

a/n: requested by anonymous here. this was my biggest challenge yet because... this is smut free and i don't have tattoos 😭 i hope you guys don't mind how many liberties i took with this! as there are no gif hunts of gina as corky, this will have a gifless format. enjoy! 🥰

You found yourself at Corky's by the recommendation of a close friend. Every time you mentioned your desire for a tattoo, they would practically beg you to give the tattoo shop a chance before pulling up their Instagram page. The first thing you noticed was the address. The tattoo shop was on the same street as your flower shop; how you hadn't noticed it sooner was beyond you.

Your friend was right. You needed to take your ass over there. And now, there was no excuse not to.

Out of all the artists featured, the owner, Corky, had your favorite designs. Her Neo-Traditional style blew you away, and it was the post featuring a canvas with an array of roses that sealed the deal. They had always been your favorite flower, regardless of the stereotypical label they held. Every bouquet of roses that leaves your shop always receives your special attention. They never fail to bring a smile to your face, regardless of the color, quantity, or occasion. To have them on your body felt right to you and you wanted them in Corky's signature style.

You spent the rest of that evening mulling over what you wanted. It took you a few more days, but finally, you came to a decision. You wanted a ram surrounded by Corky's roses. A ribbon would wind around the portrait of the ram with the phrase: My will is sturdy inscribed on it. The design was perfect and you knew Corky would do your vision justice.

Your consultation was the first time you meant Corky outside of emailing her. A studded leather jacket was haphazardly thrown over her white tank top. You couldn't tell what brand of jeans she wore, but they did wonders for her legs. Her steel-toed boots clicked on the hardwood floor as she came to greet you. You accepted her offered hand into a shake and couldn't stop yourself from memorizing the callouses on her palm within those few, fleeting seconds. Her brown hair was perfectly unkempt and a permanent, knowing smirk was glued onto her face.

"I'm Corky."

She was hot. You were fucked.

After your initial greetings, she brought you to the back where her desk was so you both could work through your design. You found as many references as possible, including the same array of roses you saw on her shop's Instagram page. Corky chuckled fondly as she examined the canvas, lips quirking into a genuine smile.

"This is some of my older work," she mused as if she was warning you. Her gaze flickered through her lashes, brow quirked inquisitively at you.

"It's one of my favorites," you admit and Corky's smile only grows at your confession.

The close proximity allows you to catch onto her scent: fresh smoke and citrus. You want her to tattoo it into your lungs.

"Give me an hour and I'll have something nice for you. I'll call you when I'm finished."

One phone call later and you were back in her shop. Unsure of proper etiquette in the tattooing world, you had brought back coffee for both yourself and Corky. You needed a pick me up and it felt strange not to share with her. Shyly, you offered her a cup which she graciously accepted. Your guess of Corky taking her coffee black was right; you swallow a smile at the thought. She leads you back to her desk so she can present you her work.

It's overwhelming how beautiful Corky's art is. Everything about it is perfect and truly, you can't think of anything else to add, remove, or change. The roses woven through the ram's horns, the brilliant blue outline, and the delicate font she chose for the banner were small details you would have never considered on your own.

Your lack of a verbal response makes Corky laugh, leaning in closer.

"Stunned ya speechless, huh?" she teased and you can't help but laugh with her.

"It's gorgeous, Corky."

There's something on Corky's tongue as she pauses. Silently, you watch her shake whatever thought it was away before refocusing on you.

"Where do you want this?"

You pause to think.

"I think my thigh would be the best. I've read that it's one of the better places to get your first tattoo."

This information slaps a smile back on her face.

"You read right. That works for me."

Soon after, you discuss the rest of the housekeeping tasks regarding your tattoo. Once you put an initial deposit down, you decide on a date a month later. You bid Corky goodbye and return to your flower shop to close up for the night. Before you retire to bed, you start working on a custom rose bouquet for one of your clients.

The roses are beautifully crimson, just like the ones Corky drew for you.

"I'll be with ya in a moment!" A disembodied voice calls from the next room over at the sound of the doorbell. You nod—more to yourself—before shutting the door behind you.

A month blew by quicker than you anticipated. Tonight, you found yourself awkwardly stationed at the front door of Corky’s tattoo shop with a cup of coffee in each hand. On her recommendation, you came well-fed, hydrated, and with eight hours of sleep under your belt. You donned a loose, simple dress, figuring it would make Corky's job tonight easier.

What you didn't realize was that she booked you as her closer tonight. The shop was empty and immediately, you felt yourself sweating. Silently, you asked whatever higher powers existed to refrain from making you out into a fool tonight.

