#they knew how dangerous the world could be

[secretmaniacc]

FILL THE VOID

Pairings: the salesman x Fem!oc

Summary: After avoiding him for two days, she finds herself pinned down as he insists they go out to dinner, just as he promised in their bet. Reluctantly agreeing, she anticipates an elegant evening, but the night quickly takes an exciting and dangerous turn.

Warnings: slow burn, language, violence, Dom!salesman x baddie!oc, teasing, degrading, kissing, gun play, Russian roulette, knife play, semi public sex, hair pulling, mentions of blood, oral sex, male recieving, p in v, rough sex, spanking.

Wc: 6.2k

A/n: so sorry for the wait here’s pt.2 for “ride or die” since some of y’all liked it and I’m very happy for that, did some justice this time and spiced it up they can be out of character sometime so forgive me, hope y’all will enjoy it really worked hard on this one, not proofread <3

For two days, she’d managed to avoid him—strategically timing her office hours to when he wasn’t there, ignoring his messages, and pretending not to notice the way he seemed to linger just out of reach. But deep down, she knew it was only a matter of time before he caught up with her. 

That time came at the end of a long day when she thought she was safe. She gathered her things and prepared to turn around and head towards the door, only to feel a familiar presence.

“Thought you could avoid me forever?” His voice was low, smooth, and infuriatingly smug. 

Her hand tightened on the strap of her bag as she turned, schooling her features into something calm and unaffected. “I’m busy. Move.” 

He grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Busy ignoring me? Impressive effort, but I don’t take silence well.” 

“I’m not ignoring you,” she lied, stepping forward to brush past him. 

His arm shot out, blocking her path. “Really? Then why haven’t you answered my messages? Or were you too busy pondering about how much fun we had in the alley?” 

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she shot back, her tone clipped as she tried to push past him again. 

But this time, he shifted, moving to block her entirely and locking the door with a quick twist of his wrist. The faint click of the lock sent a chill down her spine, though she refused to show it. 

“Let me go,” she said, keeping her voice steady even as she felt her pulse quicken. 

He leaned back against the door, his arms crossed lazily, as though he had all the time in the world. “Not until we settle something.” 

She arched a brow, masking her unease with irritation. “And what’s so important that you’re resorting to theatrics?” 

His grin widened, his gaze sparkling with that insufferable confidence. “I’m a man of my word. And I promised to take you to dinner, didn’t I? Unless, of course, you’d rather recall how I made you feel so good in the alley.” 

She blinked, caught off guard by the reminder. “That was two days ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.” 

“It matters to me.” He stepped closer, the teasing edge in his voice making her heart stutter. “You won, fair and square. So, dinner. Tonight.” 

“Not happening,” she said firmly, though the conviction in her voice wavered slightly. 

He tilted his head, studying her with mock curiosity. “Why so stubborn? Afraid you’ll enjoy it?” 

Her jaw tightened. “I’m just not interested.” 

“You’re lying.” 

She glared at him, determined not to let him see how her resolve faltered under the weight of his gaze. “You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re avoiding the truth,” he countered, stepping closer until there was barely a breath of space between them. “But that’s fine. Say no if you want—I’ll still show up outside your door.” 

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, though the uncertainty in her voice made her doubt her own words. 

“Try me,” he challenged, his tone light but his intent clear. 

She sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly in defeat. “Fine. One dinner. But don’t make a habit of this.” 

His grin broadened, a glimmer of triumph lighting up his face. “Perfect. Wear something elegant—something that’ll fit the place. I expect you’ll be just as stunning as you were in the alley” 

“Excuse me?” 

He ignored her indignation, leaning in close enough for his breath to ghost against her cheek. His lips brushed lightly against her skin, leaving behind the faintest trace of warmth. “See you tonight,” he murmured before stepping aside and unlocking the door. 

She stared at him, momentarily thrown by the unexpected gesture. The smug look on his face only made her irritation flare, and she pushed past him with a sharp, “Don’t be late.” 

As she walked away, she tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach, brushing it off as nothing more than irritation. But the faint smile tugging at her lips told a different story. 

-----

She stood before the full-length mirror, the soft glow of her bedroom light catching the gentle shimmer of her crimson dress. The bodice hugged her figure like it was made for her, the delicate cowl neckline draping gracefully across her collarbones, while the fabric flowed into a silky skirt that brushed the floor with every subtle movement. Her long, black hair fell in effortless curls to her waist, framing her face with a touch of timeless elegance. A sheer wrap rested loosely on her arms, adding a layer of ethereal softness that seemed to dance with every step. 

Her phone buzzed on the dresser, pulling her from her thoughts. She glanced down to see his text: "I’ll be there in five." Letting out a small breath, she grabbed her purse, gave herself one last look, and headed downstairs. 

The evening air was cool as she stepped outside, heels clicking softly against the pavement. There he was, leaning casually against a sleek black Audi A6, its polished exterior gleaming under the streetlights. He wore a tailored black suit that framed his tall, broad figure perfectly, paired with a crisp white shirt and a black tie that added a sharp elegance to his appearance. His dark hair was neatly styled, though a rebellious strand fell over his forehead, softening his otherwise sharp features. 

As she approached, his gaze locked on her, a flicker of admiration crossing his face before he straightened and stepped toward her. Without a word, he took her hand, lifting it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. 

“You look breathtaking,” he murmured, his voice smooth yet sincere, his eyes holding hers for just a moment longer than necessary. 

A faint blush warmed her cheeks, but she managed a small, teasing smile. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” 

His lips twitched into a smirk as he opened the passenger door for her, gesturing for her to step inside. 

She settled into the plush leather seat, the soft scent of new car and faint cologne filling the space. The interior was sleek, with polished silver accents and an impressive digital dashboard glowing faintly in the dim light. She trailed her fingers over the armrest, the comfort and luxury surprising her. 

“You own this?” she asked, glancing at him as he slipped into the driver’s seat, his hands confidently gripping the wheel. 

He chuckled softly. “Why? Did you think I’d show up in something less fitting?” 

She shook her head, amused but still impressed, as they drove in silence toward their destination.  He would make teasing comments here and there that earned a chuckle from her.

The car pulled up to one of the most elegant restaurants in town, its grand facade glowing with soft golden lights. Outside, a long line of patrons waited eagerly, some dressed to the nines, chatting in anticipation. 

Her brows lifted in surprise at the sight. “You didn’t mention this place,” she said, her voice laced with curiosity. 

Before he could respond, two security guards stepped forward, opening her door with practiced precision. One took the keys from him while the other escorted them toward the entrance. She noticed how the murmuring crowd shifted, heads turning as they walked past. 

The guards held the doors open as they entered, bowing slightly in his direction. She bowed back out of respect, but he merely did, wrapping his arm around her waist as they stepped into the opulent dining area. 

The restaurant was stunning. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over tables draped in crisp white linens. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a breathtaking view of the city skyline, and a soft melody from a grand piano filled the air with an elegant ambiance. 

They were guided to a private table near the window, the staff pulling out her chair as she sat. As he took his seat across from her, she leaned in slightly, her tone playful. 

“Care to explain why everyone is treating you like you’re some mafia boss?” 

He chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at her. “Let’s just say I know how to make an impression.” 

She rolled her eyes, but a smirk tugged at her lips. “Oh, I’m sure you do.” 

The waitress approached with a professional yet warm smile, handing them menus. “Welcome. May I offer you something to start with?” 

She glanced at the menu, the luxurious options catching her off guard. “Are there any prices on this thing, or do we just guess?” she quipped, arching an eyebrow at him. 

He laughed softly. “Don’t worry, dinner’s on me. Feel free to splurge.” 

She smirked, leaning back in her chair. “Good, because I was planning to order the most expensive thing just to annoy you.” 

“Be my guest,” he replied smoothly, his grin teasing. “But I hope you know that means dessert is non-negotiable.” 

her eyes scanning the intricate names of dishes written in french. Brows furrowed, she tilted the menu closer as if the words would magically make sense the second time around. 

“What is... uh, rat-a-tou-ille??” she sounded out slowly, glancing up at him with genuine curiosity. 

His lips curved into an amused smile. “Ratatouille. It’s a vegetable dish—stewed with tomatoes, zucchini, eggplant, and herbs. Simple but classic..” 

“Oh, okay. That doesn’t sound too bad,” she nodded before her eyes caught another word. “And this one? Coq... au vin??” 

“Coq au vin” he corrected with a small laugh. “Chicken braised in red wine with mushrooms and bacon. Very traditional.”.” 

She tapped her chin with her finger, pretending to consider it seriously, then moved on to another dish. “Bou-ya... bouillabaisse?” 

“Bouillabaisse,” he supplied smoothly. “.It’s a fish stew with a mix of seafood, Want me to keep translating, or are you planning to make me read the whole menu for you?” 

She shot him a playful glare. “Hey, these names are intimidating, okay? I didn’t grow up speaking fluent…. Uh, whatever this is."

“french” he said, unable to suppress the laugh that bubbled out. “I have to admit, though, this clueless act of yours is kind of adorable.”

She rolled her eyes, heat rising to her cheeks. “Whatever. I’ll just stick to this one.” She pointed to a dish she didn’t recognize but liked the sound of. 

When he glanced at his menu filled with prices unlike hers, his smirk grew wider. “Interesting choice,” he mused, leaning back in his chair. 

“What?” she asked suspiciously. 

“Nothing,” he said, clearly holding back a laugh. “Just that it’s the cheapest thing on the menu.” 

Her jaw dropped. “Are you serious?” 

He nodded, still grinning. “Repick. Or I’ll do it for you.” 

She groaned, flipping through the menu again. “Fine. You pick.” 

He didn’t even look at her menu, already knowing it by heart. “Filet de boeuf Rossini,” he said confidently.

Her eyes widened slightly. “That sounds... fancy.”

“It’s perfect,” he replied with a wink. “Trust me.”

The waitress returned, taking his order for a sole meunière and hers for the beef Rossini. “And a bottle of Château d’Yquem,” he added casually.

When the waitress nodded and walked away, she raised an eyebrow. “Château d’Yquem? What’s that?”

“You’ll see,” he replied cryptically.

Moments later, the waitress returned with a sleek silver ice bucket, placing it on the table with a bottle of golden wine nestled inside. The light caught the liquid, making it shimmer, and her eyes widened as realization hit.

“This is wine?” she asked, pointing to the bottle. 

“Not just any wine,” he said, pouring a glass with practiced ease. “It’s... exclusive.” 

“How exclusive?” she pressed.

He took a slow sip, his lips curving into a knowing smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Her eyes widened. “You’re drinking liquid gold?”

He laughed at her incredulous expression, his voice rich with amusement. “Relax. Tonight’s on me, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Part of my charm,” he replied with a wink, setting his glass down.

Silence evoked as the air in the restaurant shimmered with quiet luxury, a symphony of muted chatter, piano tunes and crystal clinks filling the room. She leaned back against the chair, her delicate fingers tracing absent patterns on the edge of the table. Her gaze flickered toward the expansive window, the city lights sprawling like a living canvas. There was an effortless grace to her, the way her crimson dress caught the glow of the chandeliers, the silk shifting like liquid fire with her every move.

He couldn’t look away.

His pupils sharpened with intensity as he studied her, the soft curve of her jawline, the way her lips parted slightly as she sighed in quiet awe. Her black hair, cascading in soft curls to her waist, gleamed under the golden light. She was a vision, suspended somewhere between elegance and rebellion, her beauty a contradiction he couldn’t quite define but didn’t want to stop trying to.

She tilted her head, her profile catching the faint light of the chandelier, and his breath hitched. As he took a sip of his whiskey, the taste burned less than the thought that this moment—her, here, now—felt like something he shouldn’t deserve.

He smirked at himself, shaking his head slightly. Get a grip.

But then she glanced back at him, catching his stare, her brow arching in question. “What?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

“Nothing,” he replied, his smirk deepening as he set his glass down. “Just taking it all in.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the slight tug of a smile at the corner of her lips.

Moments later their food arrived, the rich aroma wafting from her plate made her mouth water. She picked up her fork, taking a cautious bite. The moment the tender beef hit her taste buds, her eyes fluttered shut, and a soft hum of delight escaped her lips. 

“This is... amazing,” she said, already diving in for another bite. 

He watched her, captivated by the way she was completely absorbed in her food. Every little sound she made—those happy, involuntary noises—pulled his attention. For a moment, the bustling restaurant around them disappeared, leaving only her. 

“You’re staring, again.” she said suddenly, snapping him out of his daze. 

“You make it hard not to,” he admitted with a small smile. 

She flushed, quickly taking another bite. “Just eat your food, so we can get done” she muttered. 

He chuckled, cutting into his fish. They settled into a comfortable rhythm, exchanging light banter between bites. At one point, she attempted to spear a piece of his fish with her fork, but he caught her wrist with a grin. 

“Ah, ah. That’s mine,” he teased. 

“Sharing is caring,” she retorted, but he held firm, playfully shaking his head. 

He shook his head with exaggerated defiance, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “You want it that bad? Beg for it.”

She narrowed her eyes, “‘Never mind,’” she said, her voice thick with sarcasm as she went back to eat.

He chuckled, leaning closer. “Come on, don’t act like you didn’t do it.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving,” she said, standing up abruptly and grabbing her bag.

He burst into laughter, his gaze never leaving her. “I’m messing with you,” he said, grabbing her wrist gently and pulling her back into the chair.

She shot him a glare, crossing her arms. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love it,” he replied, giving her an amused smirk.

She sighed, reaching for her glass of water. As her gaze drifted across the room, it landed on a couple at a nearby table—so engrossed in each other they might as well have been the only two people in the restaurant. The man’s hand rested on the small of the woman’s back, and their faces were inches apart, whispering between soft kisses.

Her nose wrinkled. “Ugh. Get a room,” she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain.

He followed her line of sight, his brow arching before a low chuckle escaped his lips. “Jealous?”

She snapped her head back to him, her eyes narrowing. “Jealous? Please. That’s gross. There’s a time and place for that sort of thing, and it’s not next to someone trying to enjoy a meal.”

His grin widened as he leaned back, clearly enjoying her reaction. “You’re awfully opinionated for someone who didn’t seem to mind when I kissed you.”

Her cheeks flushed instantly. “That was different!”

“Oh, was it?” he teased, his tone playfully smug. “Because if I recall, you were the one leaning in first.”

Her jaw dropped. “I was not! You were the one who couldn’t keep it together and kissed me like some—”

“Like what?” he interrupted, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Someone who’s not afraid to take a chance?”

She glared at him, struggling to find a comeback that wouldn’t dig her deeper into the hole. “You’re crazy,” she finally huffed, crossing her arms again.

“not as much as you,” he replied, his smirk softening just enough to make her annoyed

The unspoken tension hung like a storm cloud between them, unshakably present as they lingered in that charged moment. “Are you actually saying you wish you were that couple?” he asked, leaning in with a seriousness that made her heart constrict.

Her heart raced at his words, a flutter of uncertainty and curiosity mixing with annoyance. “I just think PDA is a bit much!” she shot back, a hint of defensiveness creeping into her voice. “I mean, can’t people keep it to themselves?”

“Really?” he challenged, his voice low, brushing against her ear as he leaned closer. “Or maybe you’re just afraid of what it could feel like to let loose, to feel something real for once?”

Her breath caught in her throat as a rush of heat spread across her cheeks. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she shot back, a desperate edge in her voice. She could feel the tension weave between them like a live wire, crackling with possibility.

“Maybe I do,” he replied, that daring glint in his eye making her pulse quicken. “Maybe you just need the right moment to let go.”

The couple at the table nearby erupted in laughter again, and she found herself glancing back at them, trying to refocus. But when she looked up, he was watching her with an intensity that made her skin tingle. “Forget them,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, pulling her even further into his orbit. “What do you want? Something real? Or more of this… competition?”

Before she could formulate a response, he suddenly stood, extending a hand toward her. “Come with me.”

“Where?” she asked, hesitating but feeling a rush of adrenaline at the thought of doing something entirely unexpected.

“A place where we can talk,” he replied, a challenge sparking in his eyes. “Unless you’re too scared to follow.”

With her heart racing and her mind swirling with uncertainty, she placed her hand in his. He led her through the restaurant’s bustling dining area, weaving through startled diners and busy waitstaff. But there was no turning back. The thrill of being drawn into the unknown ignited something within her.

They approached a door at the back of the restaurant, and she felt both exhilarated and apprehensive. He flung it open, and they stepped into a dimly lit hallway lined with fancy doors that seemed to whisper secrets.

“Seriously, where are we?” she asked, blinking in the low light as confusion mixed with an adrenaline high.

“Somewhere more private,” he replied, his voice low and dangerous, eyes flickering with mischief and something deeper. “We won’t be interrupted here.”

Her pulse raced, excitement and fear coiling in her stomach. “Is this your idea of romance?” she shot back, the challenge lacing her voice, even as heat coursed through her.

“Maybe it’s just my idea of taking risks,” he countered, stepping closer, the space between them charged in a way that made her skin tingle. “You might even enjoy it.”

The energy shifted as they stood beneath the dim glow of the overhead light, their breaths mingling in the tight space. She caught herself wanting to feel the weight of his words, the electricity in the air. “What if someone catches?” she asked, half playful and half serious, but the way he was looking at her made her thrill with curiosity.

“Let them,” he said, eyes smouldering, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between them. “Are you really going to back down now?”

She felt a rush of defiance surge within her, mixed with undeniable attraction. “I’m not afraid,” she said boldly, but her voice wavered slightly, betraying the thrill and lust she was trying to suppress.

“Then let’s find out how dangerous this might get,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear, igniting the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

With that, he turned on his heel, pulling her deeper into the hall, and she felt her heart pounding with excitement and uncertainty. Each step into the unknown only drew them closer together, and she couldn't shake the thrill of what lay ahead—the thrilling uncertainty,

He paused in front of an ornate door that looked far more expensive than the rest, its golden handle glinting in the dim light. With a knowing smirk, he pushed it open, and she was met with an intoxicating scent—rich cologne mingling with something deeper, something intimate that tugged at her senses.

As they stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The room was lavishly decorated, a blend of modern luxury and classic elegance. An oversized leather couch sat in the center along with a table, surrounded by walls adorned with vibrant artwork that seemed to pull her in. Warm lights cast a cozy glow, and a plush rug covered the floor, offering a sense of comfort veiled in sultriness.

“wow,” she breathed, taking in the opulence, momentarily forgetting the tension simmering between them.

“Sit,” he commanded softly, gesturing toward the couch. She hesitated for only a moment before obeying, settling into the soft fabric while he moved around the room, his gaze scanning various items scattered about—a vintage record player, a collection of intriguing books, and an array of exotic liquor bottles.

Stopping at a sleek display cabinet, he opened the door and pulled out a pistol, its silver surface gleaming in the warm light. A grin played across his lips as he turned to face her, an unsettling excitement dancing in his eyes.

“We’re going to play a game,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Russian roulette.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Are you serious?”

“Relax.” He waved his hand dismissively, the light glinting off the barrel. “Only this time, we’re playing with a twist. There’s only one bullet, and each time the gun goes off, we have to strip a piece of clothing.”

A mix of thrill and apprehension surged through her. “That’s insane.”

“Maybe,” he replied, his smirk deepening, “but wouldn’t it be fun?”

With a defiant spark in her eyes, she leaned forward. “Fine, let’s play.”

He sat across from her, the couch sinking slightly under his weight, and loaded the bullet into the chamber with a casualness that both intrigued and unnerved her. He spun the cylinder and brought the gun to his temple, pulling the trigger—click. He laughed, a dark sound that echoed in the room,

“Not so scary, right?” he teased, loosening his suit jacket. With a fluid motion, revealing a fitted dress shirt that clung to his frame, accentuating the muscular definition of his arms and shoulders. The sight made her pulse quicken

“Your turn.” He passed the gun to her.

She arched an eyebrow but took the gun, feeling its weight in her hand. She couldn’t believe they were doing this. She spun the cylinder herself, heart racing, and then pressed it to her temple. Click. A rush of relief washed over her.

“Now it’s time to shed that scarf,” he said with a teasing tone. With a quick, decisive movement, she untied the delicate fabric and let it fall to the floor, feeling freer, more emboldened.

“Here you go,” she responded, tossing the gun back to him. The tension was tangible as he caught it effortlessly.

filled with a languid confidence. “Ready?” He pressed the barrel once more to his temple—click. The sound rang through the air like a taunt, a challenge freighted with electricity.

“Lucky again,” he grinned, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“What’s next? Your shirt?” she quipped, eager to see how far this would go.

His gaze flicked to her, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he loosens the tie taking it off, before he began to unbutton his crisp white dress shirt. With each button undone, the cloth pulled away to reveal the chiselled muscles of his torso, the defined lines and curves making her breathless. He threw the shirt aside, letting it flutter to the ground like a fallen banner of surrender.

She couldn’t help but take in the sight, her breath momentarily caught in her throat. she breathed, both impressed and challenged by the game they were playing.

“Like what you see? Now it’s your turn,” he teased, giving her the gun once more, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

She took the gun, spun the cylinder yet again, and pressed it against her temple—click. Relief flooded her, but the tension was palpable.

“Let’s play it safe,” she decided, slipping off her heels and leaving her feet bare on the plush rug beneath her. The contact with the soft Fibers felt grounding after the intensity of the game.

“Back to me,” he said, taking the gun from her hands once more. He spun the cylinder, glancing at her with that effortless chill. “Here we go.”

With a languid movement, he pressed the cold metal against his own temple, a shrug of confidence reflecting in his posture. He squeezed the trigger—click. The sound reverberated, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake.

She felt a small knot of apprehension twist in her stomach. Could they keep going like this? The stakes were rising, and she felt the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

He turned to her, offering her the gun again. “Your turn. Only two triggers are left, make sure not to die.”

With a mixture of determination and nerve, she accepted the gun from him. Her heart raced as she spun the cylinder for what felt like the hundredth time.

He stood to remove his shoes, casually tossing them to the side. That simple act ignited something within her, a thrilling edge of power and vulnerability. Just as he prepared to sit down, she lunged forward with a sudden burst of resolve.

With a swift motion, she pinned him against the couch, the gun now aimed firmly at his chest.

"What’s the matter?" he teased, the laughter in his eyes shifting to something darker. “Afraid you will die?”

“Not a chance,” she challenged, taking a seat on his lap, her pulse racing. In a moment of reckless defiance, she kept the gun pointed at him. “You think this is a game?”

He laughed, a wild, psychotic sound that echoed against the walls. his hands resting firmly on her waist, the gun now pressed against his chest as he leaned in closer. “I love it when you take charge.”

“You’re going to regret underestimating me,” she said, catching a glimpse of the wild delight dancing in his eyes.

“so it’s Game over for me?” he taunted, his words dripping with boldness. His hands slowly wandered to her thighs, fingers teasing, sending pulses of electricity coursing through her. “Shame, really. I’d hate to die without pleasuring you.”

Her breath hitched at his insinuation, his cocky demeanour igniting an uncontrollable fire within her. The tension crackled like static in the air, urging her to respond.

“You wish.” she said, her voice wavering slightly with the rush of emotions surging through her.