Shifting on your heels, you visibly brighten at the sound of Corky's boots thundering towards you. She appears from the backroom, grinning ear to ear as she walks towards you. She's clad in another plain white tank top and dark jeans, revealing the complex sleeves her leather jacket hid. The most notable tattoo is of a labrys on her upper arm.

"Hey stranger," she greets, raising her brows as you offer her a coffee cup. "You spoil me; thank you."

You don't miss the way her eyes drag down your frame.

Corky's fingers slide against yours as she takes the coffee from you. Her touch is electric and you hold back from shivering. If something so innocuous got to you, you don't know how you'll last tonight.

"My pleasure." You don't mean to sound so breathless, but you were currently recovering from her touch. Corky merely smiles and beckons you to follow her. You do so wordlessly, stepping up and over to her workstation.

She sifts through her desk before pulling out the stencil of your tattoo. Turning on her heel, she presents it to you and you nearly choke on your coffee.

It’s perfect.

Every detail from her initial artwork has been transcribed onto the stencil. You find yourself hypnotized as you lean in closer. It needs to be on your body now.

"Corky," you start and she laughs, gesturing for you to sit in the chair. You do so quickly, placing your belongings on an empty side table out of the way.

"Don't go worshipping me yet," she teases, easily picking up on the dreaminess laced in your voice.

She drags over a small, wheeled cart, completely set up for your session. You're unfamiliar with everything on it, but you watch carefully as she sets up her rotary machine. After checking to make sure you didn't have a latex allergy, Corky puts on a pair of black, single-use gloves.

"I still gotta tattoo it."

Pulling her stool over, her gloved hand goes to your thigh. The edge of her thumb grazes the hem of your dress and tenderly—so tenderly you might faint—she pushes the skirt up. You meet her in the middle, pulling it the rest of the way so it settles just over your hips. Cool air immediately rushes between your thighs and you've never felt more exposed. Corky guides your leg towards her and the thought of her face buried in your cunt flashes in your mind. Swiftly, you shake it away.

You allow her to position you as she sees fit while she preps your skin. Once satisfied, she presses the stencil to your skin to transfer the design. It takes all of your restraint to stay still and on the chair. How were you going to make it through a two hour session?

"Go check it out in the mirror." Corky points her thumb behind her and her voice sucks you back from your reverie.

Holding your dress skirt up, you walk to the wall mirror and examine the design. Turning to her, you hold a thumb up as she stares intensely at the exposed flesh. She hums in approval and you hurry back onto the chair. You get comfortable and again, Corky's hands are on your thigh. She's readjusting you and your teeth dig into the inside of your cheek to keep from moaning.

"Are you ready?"

You nod.

"Let's begin."

The first ten minutes are relatively quiet. The buzz of the rotary is the only thing distracting you from the dull pain in your thigh. Well, that and the fact that her other hand is gripping your thigh in a way that makes your head spin. Corky pipes up first over the noise.

"What do you do?"

You beam; you adore answering this question.

"I'm a florist!" You watch as Corky's brows raise in interest, her gaze intensely fixed on your leg as she works. "I actually own the flower shop just up the street."

The buzzing stops completely and her eyes are glued to your face, lips parted in surprise.

"You own Fern & Flora?"

You nod proudly, practically glowing from the recognition.

"No shit; one of my girls, Sue, is there every two weeks buying flowers for her girlfriend."

Corky's machine whirs back to life and the prickly pain on your thigh returns. You hum to yourself, going over a mental list of your regulars and who could fit the profile Corky described.

"She's always going on about how her girlfriend likes the—"

"Violets." You finish thoughtfully, unable to stop the genuine smile growing across your face. "Margaret's favorite flowers are violets and Sue never lets me forget it."

You watch the way Corky's face softens as you speak. Her thumb presses against your inner thigh and your breath hitches quietly in your throat.

"What's your favorite flower?"

Staring down at her in disbelief, a chuckle pushes from your throat. You gesture to the tattoo she was currently working on, hoping to highlight the array of roses she was getting ready to outline.

"Do you even have to ask?"

Corky's shoulders raise into a shrug, glancing up at you quickly before refocusing on your thigh.

"Hey, forgive me for making small talk." The smile in her voice is evident and you find yourself grinning along with her.

"What's your favorite flower?" You toss the question back to Corky, ready to take her answer and brand it into the back of your mind.

She takes a moment to think about your question. If it wasn't obvious already, you could tell that this was something Corky hadn't previously thought about.

"I think I'm going to have to swing by your shop at some point to answer that question."