With a fury of need and desire, she leaned in and captured his lips in a fervent kiss, their mouths colliding in an explosion of pent-up frustration and attraction. The world around them melted away as her heart raced. The moment was electric, and in the whirlwind of passion, she pulled the trigger.

But all that followed was a click.

The sound ricocheted in the silence between them, and her eyes widened in shock as she pulled away. The thrill morphed into a dizzying rush as realization struck—there had been no bullet, no fatal ending, only the raw, intoxicating energy swirling in the air between them.

That's when he took the gun from her hands, his movements quick and decisive, a spark of defiance in his eyes. With a swift motion, he tossed it across the room, the gun landing with a loud thud against the wall.

“If you wanted my tongue against you, then you’ve fucking earned it,” he spat, crashing their lips together in a fierce, hungry kiss.

Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging tightly, igniting a low groan that reverberated into her mouth.

"You wanted to fucking kill me, sweetheart," he growled, biting her bottom lip, eliciting a sharp whimper from her.

“It was your game,” she countered, the adrenaline pulsing through her like fire.

“And yet,” he replied, his voice dark and sultry, “I’d never kill you.”

“I wouldn’t either.” She pulled back, a smirk curving her lips as her eyes roamed over his swollen lips and messy hair, an enticing sight.

“So, why did you aim that gun at me? Say it.”

“Because I was too damn scared, you’d do it instead of me,” she admitted, feeling his grip on her loosen slightly.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you really know how to make a scene,” he murmured, his fingers deftly unbuckling his belt with confidence.

“Kneel,” he demanded, helping her rise before guiding her down so she knelt on the floor, her dress cascading around her like a waterfall.

“You want to act like a little slut? Then suck until your mouth isn’t filthy,” he spat, and she flashed him a smirk as she slid his pants down, revealing his hard on.

Her hand wrapped around the base of him, moving up and down slowly, the rhythm sending soft growls of pleasure from his lips. As she continued pumping back and forth, in a rhythmic pattern the more he strived for her lips.

“Did you not hear me? I said suck,” he snapped, frustration threading through his tone.

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “You call me a slut yet can’t wait a moment longer?” With a teasing glimmer in her eyes, she leaned forward, taking his tip into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it while maintaining a steady rhythm with her hand. His breath hitched, a bead of sweat forming on his chest as he succumbed to the jolting pleasure.

Without warning he bunched her hair up in his fist and pushed his tip to the back of her throat, thrusting himself deeper into her mouth until she gagged. The sight of her watering eyes only seemed to rile him up.

“Look how fucking beautiful you are, my darling. Take all of me, just like the good whore you are," he breathed, pleasure dripping from his words.

Her eyes glistened with tears. and he watched her head bob back and forth.

"fuck I'm going to—" he gasped, releasing her head and pulling back slightly. But before he could finish himself off, she caught his hand, her determination surging, and continued, letting the warm liquid hit the back of her throat while he moaned, curses spilling from his lips until he finished.

He fixed his gaze on her as she swallowed every drop, wiping her bottom lip clean with a satisfied smile. “You’re not finishing with me down here,” she challenged, cheeky confidence returning.

“Insanity suits you,” he replied, standing and holding out a hand to help her rise. “Now let’s see just how wet you are for me.”

He led her to the table, and a surge of vulnerability washed over her as he slammed her against it giving him full access to her clit, while her stomach pressed against the polished wood. His hands roamed the insides of her thighs, and she softly moans as he moved her lace underwear to the side, his fingers brushing against her trembling skin

Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he pulled her head back, connecting their lips once more, sucking on her bottom lip. After He released her hair, his hand quickly found her clit, eliciting a moan that was both pleasure and pain.

“Make a scene, sweetheart. Let everyone hear how much you enjoy this," he seethed, delivering a sharp smack that made her gasp, her stomach hitting the table harder.

As he moved her dress out of the way, he slowly removed her thong. Her grip tightened on the table's edges, anticipation thrumming in her veins. But just as she exhaled, he pressed a blade to her neck, drawing a gasp from her lips as he grabbed another fistful of hair to pull her back.

“I’m going to fuck you until you beg to finish, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a low growl. “But this is on my terms. Move too much, and your blood will splatter.” She nodded slowly, and without warning he pushed himself inside of her.

She gasped, feeling every inch of him stretching her, she felt his eyes darken with lust as he fucked her against the table. Each powerful thrust accompanied by the sound of the table squeaking beneath her, the blade scratched at her skin making her hiss at the foreign pain of the knife grazing her neck.

“you like that? hmm” he asked, delight etched in his expression.

“I do. It hurts," she admitted, breathless.

“Tell me to stop,”

But the words caught in her throat, her senses overwhelmed as the blade pressed deeper, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes back in pleasure.

“ But that's the thing, you like that huh? You don't have to hide what you truly want. I know you like this blade at your neck. Watch how good you take my dick slut" he groaned into her ear picking up the pace and she could already feel herself coming close to finishing.

A few more cuts on her neck and he flipped her over, her back colliding with the table, the sharp contrast of sensations sending goosebumps over her skin.

He poured his focus on the cuts, pressing kisses over the crimson marks as the metallic taste lingered in the air. The euphoric mix of pain and pleasure sent her into a frenzy, her nails digging into his bare back as he slipped himself back inside of her her.

“You won’t be the only one leaving this room marked,” she moaned in between their kisses. Both of them cursing and filling the room with the sound of their pleasure.

Their bodies moved in sync, letting the euphoria continue and their pace become sloppy. a dangerous dance of desire and desperation, the air thick with their shared moans and whispered curses.

“I’m gonna—"

“Not yet,” he interrupted, the tension in his voice low and commanding.

“I can't—” she yelped when he stopped, a sharp smack to her ass, only hard enough to sting.

“You can, and you will,” he grunted, slamming into her again, her hips bucking against him as he threw her leg onto his shoulder, pushing deeper. His penetrating gaze bore into her, making sure she didn’t disobey.

“Beg if you wanna finish.”

“Please,” she pleaded, breathless urgency coloring her voice.

“You're mine. Never forget that. Got it?" he growled. She hummed in agreement.

“Use your words,”

“Yes, yes, I’m yours, please—”

“I know, sweetheart. I know. Cum for me. Be a good girl,” he murmured, and she quickly became undone. After a couple more strokes he finished after, his head rolling back in delight.

Her legs quivering and the short circuit of her brain stopping for just a moment. It was almost as if her body was made to be with him alone, each pulse and surge a beautiful convergence of pleasure and pain.

He tucked himself back before effortlessly lifting her off the table. Her feet barely touched the floor before her legs wobbled beneath her, struggling to support her weight.

"I can’t walk," she muttered, clutching the edge of the table for support, the remnants of their passion still buzzing in her veins.

"What was that?" he asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

"You heard me. Shut up and help me stand up," she sneered, irritation mingling with the lingering satisfaction in her tone.

He rolled his eyes, but his expression softened as he stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her upright. "Alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you," he murmured, his voice low and steady. With gentle firmness, he helped her regain her footing, guiding her away from the table as she leaned into him.

They took a few tentative steps, and he chuckled again, the sound warm against her ear. "You really know how to make things interesting."

“Oh, shut up,” she replied, though a smile betrayed her annoyance. “You’re lucky I’m even standing,” she added with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Lucky? I was thinking of round two,” he shot back with a grin, winking at her as they made their way towards the couch. Unaware of long night they’re about to witness.

part 1

[burningembers91]

Sleeping With the Enemy - Hwang Jun-Ho x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Synopsis: tasked with taking down the most ruthless gangster in Seoul, Hwang Jun-Ho didn’t know he’d fall for his target’s wife in the process.

Please note that this storyline will deal with situations depicting domestic violence.

A/N: Did I come up with this idea at 1am when I couldn’t sleep? Yes. Did I also get up at 5am to write it as it was etched into my brain? Yes. Am I very tired? Also, yes. But this storyline is gonna be juicy as heck.

It was you who called the police. You, who in your wedding vows had sworn to love and protect you husband, just has he had sworn the same. He hadn’t bothered to keep his promise though, so why should you? The man you married was a ruthless tyrant, taking whatever he wanted with little regard for the devastation his actions caused. The police had been after him for years, desperate to catch the ruthless gangster who tormented the good people of Seoul. You’d be so young when you married him, swept up in the glitz and glamour of the high life he showed you. He’d promised you the world; you just hadn’t realised it would come at a cost.

You weren’t sure you’d ever loved your husband, and you knew he’d never loved you. You were an accessory on his arm, something necessary to bring along to meetings and parties, adorning you in the highest quality clothes and shoes for his colleagues and competitors to admire. He’d started hitting you shortly after your wedding, started showing his real colours when he was confident you couldn’t escape. You’d spent years cowering in his shadow, meekly accepting the designer gifts he bestowed upon you as an apology for treating you like dirt. You weren’t living anymore; you were simply existing.

Hwang Jun-Ho was assigned to your case, tasked with keeping the beautiful wife of the city’s most dangerous gangster safe. He’d been warned that you couldn’t be trusted; that this whole thing could be nothing more than a ploy to send the police off chasing their tails. But Jun-Ho knew from the moment he met you that you weren’t doing your husband’s bidding. You were stunning, dressed in Dior, Prada and dripping in Cartier diamonds. But those high end brands couldn’t mask the fear in your eyes. Just like the makeup couldn’t mask the bruises on your face. At first, he’d been sure this case would be the one he needed to skyrocket him to greater things. But one meeting with you and the boost this would give to his career was no longer his priority; you were. He’d been in this job for long enough that not much fazed him, but your stories had kept him up at night. Tales of your husband’s beatings, his drug deals, his human trafficking, Jun-Ho wondered how you’d endured it all. How you’d kept your wits and sanity while married to the devil himself.

He tried to keep things professional, tried to keep a distance, but you pulled him in like a moth to a flame. You were so fragile and yet so strong, so beautiful, so meek yet so brimming with confidence that it floored him every time. You’d meet in secret, when your husband was out of town on business, slowly giving Jun-Ho the evidence he needed to bring down the man you’d pledged your life to.

It was after your fourth meeting that he fucked you in the back of his car, your moans like the sweetest music to his ears as his took you on the leather seats. From that moment on, Jun-Ho knew there was no going back; he was hooked on you. From that moment on, you would meet each week, exchange information and then make love in his apartment. You smelled like Chanel No.5, and it permeated his bedsheets, keeping him company on the long nights without you. Your lipstick left stains on his skin, marking its way down his chest and thighs. The sound of your breathy moans were permanently etched on his brain, going round and round his head like the most beautiful broken record.

He wasn’t sure when infatuation turned into love. All he knew is that he would do anything for you. He would die for you if it would keep you safe. You were both under no illusion that you were playing a risky game, one that you were almost certain wouldn’t end well.

But for the first time in your life, you could confidently say you knew what love was. Jun-Ho showed you affection and care you’d only ever dreamt of. He made you laugh, made you feel safe, and when his lips explored your body, he made your toes curls in the most exquisite way imaginable.

Yes, you knew this wouldn’t end well. Your husband was not a man who forgave and forgot. But Jun-Ho was determined to keep you safe. He would find a way to break you free of the chains the devil had ensnared you in. He’d find a way to protect you from the man who kept you in constant fear. He didn’t know how this would end, but he knew that he would risk it all for you.

[dark-moonlust]

Fated Mates

Commission for Jana Pachner on Patreon!

Pairing: werewolf oc (Eli) x fem curvy reader

Summary: your werewolf roommate is secretly in love with you. He reaches his breaking point when he smells your arousal because of the books you read.

Warnings: minors don’t interact, 18+, mutual pining, explicit smut, primal kink, possessive werewolf, oral(fem), bulk werewolf, knotting.

It was a challenge to live under the same roof and see you sitting in that recliner, knees curled up, nose buried in one of those monster smut books. Your breathing became irregular as you reached the spicy parts and subtle color crept up your neck, extending to your cheeks. You also squeezed your thighs together, having no idea that your werewolf roommate’s senses were sharper than any human's.

Mate, the wolf growled in him. Ours.

It was primitive and irrefutable as if the universe had imprinted you on his soul.

And this time, your scent was his undoing.

It all spoke to him, tempted him, and anchored him to you.

But he could not tell you. Not yet. You were a human. Delicate.

And if he claimed you were his mate—that you belonged to him, that his entire soul was aching for you—you’d flee. He’d run, too, if he were in your shoes. He was a werewolf, buff, tall, and scary to most. Primal, animalistic, too.

But tonight, you were testing his patience.

Sitting there looking like a snack, a tattered paperback in your hands with a cover that he couldn't look at without his mind wandering into a dangerous zone. A bare-chested werewolf and a heroine with curves that matched her own.

And your scent— Goddamn it, that scent.

Eli took a sharp inhalation, his claws sinking into the couch's armrest.

He knew he needed to leave. To run. To breathe.

Then you sighed. Soft. Breathless. Sweet.

That was his undoing.

You glanced at him amid your dirty reading.

Your roommate. Eli. Your infuriatingly gorgeous, towering werewolf (who was always shirtless by the way).

Eli had chosen to stay stubbornly with you while you read your smut. Your book was good—one of those stories in which the brooding, possessive werewolf would rather burn the world than see his human mate with someone else. It was good but no amount of fictional tension amd sex could match the real thing sitting across the room.

Eli had a steely smirk and a presence that made the air hum. He'd always been kind, lively, and easy to talk to, but there was something wild beneath the surface that you couldn't resist. It was the way his golden eyes lingered on you, or how he seemed to shift closer to you every chance he got, or how he tensed every time you were aroused.

Like right now.

You took a quick glimpse over the top of your book. And sure enough, there he was, sitting stiffly on the couch, his knuckles white from gripping the armrest. His jaw was locked, and his chest moved in tiny gasps and… and was that a bulge in his pants? You swallowed.

"Eli?" you asked quietly, lowering the book. He did not glance at you. Did not move.

But his harsh, low voice sent chills down your spine.

"Yeah?"

"You okay?"

A pause. Then a quick, dry laugh with no humor. "Fine. Why?"

You grimaced and closed the book completely. "You seem tense.”

His head snapped toward you, and his eyes locked on yours. The intensity in his gaze caused your breath to hitch. Heat pooled down in your stomach, your body betraying you.

“Fuck. I cannot handle it anymore,” he muttered. His discipline, which had already worn thin, was unraveling by the second.

"Eli?"

"Why do you read that stuff?" His voice came out rough.

You blinked. "What stuff?"

He pointed to the book. "That. Those books."

Your cheeks flushed. "I-I'm not sure. They are... entertaining."

"Entertaining," he said, standing up, all his bulky gorgeous body and you leaned back slightly, your wide eyes fixed on his.

"It's just fiction," you muttered. ”Sexy as hell, too.”

And then you saw it.

His breaking point.

"Is it? Or do you read them because you wish I was there to make you feel something?"

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You could feel the tension between you, tightening like a wire about to break.

Could you risk it? Tell him the truth? Of how much you craved him?

"Tell me," he repeated, his voice low and rough. "Do they make you think of me?"

You could not breathe. Your body was reacting to him as it always did, heat gathering between your legs as his gaze drove into you. He was too close, his presence surrounding you, the only thing that mattered. You couldn't lie. Not when every nerve in your body craved him.

"Yes."

His pupils dilated. "Yes?"

“Yes… the books. They make me think of you.”

His lips curled into a predatory grin and he pushed closer, too quickly, and placed his hands on your shoulders before you could blink. You gasped as his touch shot a shock through your veins, the heat between you overwhelming.

“Reading thinking about me, hm? Every damn page."

You couldn't react because your heart was pounding so hard in your ears, that you felt you were going to drown.

But then his lips were on yours, wet, warm and demanding, as if he couldn't hold back anymore. Your hands trembled as they moved up his naked chest, stroking the muscles. You drew back for a moment, not believing this was real. But once you met his eyes; wide with need, and something deeper you knew.

He wanted you.

Eli kissed you again and this time, he fucking devoured you. You moaned, and damn, it almost drove him crazy. The monster in him snarled, enraged and hungry, urging him to take, claim, and brand you. You were his mate, his other half.

He deepened the kiss, moving his hands down your arms and felt your curves beneath his touch. You also tasted like temptation—sweet and innocent— your lips parting beneath his, your tongue hesitant at first, but then melting into him. Your scent; lavender and that enticing natural scent of your skin enveloped him, and he couldn't get enough of it.

His hands moved lower, pressing into the curve of your hips, pulling you close to him. You gasped into his mouth, and he groaned at the sensation of your soft, full body pressed against the hard lines of his.

"You don't know what you're doing to me," he said, his voice raw.

You moaned, your hands slipping to the waistline of his pants, fingertips teasing the fabric.

Challenging him, playing with fire.

Why not? You were already lost.

"Maybe I do," you said softly, lips brushing against his jaw.

A feral growl left him as he carried you in his strong arms and plopped you down on the bed. You couldn't help but look up at him—at your sexy werewolf. He looked back—possessive, ravenous as if he could swallow you in an instant. He would.

"Do you really want this, sweetheart?"  he asked.

"Yes. I want this… want you."

Everything happened in a flash. His hands moved, and you arched into his touch as he ripped your clothes. He pulled off his pants and boxers, removing all your clothes until were both naked, his clawed fingers caressing your plump tits, over one tight nipple, then the curvature of your waist, and down to the soft swell of your thighs.

“Fuuuck, look at you. Perfect," he drawled. "Every inch of you."

“I second that.”

His muscles flexed as he hovered above you, a great beast, the gorgeous heat of his body radiating on yours.

The contrast between you was uncanny. You were all soft, mushy thighs and belly, and he was everything you had envisioned in your fantasies and more. So much more.

And he was magnificent. All raw power and bulk, every inch of him designed for strength. His arms, chest, abs—and Gods, his dick. It was even better than the slutty monster books you read. Generously thick and long, with a sharp tip leaking pre-cum and a fat knot at the base.

Your thoughts faded when his lips followed a line down your neck, and you arched into him, allowing him to feel the fullness of your tits pressing against his firm hairy chest. You wanted him on your nipples. He took the bait and dragged his tongue around one nipple, his hand fondling the other mound.

Bliss coursed through you. He slurped up your breasts and meanwhile, your hands moved down his torso, feeling the way his muscles contracted under your touch, the roughness of his skin, and the heat that radiated off him. When you gripped his cock, his snarl made your entire body shiver.

“Ahhh, sweetheart. You're driving me crazy," he said, his voice thick with need.

“Good. I want to drive you nuts.”

He chuckled. “My turn first, love.”

A swift move and he was between your legs, his hands seizing your hips, his tongue pushing at your folds and eating your cunt. You jerked and whined, feeling his tongue as it made torturous circles over your clit, sending thrills up your spine and driving you higher and higher until you snapped.

Eyes shutting, belly trembling as cries of pleasure left you. Unbidden.

"You don't even know what you've done to me, do you?" His tongue brushed against your oversensitive clit, his fangs glinting.

"What have I done?" you gasped, voice quivering.

"You have been ruining me for months. Every time you curled up on the couch with those filthy books."

His cock pressed against your sloppy slit, making it even sloppier by spreading his pre-cum over your folds.

“Please…” you whimpered but he held you tightly, anchoring you beneath him.

"You've been tormenting me without even knowing it."

You swallowed hard, heat rising in your cheeks. "You could've said something… I wanted you for so long but I was scared," you said quietly. "I didn't know if you wanted me."

"You think I didn’t want you?" His voice was low and sinister. “I need you, love. Every inch of you. This body. This softness. This skin. This heat. All mine.”

“Yours.”

He growled, slapping his girthy cock over your entrance. "Say that again."

“Yours. I’m all yours, Eli.”

A groan echoed deep in his chest before he pushed inside. Stretching you, slowly feeding your pussy all inches of his dick. He invaded your depths as if his dick had always belonged there, the tip kissing your womb. So deep! So full! So damn good!

“You're taking me so well, sweetheart," he said, his hands caressing your tits. "Every inch."

The werewolf in him roared, set free to brand you, to claim you in every way. He held your hips, letting his claws press just enough to leave faint marks as a reminder that you belonged to him and fucked you, your bodies clashing and colliding. Your pretty cunt swallowed him up, messy and gorgeous while your body quivered beneath him, your curves beautiful and lush.

"You're going to feel me everywhere," he growled, reaching down to kiss your lips fiercely. “This is going to be nothing like those books you read. This is the real deal, love. From now on, your heart and cunt are mine. Mine to fuck, love and protect. You hear me?’

You only nodded – frantically— before you climaxed, again, your blunt nails sinking into his shoulders. But he wasn't finished. His knot was swelling, you’d read so many books about knotting. But God, this was the real deal indeed and it was freaking marvelous!

Your body tightened around him as he pushed deep and his knot enlarged, fully, locking you together. So stretched. Cum flooded you. So much it filled you to the brim. You trembled beneath him as he leaned down and swirled his tongue against your ear.

“Knotted like a good girl.” He hugged you harder, his snout brushing against your temple. “Keep my cock warm, love, okay?”

You smiled. “Hmm, I’m gonna keep it nice and warm, Eli. Where it belongs.”

"You are damned wonderful, mate. This was exactly what I'd been craving. You’re mine.”

"Always yours," you said, your voice full of need and trust.

THE END!

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[deadlychansaw]

— hope

pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x reader

warnings: vomiting, no use of y/n, bit angst, pregnancy, it happens during ep 2 s2

a/n: omg first time writing something like this, i hope someone enjoy this 🫣

00:30 was the number sparkling in neon red in her bedside watch. She couldn't stop looking at it. She couldn't sleep. How could she? The bed too big and cold for her to be alone, she missed her husband. Where was he?

She thought that after the coma he would retire and live peacefully with her, maybe in some cabin in the woods with two kids and a dog. this thought alone made her want to tear up.

She knew being a police officer was dangerous, so every time he wasn't home she feared that something had happened. This made her want to throw up, and she did.

That was unusual for her, maybe... no. It couldn't be. But when was the last time she had her period again? It was nine days late, this was also unusual. How haven't she noticed it?

00:45. She couldn't wait until morning so she picked up her car and went to a 24h open drugstore

"Do you need any help, miss?"

"I want a pregnancy test"

"Are you alright, dear?"

She hadn't noticed that small tears started to run down her face.

"I will be"

As the old lady gave her the test she smiled sympathetically and said:

"I'm sure you will. You don't need to be afraid"

" My husband is a cop" She felt the need to reply

"Oh, I see. But you will be fine, dear. I felt the same when my husband fought in war."

This time, she didn't reply.

She got home after speeding the car a little more than necessary and running a few red lights and went straight to the bathroom to do the goddamn test.

Palms sweaty, hands shaking and feet stomping in circles. It hasn't even passed the three minutes the test needed to be ready, just a few more seconds and...

oh.

Positive. p-o-s-i-t-i-v-e.

She was pregnant and wasn't even sure her husband would return home. Where are you Jun-ho?

"Babe, why are you sleeping on the couch?"

His voice reached her ears like the light in the end of a dark tunnel.

"I was waiting for you"

"My love, you know you don't need to"

"But I wanted to. Where were you?"

"I was in some kind of a car chase, but they shot in my tires"

That made her eyes open wide. "What? Chasing who? Are you hurt?"