You can't help but blush. Was she flirting with you?

"I'd like that," you admit, fiddling with your fingernails.

Corky doesn't respond, instead reabsorbing herself back into her work. But a sly smirk plays on her lips and you have to stare up at the ceiling to keep your thoughts at bay.

"I think you'd like cornflowers." You finally state after a minute of silence. The cool colors and perky petals reminded you of Corky's persona. The bouquets that you crafted with them were some of your favorites so far.

"I think I'd like anything you recommend."

Okay, she's definitely flirting with you. Brazenly, you reply with: "Then I recommend you visit me sooner rather than later."

"Oh yeah?" There's a teasing edge in Corky's voice and you feel the warmth rise to your cheeks. Her voice drops an octave lower and you've completely disregarded the pain in your thigh. "And why's that?"

In that moment, you’ve forgotten everything about yourself. The only things you could comprehend were Corky’s hands groping your flesh and the irritating whizzing of the rotary. You suddenly feel hot and the idea of stripping your dress off grows more attractive with each passing second.

“I want to make a bouquet for you.” The sentence is rushed from your own nervousness, but you mean every word. “The sooner you stop by, the better of a selection I’ll still have for the season.”

Caught off guard, Corky sputters out a cough. However, she doesn’t stop working. The machine is still on as she finishes the outline of your tattoo without issue. You glance down curiously and witness her face flush crimson. A delighted giggle squeezes from your throat and you swear Corky blushes deeper than before.

“I’ll come by tomorrow.”

Your laughter is replaced with a kind smile. “Promise?”

She nods.

The rest of your session goes swiftly. Corky works like a machine: detailed, efficient, and insanely accurate. Your small talk comes and goes in waves, more so that she can focus on her work above all else. With a final wipe of her towel, your tattoo is finished two hours later. She grins eagerly before looking up at you.

"Wanna check it out?"

You don't miss a beat: "Uh, of course!"

You practically spring off the chair, stretching your legs as you scurry over to the mirror. The hem of your dress is still bawled in your fists as you stare at your thigh. You can hear Corky snickering at you while you fawn over her work.

"Holy shit..." You are awestruck and you turn to her, gaping before turning back to the mirror.

"It looks incredible," she agrees, discarding her gloves before pulling the rolling cart over to the side and out of the way. She goes to her workstation, pulls a few documents out, and scribbles something down as you continue to gape and stare at your new tattoo.

You return to Corky's workstation, gathering your belongings as you ready your wallet. She turns to face you again, handing you paperwork and guidance on how to maintain your new tattoo. You listen to her instructions carefully, unable to stop yourself from staring at her chapped lips every few moments.

"Do you have any questions?" You shake your head, averting your gaze to the papers she gave you. It essentially regurgitated what she said aloud, but you were thankful to have something written to refer to. Corky had also included her business card that you examined, noting the handwritten number just below her professional contact information.

"Actually, I do have a question," you start, not looking up from the papers in your hands. "Do you give all of your clients your personal number?"

Turning the documents to Corky, you point at the handwritten digits just below her work email. She flushes briefly before clearing her throat.

"Well no," she starts and a grin is already curling on your lips, watching as she gathers her thoughts. "But I figured it would make sense to give it to you. For tomorrow."

You hum thoughtfully, glancing over at her workstation before looking at her.

"Can I borrow that?" You gesture at a Sharpie marker on the side and she snatches it up before handing it to you.

"Give me your arm."

Corky stares at you, bewildered by your demand, but obediently offers her right arm to you. Your fingers clasp her wrist, outstretching it so that her fingertips just barely graze the top of your chest.

You miss the sharp inhale Corky takes.

Carefully, you jot your phone number down, making sure to avoid writing over the pinup girl tattoo facing you. Once finished, you push the cap back on and place the marker in her open palm.

"For tomorrow," you parrot, giddily watching the flustered look wash over Corky's face. She nods quickly, clutching the marker before stammering for you to follow her so she can take the rest of your payment. You trail behind her, already working out flower combinations in your mind for Corky's bouquet.

Out of all the ones you can think of, cornflowers and roses are the most fitting.

🦇 tag list: @crvptidsmain, @astroph1les, @uraesthete

[leeeeeeeeech]

Don't Wanna be your Friend Anymore

"B-Beee." I slur, leaning against the ghoul, my vision swimming behind my drooping eyelids. The alcohol kicked in much quicker than I would've liked it too. This game was a dumb idea.

"Told ya," He chuckled, tucking some of my hair behind my ear with a delicate claw. "You cannot hold your liquor fer shit, tootsie pop."