"I'm not hurt. I wish I could tell you everything but i don't wanna put you at risk"

"I accepted the risk the day i accepted to be your wife. Please tell me. I'd rather know what i'm scared of"

"I guess you're right"

So he tells her everything. The games, his brother, his plan with Gi-hun. Everything.

"That is awful. Unbelievably awful. How can some people be so disgusting and evil? Gosh, that makes me sick"

She ran to the bathroom and started to vomit in the toilet, he ran after her and held her hair.

"Are you okay? I know it's s lot to process"

"Oh my God, I'm sorry for this, now you'll never want to kiss me again."

"There's not a world where i wouldn't want to kiss you" He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "But let's brush those teeth, shall we?"

Jun-ho gets up to put toothpaste in her toothbrush and give it to her.

"I don't know what i did to deserve you, Jun-ho"

"I am the lucky one here, babe. You're still here with me after everything i told you."

"i'm not leaving your side. Never."

He picks her up in bridal style.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting my wife to bed, as i should"

He really was the sweetest thing in her life, she needed to tell him already. All the what-ifs started coming to head again what if he doesn't want a child? what if he doesn't have time to form a family? what if he never come back home anymore?

"Babe, are you crying?"

"Do you really need to search for that island?"

"I do. These games need to stop."

"I don't want anything bad happening to you"

"I promise it won't. I will always come back home to you" He seals the promise by joining their lips in a long, slow and passionate kiss.

"Jun-ho, I need to tell you something but i'm so afraid of how you're gonna react."

"You don't need to be afraid, my love. I'm always here for you no matter what"

"I- I am pregnant" She doesn't wait for him to answer. " I know it's not the right time, and maybe you don't even want to be a dad and-"

She sees that he opened his characteristically big and warm smile, one that lights up her whole world.

"Are you... happy?"

"Are you kidding? Babe i feel like the luckiest guy of all South Korea. I'm so happy. Oh my god, i'm gonna have a daughter "

That made her chuckle.

"We don't know if it's a girl"

"Oh i'm sure of that. We need to celebrate"

"Celebrate? At this time? How?

"Hmm, i can think of a few ways..."

And she had a feeling she haven't felt in a while. relief. Hope.

[angelsfat3]

ⓘㅤ 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋. ⠀⠀( 崇拜我的罪恶，先生。)

𝓢ummary “ ✉. In a time when women were burned for using reason and men were supposed to follow the words of God, a demon took possession of a beautiful young man to teach a lost priest, to love.

⠀،،⠀Genre. ’ Sci-fi, drama, religious au.

( 𝒄/𝒘. )───Repression, forbidden fruit(?), teasing, tension.

The confessional was nearly dark, illuminated only by the faint flicker of a candle on the nearby altar. You, the priest, sat on the small bench, trying to steady the tremor in your hands as you heard footsteps approaching.

You knew who it was even before he knelt on the other side of the screen.

“Father [...], the world has always been this way, ever since Adam and Eve tasted the forbidden fruit,” Ni-ki began, his tone not just penitent but laced with something darker, something far more intimate. “We were born with sin inside us… as if it were part of our flesh.”

You knew what his words meant, what he was truly trying to say.

You bit your tongue for a moment, tasting the danger in his confession. You responded carefully, your words measured to avoid suspicion but firm like a warning.

“Sin always lies in wait, Ni-ki,” you said with a calmness that barely masked your own turmoil. “But don’t forget that redemption exists, even for the most tormented hearts.”

What you didn’t say was that those very words had failed you on so many nights when the flesh spoke louder than your faith, when your spirit surrendered to Ni-ki.

From the other side, Ni-ki let out a short, almost imperceptible sigh, but to you, it sounded like a scream.

A heavy silence settled between you. You could feel his breath on the other side of the screen, and you knew he was wrestling with himself. Finally, his voice broke the stillness, trembling and barely audible:

“What if… what if sin doesn’t just lie in wait but calls to me? What if my soul leans toward it, as if I can’t resist?”

Heat rose to your face, and you gripped your knees tightly to maintain your composure. You knew him too well.

You knew he wasn’t just talking about sin in the abstract; he was talking about you, about what you’d shared in those fleeting moments where the world seemed to vanish.

“Ni-ki, sin always waits for us, but our will must be stronger than the call of anything that leads us astray,” you said, your voice steadier than your heart.

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either—not when you yourself had strayed so many times toward him, toward his lips, toward the abyss of his body.

“Well, we are human, and… the flesh is weak, Ni-ki,” you said, the weight of your own words almost unbearable. “But we must not give in. Each time we fall, we drift further from the grace that has been granted to us.”

“And what if my will isn’t enough?” Ni-ki pressed, his breathing growing heavier, as if your words hurt him as much as they hurt you. “What if there’s no hope for those who have already fallen?”

The question struck you like a dagger. You knew he wanted you to tell him yes, that there was hope, that what you shared wasn’t condemned. But you couldn’t say that—not here, not ever.

The confessional turned into an oven, the air so thick it was nearly impossible to breathe. Your hands clenched into fists on your knees as you fought the tremor in your chest.

Finally, you leaned closer to the screen, lowering your voice even further.

“Ni-ki… none of us are worthy, but don’t forget that God’s mercy is infinite. No matter how far you think you’ve fallen, there is always redemption… but only if we are willing to let go of what drags us into the abyss.”

Your words felt hollow, even to you. You knew they spoke of him, of the two of you, of the secret you shared that, if discovered, could condemn you both.

Ni-ki didn’t respond immediately, but the silence that followed wasn’t one of repentance. It was one of restrained desire, of something no prayer or penance could erase.

The silence was unbearable. You could imagine his expression on the other side—the mix of pain and frustration you’d seen so many times in his dark eyes.

“And what about you, Father?” he finally whispered, his voice sharp enough to leave you breathless. “Can you let it go?”

The question hung in the air, both an accusation and a plea. You felt your lips move, but no words came out.

You didn’t have an answer because you knew, despite the guilt eating away at you, despite every moment with him being a reminder of the risk you were taking, you couldn’t imagine a world where you didn’t seek him out.

But you couldn’t say that.

“Pray, Ni-ki,” was all you could manage, your voice breaking at the end. “Pray that we both find the strength we need.”

Finally, you heard his voice again, barely a murmur.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned… and I will sin again.”

A chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t see him, but you knew his eyes were fixed on the screen, searching for yours through the thin barrier.

You closed your eyes and clutched the crucifix hanging from your neck, trying to remember why you had chosen this path.

You heard him stand, his steps retreating slowly, but you didn’t dare to look. You remained there, in the dim light, the unspoken words weighing like chains around your heart.

You knew that when the day ended and the shadows once again blanketed the village, you would seek him out. And that would be your true sin.

The echo of Ni-ki’s footsteps should have faded, but the silence that remained was unsettling, as though something unseen had filled the space.

You stayed seated on the bench of the confessional, your trembling hands clasped tightly in front of you, searching for solace in the words of your own prayer.

Then, a sharp sound shattered the moment. The door on your side of the confessional creaked open. You looked up, your heart stalling for an instant.

Ni-ki stood there, framed in the doorway, his silhouette outlined by the faint glow of the candles. His dark eyes bore into yours—not with the softness or the pain you had grown used to seeing in him.

This time, there was something else, something that made your skin crawl.

He remained silent, his lips slightly parted, as if the words refused to leave. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, as though caught between the urge to move forward and the fear of crossing a line from which there was no return.

But what unsettled you most was what you saw in his eyes: a dark void, a need that didn’t seem human.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. You were frozen.

You could only stare, paralyzed by the intensity of his presence. He was Ni-ki, and yet he wasn’t. The gentle warmth that always lowered your guard now seemed overshadowed by a darkness that made him look… different. Unreal.

Finally, you drew in a breath, trying to regain your composure.

“Ni-ki, what are you doing?” you asked, though the question came out as little more than a whisper.

He didn’t respond. He stepped into the confessional, and his shadow seemed to stretch, swallowing the space between you. There was no fear in his gaze, but neither was there comfort. It was as though he was about to consume you with his eyes.

“You… look different,” you continued, your hands gripping the edge of the bench to steady yourself. “What is it that you need?”

His reply was barely audible, an echo that seemed to come from some deep corner of his being:

“You.”

Your chest tightened, and the air seemed to abandon you entirely. But there was something in the way he said it—something not like the restrained passion you knew. It was something else, something that chilled you to the bone.

You closed your eyes and began murmuring a prayer, the words spilling from your lips in desperation.

“Our Father, who art in heaven…”

Ni-ki took another step closer, and the heat in the small cabin became suffocating. You could feel his gaze on you, intense and heavy, as if he sought to strip more than just your resolve.

“Hallowed be thy name…” you continued, your hands now trembling uncontrollably. “Deliver us from evil…”

Ni-ki’s voice, softer yet laden with that inhuman intensity, cut through your prayer.

“Do you think that will save you from me?”

Your eyes snapped open, and you saw him so close you could barely breathe.

Ni-ki’s face was mere inches from yours, but his expression was that of someone caught between suffering and ecstasy.

He was real, and he was here to claim you.

Your breaths came shallow, barely enough to keep you conscious as Ni-ki’s gaze pierced through you. His eyes, as dark as the deepest night, glimmered with something you couldn’t name—something that made the air feel heavier, as if reality itself bent to his will.

Ni-ki raised a hand slowly, his fingers brushing the wood of the confessional as though savoring every grain. His voice, low but filled with a power that didn’t seem human, broke the silence.

"You cannot pray against what is already within you, Father."

The words struck like a weight on your chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

This place, sanctified by so many prayers and penances, now felt like a battleground where the sacred and the profane faced each other head-on.

"Ni-ki, you don't know what you're saying," you murmured, though even you doubted your own words. Your voice trembled, unable to hide the fear creeping into your heart.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression almost... curious. His lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes.

"Don’t I?" he replied, taking another step closer, so near now you could feel his warm breath against your skin. "Or is it you who doesn’t understand what we are?"

The word we echoed in your mind, an unrelenting whisper that refused to fade.

You shook your head, trying to hold onto reality, to what you knew to be true. But even as you did, you felt your conviction crumbling like a sandcastle under an unstoppable wave.

"This isn’t real," you insisted, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your growing despair. "Ni-ki, you... you’re not this."

His smile widened, and a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes, a spark that made you instinctively retreat against the pew.

"Not this?" he asked, almost amused. "Then what am I, Father? The frightened boy who sought comfort in your words? Or the man who has patiently waited for you to stop pretending?"

The intensity of his gaze made you look away, but you couldn’t escape the weight of his presence, which seemed to fill every corner of the confessional. It was as if he were absorbing the light itself, leaving only shadows in his wake.

You tried praying again, your lips moving quickly as you muttered.

"Deliver us from evil, amen. Deliver us from evil..."

But Ni-ki leaned closer, stopping you with a hand that lightly touched your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. His fingers were warm, but his touch sent a chill down your spine.

"Stop fighting," he whispered, his voice so soft it felt like a caress. "The evil isn’t outside of you, Father. It’s here. With me."

Your heart pounded in your chest, every beat reverberating in your ears as you tried to pull away from him. But you couldn’t.

Not because you lacked the strength, but because something in his gaze held you still, as if you were caught under a spell.

"Ni-ki, please..." you managed to say, though your voice broke into a whisper.

He leaned even closer, his lips just a breath away from yours.

"Please what?" he asked, his tone dripping with a mix of mockery and something darker, something that sent shivers down to your very bones. "Please stop? Or please stay and make me yours?"

The tension was unbearable, and you felt your will falter. Deep down, you knew you were on the brink of something from which there was no return, something that would challenge not just your faith but everything you believed yourself to be.

And then, Ni-ki smiled—that same smile that now seemed to belong to someone—or something—entirely different.

"Choose, Father," he murmured, his voice soft, yet the words thundered in your mind. "But remember... you can’t save us both."

The silence that followed was suffocating, laden with a palpable tension that seemed to freeze the air between you. Ni-ki didn’t look away, his smile cutting into you like a blade.

His hand remained on your chin, holding you with a gentleness that only made the situation more unbearable. You could feel the warmth of his skin, but the touch burned as if marked by something unholy.

"Why do you tremble, Father?" he whispered, leaning even closer. His breath brushed against your lips, and his dark gaze glimmered with a mix of challenge and... delight? "You shouldn’t fear me. After all, you’re the man of God, aren’t you?"

"You cannot pray against what is already within you, Father."

The words struck like a weight on your chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

This place, sanctified by so many prayers and penances, now felt like a battleground where the sacred and the profane faced each other head-on.

"Ni-ki, you don't know what you're saying," you murmured, though even you doubted your own words. Your voice trembled, unable to hide the fear creeping into your heart.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression almost... curious. His lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes.

"Don’t I?" he replied, taking another step closer, so near now you could feel his warm breath against your skin. "Or is it you who doesn’t understand what we are?"

The word we echoed in your mind, an unrelenting whisper that refused to fade.

You shook your head, trying to hold onto reality, to what you knew to be true. But even as you did, you felt your conviction crumbling like a sandcastle under an unstoppable wave.

"This isn’t real," you insisted, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your growing despair. "Ni-ki, you... you’re not this."

His smile widened, and a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes, a spark that made you instinctively retreat against the pew.

"Not this?" he asked, almost amused. "Then what am I, Father? The frightened boy who sought comfort in your words? Or the man who has patiently waited for you to stop pretending?"

The intensity of his gaze made you look away, but you couldn’t escape the weight of his presence, which seemed to fill every corner of the confessional. It was as if he were absorbing the light itself, leaving only shadows in his wake.

You tried praying again, your lips moving quickly as you muttered.

"Deliver us from evil, amen. Deliver us from evil..."

But Ni-ki leaned closer, stopping you with a hand that lightly touched your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. His fingers were warm, but his touch sent a chill down your spine.

"Stop fighting," he whispered, his voice so soft it felt like a caress. "The evil isn’t outside of you, Father. It’s here. With me."

Your heart pounded in your chest, every beat reverberating in your ears as you tried to pull away from him. But you couldn’t.

Not because you lacked the strength, but because something in his gaze held you still, as if you were caught under a spell.

"Ni-ki, please..." you managed to say, though your voice broke into a whisper.

He leaned even closer, his lips just a breath away from yours.

"Please what?" he asked, his tone dripping with a mix of mockery and something darker, something that sent shivers down to your very bones. "Please stop? Or please stay and make me yours?"

The tension was unbearable, and you felt your will falter. Deep down, you knew you were on the brink of something from which there was no return, something that would challenge not just your faith but everything you believed yourself to be.

And then, Ni-ki smiled—that same smile that now seemed to belong to someone—or something—entirely different.

"Choose, Father," he murmured, his voice soft, yet the words thundered in your mind. "But remember... you can’t save us both."

The silence that followed was suffocating, laden with a palpable tension that seemed to freeze the air between you. Ni-ki didn’t look away, his smile cutting into you like a blade.

His hand remained on your chin, holding you with a gentleness that only made the situation more unbearable. You could feel the warmth of his skin, but the touch burned as if marked by something unholy.

"Why do you tremble, Father?" he whispered, leaning even closer. His breath brushed against your lips, and his dark gaze glimmered with a mix of challenge and... delight? "You shouldn’t fear me. After all, you’re the man of God, aren’t you?"

You tried to speak, but the words died in your throat. You were paralyzed, caught between the urge to push him away and the unknown abyss his closeness threatened to drag you into. Ni-ki noticed, and his smile widened, malicious and taunting.

"You know," he continued, his voice low and seductive, every word falling over you like drops of venom, "I’ve always wondered if your prayers were as sincere as you claimed. Now I see they’re not. Not when you tremble like this... with me so close."

He released your chin slowly, but he didn’t move away. His hand trailed downward, grazing the collar of your cassock, his fingers toying with the edge of the fabric, as if tempted to tear it away.

His gaze never left yours, and every movement he made was laced with a clear intention: to make you fall.

"Young lamb of God... this has to stop," you finally managed to say, though your voice was barely a whisper. Your words, however, only seemed to amuse him further.

"Stop?" he repeated, tilting his head with feigned confusion. "Why should I? Isn’t this what you wanted with me?"

The audacity in his tone hit you like a punch. You stared at him with a mix of disbelief and horror, but he was unfazed. He took another step closer, closing the distance between you until there was no space left to breathe.

"Don’t say you didn’t want this, Father." His voice dropped lower, a whisper dripping with insinuation. "I’ve seen how you run your fingers over your lips after they brush against mine... Always thinking no one noticed. But I did. I always did."

Your mind filled with fleeting images—of all the times you’d allowed your gaze to linger on him too long, of all the nights you’d battled thoughts that had no place in the life of a priest.

Ni-ki was tearing through every layer of your defenses, exposing you without mercy.

He leaned in until his face was level with yours, his dark eyes glinting with something deeper, something more terrifying.

"Tell me, Father," he asked, his tone mocking, "how many times have you prayed to be freed from me? How many times have you begged your God to strip this ‘sin’ away from you?"

His fingers, playful yet deliberate, trailed down to your chest, brushing against the cross hanging from your neck.

"You know what I think?" he continued, leaning even closer, his lips grazing the skin of your ear. "I think not even He can save you from me."

Your body reacted before your mind did. You pulled away abruptly, rising from the pew and stumbling back a few steps. But even then, the image of Ni-ki standing there with that wicked smile haunted you.

He didn’t move, but his gaze followed you—intense, inescapable.

"Where are you going, Father?" he asked, his tone feigning innocence, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his true game. "To hide behind your office again?"

Desperation overtook you, and you began murmuring a prayer, the words tumbling clumsily from your lips.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, I beg you for your son...”

Ni-ki laughed—a low, dark sound that echoed through the space like a sinister refrain.

“You really think that will work?” he asked, openly mocking you. “Pray all you want, but you know you can’t resist this. You can’t resist me.”

His confidence, his audacity, cut through you like a twisted blade. You wanted to scream, to cry for help, but there was no one else. No one who could understand what was happening—not even you.

His eyes, dark and searing, were locked on yours. There was something in his gaze you couldn’t fully decipher—something between desperation and defiance, as though he were on the verge of breaking something inside himself... or inside you.

“What will you do now, Father?” he asked, his tone barely a whisper yet powerful enough to drown out the prayers you were trying to recite. “Will you cast me out? Or will you fall to your knees before me, as you’ve done so many times in your mind?”

Your breathing was erratic, your hands trembling as you clung to the rosary like a lifeline.

But Ni-ki offered no reprieve. His face was now just a breath away from yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with your own.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your lips moved without purpose. “Ni-ki, this... this isn’t right,” you managed to say, though your voice was barely audible, a broken echo of your feeble resistance.

He tilted his head, and the smile on his lips softened, though his eyes still burned with an intensity that stripped away every defense you had.

“Not right?” he repeated, his tone laced with mockery but tinged with something deeper, something painfully intimate. “Then look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me. Tell me you don’t desire me anymore, and I’ll leave.”

His words pierced you like a knife because you knew you couldn’t say them. Not without lying. Not without betraying the truth you buried deep inside yourself. You tried to look away, but his hand rose, warm and firm, cradling your face with a tenderness that starkly contrasted the storm of emotions he’d unleashed.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice deeper, more commanding.

Your heart pounded fiercely, each beat reverberating in your ears like a war drum. The space around you seemed to collapse, until all that existed was him—his face, his eyes, the overwhelming intensity of his presence that engulfed you like a tidal wave.

“Say it,” he whispered, demanding, his thumb grazing your cheek softly as his eyes flicked to your lips. “Say it, and I’ll leave.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because in that moment, the truth became unbearably clear. Ni-ki wasn’t just your temptation—he was your surrender.

And then it happened.

He leaned in, closing the remaining distance between you in an instant. His lips crashed against yours—firm, insistent, brimming with an intensity that could no longer be ignored.

It was a deep, desperate kiss, laden with everything both of you had suppressed for far too long.

Your mind screamed in protest, reminding you of who you were, where you were, what this meant. But your body—treacherous, rebellious—did not resist. Your lips moved against his, responding with the same desperation, as if you were both drowning, and this was the only air you could share.

The taste of him—somewhere between the bitterness of the forbidden and the sweetness of the inevitable—imprinted itself on you. Your hands, which had initially pushed against him, betrayed you by clutching his shirt, pulling him closer.

His hand on your face slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place, while his body pressed into yours, erasing every inch of space between you.

The world seemed to stop.

The confessional, the church, even the cross hanging above you vanished, eclipsed by the sheer intensity of the moment. This kiss wasn’t just an act of passion; it was a battle—a war between who you were and what he made you feel.

Ni-ki let out a low sound, almost a stifled groan, and his body pressed harder against yours, making it clear this was not a fleeting lapse in judgment. It was a cry, a desperate act born of something deeper than either of you could admit aloud.

When he finally pulled back—barely an inch—the spell broke, leaving you both gasping, your breaths mingling in the charged air. His gaze bore into yours, the darkness in his eyes more intense than ever.

“I knew it,” he murmured, his voice rough, laced with a dangerous satisfaction. “You couldn’t even stop yourself.”

His words left you paralyzed, unable to respond as your thoughts spiraled. But Ni-ki didn’t wait for an answer. With one final look, heavy with unspoken promises, he leaned in again, brushing his lips against yours in a gesture almost tender.

“This isn’t over, love.” he whispered before stepping back slowly, his smile returning with a victorious edge. “This is only the beginning.”

And with those words, he left the confessional, leaving you alone, trapped in a silence that no longer felt sacred, your lips still burning from his touch and your soul staring into the abyss he had opened within you.

The wood clicked softly as you slid the small door shut, sealing yourself off from the rest of the world. The confined space, once a refuge for penitence and absolution, now felt charged with something entirely different. Your breaths came quick and uneven, as though the air itself refused to fill your lungs.

Your mind was chaos.

Images of Ni-ki—his dark gaze, his malicious smile, the heat of his touch, and, most vividly, the memory of his lips on yours and his tongue invading your mouth—were seared into your consciousness like a burning brand.

Every time you tried to push those thoughts away, they came rushing back, stronger, dragging you into the moment you had just shared.

Your hands trembled as you attempted to entwine your fingers with the rosary still hanging around your neck, searching for an anchor, a lifeline to pull you from this inner storm. But instead of solace, you found an insatiable hunger, a need that consumed you from within.

You closed your eyes, leaning your back against the wooden confessional as if the cold surface could extinguish the fire raging beneath your skin. But it didn’t.

The heat coursed through your chest, your throat, every part of you, an unstoppable tide that left no room for reason.

Your hands, which had sought refuge in the rosary, slowly fell, almost as if guided by some force outside your control. They grazed your neck, where the ghost of Ni-ki’s fingers still lingered, before trailing down to your chest, tracing the fabric of your cassock. Your breathing quickened as your fingers pressed lightly against the material, as though trying to erase the weight of his touch—or perhaps summon it again.

Guilt began to rise, but it was quickly drowned out by a wave of desire you couldn’t contain. The echo of Ni-ki’s words resonated in your mind, every syllable a spark that fed the fire within you.

“You can’t escape me.”

A shiver ran through your body at the memory of how he had said it, how his lips had formed those words while his gaze devoured you.

Your hands continued their journey, sliding past your waist, your fingers tracing lines that burned even through the cloth. It was as if the memory of him was etched into every fiber of your being, impossible to tear away.