I go to argue with him, but the bile that jumps into my throat beats me to it. I practically launch myself from the couch to stumble towards the bathroom. Beetlejuice cackles, triumphant that he'd won. I come back, sweatier and a couple shots lighter, to Beetlejuice sipping on another bottle of tequila. His hair a subtle purple hue.

"Damn, Beej, you goin' through something?" He jumps, a little startled, before he jerkily shrugs his shoulders, the purple retreating into his hair line, quickly replaced by his signature electric green.

"Nah, I like the burn," He takes another gulp, making a sour face as he set the bottle down. "Augh yep! That's the stuff."

"Come on, what's wrong? You're purple."

His eyes widen, hands jumping to his hair, attempting to cover it up. "N-Nothing's wrong. I just.. ughhh fuck okay okay." He sighs, gritting his teeth. My heart breaks as the purple comes back full force, it even bleeds past his hair. His tie and the white stripes of his suit a faded plum color.

Oh no.

"I miss you." He whispers, his voice strained. I sit next to him on the couch, scooting closer until our legs bump together.

"But I'm right here, Beej." I reach for his hand, but he smacks it away.

"No! No, you're not. Ever since you took that dumbass job you never have time for me!"

"How? We hang out every night."

He shakes his head, red sprouting into the purple, like splotches of blood.

"No. We really don't Y/n. This is the first time we've had an actual conversation in weeks, and it's only happening because we're both drunk!"

My head is swimming from this revelation. Was my new job really affecting him this much? I thought that things were good between us. I... I really fucked up, didn't I?

"I'm sorry, Beetlejuice, why didn't you say anything before?"

He shakes his head. "I didn't want... fuck.. this shit is really somethin' huh?" He gestures to the half empty bottle of tequila. "It really makes ya just say anything!" He laughs, but the joy doesn't reach his eyes, or his hair, or..anywhere really. A mirthless noise.

"Beej, you can be honest, I'm sorry we haven't hung out like we used to. I've been a terrible friend to you."

Beetlejuice mutters something angrily under his breath, crossing his arms and turning away from me. "What?" I lean towards him, grabbing a hold of his shoulder to balance myself.

"I don't want to be your friend." He says, punctuating each word with a pained hiss. I feel like complete shit. I took him for granted. "Beej, I'm so sorry! I wish I knew how to make all this better."

He's quiet for a while, seemingly contemplating, his hair changes from color to color. Red, blue, purple, orange, yellow....pink. I continue to watch in silence as he broods. A soft pink remains at the root of his hair as it fades through the entire rainbow. He pauses for a moment, noticing that I hadn't said anything to him. His eyes meet mine, the pink crawling through his hair slowly, the purple sliding into the forefront of his head. His gaze flickered down to my lips for a beat.

"Beetlejuice, I know I messed up, and if you don't want me-"

"Shut up for a second."

I clamp my mouth shut, watching him carefully as he scoots closer to me.

"I-"

He cuts himself off, turning away from me with a scoff. I hear him grumble, "Fuck it." but before I can comment on it at all, his hands are cupping my face, and his lips are pressed up against mine. My eyes fluttered closed as he presses into me, my hands wandering up into his hair to pull on the ever-changing strands. He groans into the kiss, the vibrations reverberating throughout me. It makes me shiver

He leans into me further, more hands groping, pinching, pulling. His tongue, cold and wet pressing against my teeth. His heavy breaths, and little groans are too much for me to handle. I push him off, panting and wiping at the slobbery residue of the kiss. Beetlejuice looks upset for a moment, but his eyes flick to my lips again and his hair goes bubblegum pink, strands of red settling in random patches. it makes him look like cinnamon candy.

"Bee-" He holds up a hand to my mouth, shushing me. He runs his free hand through his hair, a few mold spores falling out as he did so.

"Listen, Y/n, I.. I like you. A lot. Anytime I think about you and me it's like my heart's havin' an orgasm." His confession is rushed and stumbled through, but I quit listening to him once his hair started glowing. The pink shining so bright that it cast a soft light throughout the living room. I smiled at all my things being in Beej's light. I interrupt his ramble by kissing the hand that covered my mouth. He flinched, stopping mid sentence.

"You give my heart orgasms too, Beej." I laugh, holding on to his hand with both of mine. His shock quickly fades, replaced with that flirty cockiness that I've come to love.

"I bet I can make you feel like that all over~"

I lean forward into his space, grinning as his cheeks darken at my being so close. Liquid courage or love, I didn't care. I was going to see my ghoul pink for as long as possible.

"Let's test it."

(lil note): this is also on ao3!