It was a matter of seconds before you slipped one of your hands inside your pants and underwear, caressing and squeezing your manhood. At that moment you just wanted to break free, as you always did when you were alone in your office or room.

At that moment, the confessional ceased to be a holy place. Its sanctity had been lost the instant you allowed yourself to succumb to the desire Ni-ki had ignited. Your lips, still swollen from the kiss, parted with a soft sigh as your free hand clutched at your cassock, as if the simple gesture could release some of the pressure consuming you.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against the wall of the confessional, your ragged breaths filling the small space. It was a struggle, a battle between what you knew was right and what your body craved with terrifying intensity.

“This is a sin...”

You knew it, but the knowledge wasn’t enough to stop you. The weight of your faith, which had always been your guide, now felt like an impossible burden to bear. And deep within your soul, you recognized the truth you had been trying to deny for so long.

You didn’t want to stop.

Your voice escaped in a barely audible whisper, a mixture of plea and despair.

“God, forgive me... for I am being dragged down by Satan’s lust...”

But even as you spoke those words, your hands continued to move, one clutching at the fabric of your cassock while the other traced your body with an intensity you had never allowed yourself before. In that moment, there was no room for regret—only for the raw, overwhelming desire Ni-ki had left behind, like an indelible mark etched into your very being.

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ݁⠀⠀،،⠀⠀메모 ! ㅤ⸻ㅤ I know almost nothing about the church or religion itself, so I made up most of the prayers...

+ New stories on the way, I promise. 🙂‍↕️︐⠀📍

⠀𝒊. ⠀─⠀ All credits to @angelsfat3 / @foschiamara⠀𝄒

. . . ₍⠀아이디어 !ㅤ⸻ㅤI'm very short of ideas lately, so feel free to leave me any requests! <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>⠀₎⠀ ִֶָ

˖⠀⠀ ݁⠀©⠀،،⠀If you liked it you can like, follow me or reblog!!

[mya-valentine]

The Man Beneath the Infinity

Synopsis: Despite his immense power, Gojo realizes he can't protect you from everything.

The night began like any other. The gentle hum of the city filtered through the windows of the apartment you shared with Satoru Gojo. Despite his eccentric personality and immense power, your home was surprisingly modest—a reflection of the simpler life he craved when he wasn’t standing at the apex of the sorcerer world.

You sat cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly, while Gojo lay sprawled out beside you, his head resting in your lap. His blindfold had been pulled down around his neck, revealing those striking blue eyes that always seemed to glimmer with mischief, even in the dim light. But tonight, something about his gaze was different. Softer, quieter. Vulnerable, even.

“Hey,” you murmured, brushing a hand through his snowy hair. “You’re unusually quiet tonight. What’s going on in that giant head of yours?”

“Giant? Rude,” he pouted, but his heart wasn’t in it. He shifted slightly, turning to look up at you, his eyes catching yours. For a moment, he said nothing, just stared as though memorizing every detail of your face. “Just thinking about stuff.”

“That’s new,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. But your smile faltered when he didn’t laugh or make a snarky comeback.

“Satoru?” you asked, your voice softening. “What’s wrong?”

He sighed, his hand coming up to rest on your knee. “You know how much I love you, right?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone made your heart skip a beat. “Of course I do. What’s this about?”

For once, Gojo seemed at a loss for words. He sat up, running a hand through his hair and letting out a frustrated sigh. You’d seen him fight curses that could obliterate cities without breaking a sweat, but this—whatever this was—seemed to genuinely trouble him.

“I’m the strongest,” he began, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “Everyone says that. Hell, I say that. And it’s true. I can protect people, destroy curses, keep the balance. But…” He turned to you, his expression uncharacteristically raw. “I can’t protect you from everything.”

The weight of his words hung in the air between you. Your chest tightened as you reached out, placing a hand on his cheek. “Satoru, where is this coming from? Did something happen?”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment before pulling you into his arms. The suddenness of the gesture startled you, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him as tightly as he held you.

“There are things out there, things even I can’t control,” he admitted, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you. Not to a curse, not to anything.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. This was a side of Gojo he rarely, if ever, showed to anyone. The world saw him as untouchable, invincible. But here, in the privacy of your home, he was just a man terrified of losing the person he loved most.

“Satoru,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “You don’t have to carry this burden alone. I know how dangerous your world is, but I chose to be with you. I knew the risks, and I don’t regret a second of it. I’m not going anywhere.”

His arms tightened around you as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. “I know you’re strong. Stronger than most people I know. But I can’t help it. You’re my everything.”

You didn’t know what to say. The sheer intensity of his emotions left you speechless. So instead, you pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, letting your actions speak for you.

For the rest of the night, Gojo stayed close—closer than usual. He insisted on doing everything for you, from getting you a glass of water to fluffing your pillows when you went to bed. At first, you thought he was just being his usual dramatic self, but the look in his eyes told you this was different. He wasn’t just doting on you; he was trying to protect you in the only way he knew how.

“Alright, what’s going on?” you finally asked as he tucked you into bed like a child. “You’re acting weird.”

“I can’t spoil the love of my life without being interrogated?” he teased, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You spoil me all the time, but this… this is over the top, even for you.”

He sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I just… I need to make sure you know how much you mean to me. In case… In case something happens.”

You grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers together. “Nothing’s going to happen, Satoru. Not to me, and not to you. We’ll face whatever comes together, okay?”

He nodded, though the worry in his eyes remained. “Okay.”

That night, as you lay in his arms, you felt the weight of his fears in the way he held you, the way his fingers brushed gently against your skin as if memorizing every inch of you. And as you drifted off to sleep, you couldn’t help but think about the man beneath the infinity—the man who, despite his immeasurable strength, was still human enough to fear losing the person he loved.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[yourownutopia]

Ultraviolent Heart

╰┈➤You know how it ends. From the very beginning, you carried that knowledge like an inescapable burden, a quiet ache that shaped your every choice. Yet you stayed—for him. Jin Woo—your confidant, your light in a world of darkness—could never walk with you to the very end. But you couldn't take it anymore. It was too much to bear. So, you leave - knowing your place by his side was never meant to last.

Left behind is Jin Woo, with questions no one will answer and a gaping void where your presence once was. You are gone, and yet the emptiness you leave lingers longer than any memory. ༊*·˚

Implied Jin Woo x Isekai'd!Player2!Fem!Reader | Songfic | Heartbreak | Goodbye | Angst | Jealousy | crying

Crywolf - ULTRAVIOLENT [adrenochrome] ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚--~

Your heart is torturing me.

Knock.

The dull sound of his fist striking rotting wood echoed through the air.

Once—not too hard.

Twice—with more force.

Three times—before the rigid concrete wall could no longer withstand the immense power of the Shadow Monarch. Cracks spread across the structure, and where solid stone once stood, now a large, gaping hole remained, with Jin Woo’s hand at its center—much like the gaping hole in his heart.

The overwhelming anger he felt threatened to consume him entirely. Beru flinched violently, fear creeping up his limbs as his master’s eyes glowed dangerously. He had brought bad news—perhaps the worst Jin Woo had received in a long time.

"Search more thoroughly."

The black-haired man’s voice cut through the silence like his blades through flesh. Yet, despite his usual composed demeanor, his voice quivered with rage.

Beru wanted to point out that it was a pointless endeavor. If you were still there, he would have already found you. But his master would not accept that answer.

"Yes, my king," Beru replied reverently before retreating into the shadows, leaving Jin Woo alone in his fury.

This couldn’t be true. No one could simply vanish without a trace. And yet, it seemed that was exactly what had happened.

A thousand miles an hour again.

It had been a week, and none of his shadows could locate you. Even the Hunter’s Association had been unable to find any information about your current whereabouts. There wasn’t even a hint that you had left the country.

But giving up the search would mean it was over. It would mean that a part of him was gone forever and that the memories you shared were nothing more than illusions.

He clung to the last shred of hope he had because, no matter how furious he was with you, he desperately wanted answers.

And all that stays with me

How could you do this to him? He had trusted you so much, and you had abandoned him in the most cowardly way possible—without a word. No goodbye, no note, no message—as if you had never existed. And with that, you had torn a massive hole in his heart.

The anger began to ebb, only to be replaced with a suffocating fear—a fear that had gripped him time and time again in recent days.

Is the fear inside my gut.

It felt as though he was bleeding out, choking, drowning in place. As though his heart was overflowing with pain, longing for your warmth and softness, and all the things he had never been able to say—the things you had denied him. The fear that he would soon no longer remember you gnawed at his soul.

Memories were all he had left of you, yet even they were beginning to fade. What did your voice sound like again? Your beautiful face, once so vivid in his mind, was now blurring. Were you only a beautiful dream from which he had now awakened?

You're the fear inside my gut -‘๑’-

Two years had passed since you had been pulled into this world—the world you knew so well, almost like the back of your hand. The world that had accompanied you through so many sleepless nights as you eagerly read each chapter on your smartphone.

But just as you were about to finish the story, with the last chapter ahead of you, the universe intervened. You were pulled into the story yourself, long before Jin Woo set foot in the double dungeon.

You became Player 2. The system welcomed you like an old friend, and you quickly adapted. At first, you wanted to return home, but the system refused your departure with a single window:

[You can only leave the game when you truly want to.]

And, evidently, you didn’t truly want to leave. You wanted to stay, to experience firsthand the world you had come to know so well. And so, you stayed—with the goal of making life a little easier for Jin Woo, as though that was your purpose.

Starting as a C-rank mage with a few healing spells, you participated in every raid Jin Woo was involved in, which quickly made you friends. He had admired your strength from the beginning, just as you had admired his courage and determination.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t always lend him a helping hand. Every time something story-relevant occurred, no matter how you tried to intervene, it would inevitably happen anyway—only the timing or the path there would show minor deviations.

Whenever this happened, the system would display a message:

[The story will not change.]

The system made it painfully clear that you had no influence over key story elements. And though you had never had issues with the system before, these moments felt like mockery—a cruel reminder of your limitations.

No matter how heavy your heart felt or how deeply you wished you could change things, events unfolded as they were meant to. Ultimately, all you could do was make Jin Woo’s journey a little lighter, which he accepted with gratitude. The two of you were like light and shadow—one could not exist without the other.

You’ve been my reason to breathe

Not only were you an incredible team in battle, your abilities complementing one another seamlessly, but everyone who knew you—or even those who didn’t—could see that you belonged together. He trusted you; you were the light in his life. The lifeline that kept him from drowning in a sea of darkness. The one who reminded him he was still human whenever he no longer felt like one. The one who had held his trembling hands whenever he needed it—even after those hands had taken lives.

You were the one who stayed with him through so many nights, just to keep him from being alone with himself. The one his shadows respected and whom Beru grandly referred to as "his queen."

His shadows had known from the start how Jin Woo felt about you. But he feared telling you, terrified that it might drive you away. No heartbreak in the world could compare to the thought of you no longer by his side.

Of course, you had noticed, probably much sooner than anyone else. How his behavior changed—how his cheeks would flush whenever you complimented him. How he sought your company more often, how his voice would falter when you came close. Things that had always been intimate but normal between you suddenly left him flustered.

How deeply you wished you could give in to it, but you knew better. There was no happy ending for the two of you. You knew it, and the system knew it—perhaps that’s why it had never responded to his advances. Only Jin Woo remained blissfully unaware, while you locked your feelings away and buried them deep.

The gravity that pulls me in

Despite your efforts to keep him at arm’s length—to keep yourself at arm’s length—those moments grew more frequent. Moments when your gazes lingered a second too long or his hugs lasted just a little longer than necessary. Moments when his hand found yours, and your fingers intertwined. Moments when the two of you lay side by side, silently watching the stars, just to have an excuse to share the night.

It was almost impossible to push him away when he looked at you with such tenderness, smiling at you as though you were all he needed. The thought that the two of you didn’t have a chance began to fade into the background, and as long as the system didn’t intervene, everything felt fine.

I can't escape the weight of your ultraviolent heart

Until that day.

-‘๑’-

The Jeju Island raid had been about two weeks ago, and life had returned to normal. People mourned the fallen S-Rank hunters but celebrated the victory of reclaiming the island. You hadn’t participated in the raid yourself, only watched from a distance—at least until the moment when Hunter Cha was injured and Jin-Woo rushed to her aid.

The thought sent a pang straight to your gut.

What disgusting and pathetic thoughts to have. After all, Cha had nearly died—you knew that all too well. And yet, you struggled to ignore the stabbing pain in your chest, which worsened when she showed up at the guild's office building.

As usual, when there was nothing to do, you lay sprawled on the couch, your head resting lazily on Jin-Woo's lap while he scrolled through his phone.

At first, Jinho had been a little taken aback by the closeness between you two. But he’d quickly adjusted to the fact that his two best friends behaved like a couple—despite not being one.

Suddenly, a knock came at the door, and Jinho looked up from his computer.

You were momentarily confused before realization struck. You’d spent so many days here that you’d completely forgotten about when Hae-In was supposed to arrive. If it were up to you, you would’ve bolted; the less interaction with her, the better. But that would’ve raised too many questions.

You felt Jin-Woo shift, and you immediately sat up, unwilling to give the wrong impression. The black-haired man gave you a confused look as your warmth left his lap—though he made no move to get up himself.

“Who could that be?” Jinho asked, heading toward the door. You could already hear her soft voice as he opened it.

“Is this Mr. Sung’s office?” she asked quietly. When the door opened fully, all eyes fell on the blonde beauty in the doorway.

She wasn’t just pretty; she was immensely strong. Not stronger than you, but far more graceful in everything she did. She was perfect in every way, much to your dismay.

Her eyes widened briefly when she saw you, but she quickly masked her surprise with a polite cough.

Jin-Woo had now risen as well, his gaze cool and appraising as he looked at the young Hunter whose life he’d saved.

“What brings you here, Miss Cha?” he asked, his tone cold—devoid of the softness he reserved for you.

The blonde hesitated for a moment before stating that she wanted to join the guild.

Jin-Woo’s expression didn’t change, though Jinho looked like he’d just been hit with a bombshell.

This wasn’t a surprise to you, of course, but the words still felt like a blow to the stomach.

Less than five minutes later, you found yourself sitting across from Hae-In on the sofa. Jin-Woo sat beside you, once again asking why she was there. The blonde reiterated her desire to join the guild, causing Jin-Woo to frown in confusion as she sipped nervously on a cola. She dismissed his speculations, her cheeks growing redder with every passing moment as she avoided eye contact.

It was almost ironic how Jin-Woo, despite his overwhelming strength, had no clue that Hae-In was flustered. Of course, you knew better. She wanted to be near him because, unlike others, he smelled good and intrigued her. And you had to accept that.

When her face turned beet red and she began fanning herself nervously, Jin-Woo paused and asked again why she was going to such lengths to join the guild.

“I want to live a comfortable life. Is that so wrong?” she replied softly.

Jinho popped up behind you, whispering, “The Hunters Guild must’ve overworked her.”

Jin-Woo’s eyes darted to you, silently asking a question: What do you think?

Of course, you hated the idea. You didn’t want to lose him to her—but what could you do?

Your contemplative expression and brief hesitation were all Jin-Woo needed. He turned back to Hae-In and rejected her request.

Your eyes widened, staring in disbelief at the black-haired man. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go—the conversation wasn’t over yet.

Hae-In lowered her head, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“I understand,” she murmured, looking utterly dejected.

Panic surged through you. What was happening? A deviation?

“W-wait!” you blurted out, drawing everyone’s attention. Hae-In’s gaze flickered with hope, while Jin-Woo raised an inquisitive brow.

“P-please give us five minutes, Miss Cha,” you said, quickly standing and grabbing Jin-Woo’s hand to drag him into the adjacent room.

Almost disappointed when you released his hand, Jin-Woo looked at you as the door closed behind you.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, hands on your hips.

He seemed genuinely confused by your question.

“What?”

“Why are you rejecting her?!” you demanded.

Jin-Woo shrugged, his expression indifferent.

“I don’t want her in the guild,” he said flatly, his gray eyes avoiding yours.

He wanted to tell you that you were more than enough for him—that she was unnecessary. But saying so might’ve been too much in this situation.

“This is a one-time opportunity!” you argued, hoping he’d use his brain for once.

“I have you. We don’t need anyone else,” he countered, his cheeks tinged pink.

What the hell was he saying?

No, things couldn’t go this way—it would disrupt the entire timeline. Your thoughts spiraled.

“Then… have her fight Beru!” you blurted out. Jin-Woo stared at you, dumbfounded.

“And why would I do that? She’ll lose,” he said, still not understanding why this mattered so much to you.

“Then it’s a win-win. She doesn’t feel rejected, and you… get rid of her.”

He seemed to consider your words for a moment. From his shadow, the winged ant manifested.

“What do you think?” Jin-Woo asked.

The insect clicked its mandibles excitedly.

“Kekeke, that’s a wonderful idea, my queen,” it replied, clearly far too enthusiastic.

Why could you understand it? No clue. It was probably because you were also a Player, and Jin-Woo had drilled it into Beru from the start that he should listen to you as well. Besides, you liked him—and he liked you.

You looked expectantly at the Shadow Monarch, whose lips curved into a smile as he turned back to you.

“If it makes you happy,” he said, placing a hand on your head. A soft blush spread across your cheeks.

-‘๑’-

"Why the hell?!" you asked the moment your feet touched solid ground again.

You, Jin-Woo, and Hae-In now stood in the middle of the training arena. You hadn’t wanted to be part of this situation in the first place, and when the black-haired man had pulled the blonde closer, it had sent a sharp pain through your chest. You wanted to leave. But Jin-Woo had grabbed you by the wrist and brought you here, knowing that words alone wouldn’t convince you to stay. For once, he had chosen to be selfish.

Clearly irritated, you pulled yourself free from his grip and moved away from the two of them, seeking refuge at the edge of the arena. You trusted Beru to avoid accidentally hurting you, but the ant could be reckless in battle.

Jin-Woo watched you walk away, his mouth opening as if to stop you, but you were already storming off. This would have consequences later...

While Jin-Woo and Cha retreated to the armory, you were finally alone with your thoughts for the first time that day. Worry gnawed at you. Everything was unfolding differently than the story you remembered. Was it your fault? Had you interfered too much? If so, why hadn’t the system reacted? And if not... then what was the reason? Something was terribly wrong... but what?

Your mind drifted back to the manhwa, trying to recall the exact details of the events. Yet they eluded you. Meanwhile, the two hunters returned. Cha was now equipped with a weapon, and Jin-Woo stood several meters away. It wasn’t until Beru’s overwhelming aura enveloped your senses that realization struck.

This wasn’t right... She was supposed to face Igris first.

Before you could voice your concerns, the battle had already begun.

The fight went horribly wrong. Beru had lost control, and if Jin-Woo hadn’t stopped him, he would have torn Hae-In apart. The arena lay in ruins, and the black-haired man stood protectively in front of the blonde, while Beru fell to his knees, apologizing profusely.

Slowly, the conversation from the manhwa came back to you. She would tell him that she was interested in him.

I’ve been splintering apart

Badump.

Your heartbeat grew louder in your ears as the other sounds faded into the background.

Badump.

Your heart clenched as your eyes remained fixed on the two of them. They looked good together... too good.

Badump.

Panic slowly but surely crept up your limbs. You didn’t want to be here when she said it. You didn’t want to see it. You didn’t want to face the truth. You had known it all along, but you had willingly ignored it. They were meant to be together.

Badump.

Breaking open from the start

Your breaths became shallow, and your pounding heart grew louder as you watched Hae-In’s cheeks flush pink. Soon, you would see his eyes light up as he realized why Hae-In had taken on all these burdens. The pain in your chest made it hard to breathe, and you felt tears welling up in your eyes.

Badump.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You didn’t even hear the black-haired man call your name as you bolted out of the arena. The cold air outside whipped against your face.

But you didn’t get far. A warm hand gently grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, forcing you to stop.

“Hey!” His voice was both frustrated and worried—clearly not understanding why you had left without a word.

“Let me go, please,” you said softly, tugging lightly to reinforce your words. But Jin-Woo didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, he held on tighter to keep you from walking away.

You bit your lower lip, holding back tears. You avoided looking at him, unable to face the concern in his eyes.

“Hey... it’s not your fault this happened. I shouldn’t have let her fight him in the first place,” he said, his voice quieter now. Was that it? Did he think you felt guilty?

The evening continued its quiet work, slowly but surely extinguishing all the colors. Deep blue blended with pale orange where the last warriors of the sun made their final stand.

Gates of heaven are closing

Much like your emotions, fighting against the encroaching darkness—the images of the two of them vivid in your mind.

“That’s not it,” you replied, your voice strained.

Jin-Woo’s concerned expression hardened further. Was it... because he had dragged you here against your will?

But that wasn’t it.

Your throat felt tight, and you swallowed hard.

“That wasn’t fair of me... I’m sorry, I—” Jin-Woo began, but when he saw your face, the words caught in his throat.

Your expression was equal parts hurt and angry. Your [E/C] eyes, usually so bright with joy, were brimming with tears.

Why was this idiot here and not with Hae-In? Had he left her standing there? Why was he making it so hard for you to do the right thing?

His eyes widened, and his heart sank into his stomach as he took in your pained expression. What was wrong? What had he done?

“Why aren’t you with her?” you managed to ask, your voice trembling. Jin-Woo reflexively released your wrist in shock. What? Who?

You seized the opportunity and ran, leaving Jin-Woo momentarily speechless as his mind raced.

Did you mean Hae-In? Why should he be with her? That made no sense to him at all.

Until suddenly, realization struck. Could it be that...? No. That couldn’t be it.

He quickly caught up to you, your gaze fixed stubbornly ahead.

“Stop,” his voice was calm, and his tone commanding, but you had no intention of listening.

When you ignored his second plea, he firmly grabbed your wrist once more.

The protest died in your throat as he pulled you into his chest, trapping you in a warm embrace.

What did you do in my head?

His scent filled your nose, and the warmth of his body spread through your limbs as hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

Why?

Jin-Woo held you tightly against him, one hand on your waist—the other buried in your hair.

“Wha—” you began, your voice trembling, but he silenced you with a soft sound.

“Because I want to be with you,” the black-haired man murmured into your hair, before gently pulling you away to look into your eyes.

The cool gray of his eyes softened, as it always did when he spoke to you, catching your [E/C]. But this time, there was nothing playful in his gaze. He was serious.

Jin-Woo noticed the confusion written on your face.

One of his hands found its way to your cheek, a warm tingling spreading across your skin as he cupped your face.

What are you doing?

“You asked me why I’m not with her,” he explained, gently wiping away a tear that had escaped from the corner of your eye. He had never seen you cry before, and he didn’t like the sight. Especially not if he was the reason.

Weren’t you laying in my bed

He had never intended to tell you, but he couldn’t keep it inside any longer. It had to come out. You needed to know how much you meant to him—that she didn’t matter and that you were everything he had ever wanted.

“I just want to be with you,” he repeated, his voice trembling ever so slightly. He leaned down slightly, as if even this close wasn’t close enough. His breathing quickened as the sun’s rays fought valiantly against the darkness creeping over the sky.

Your heart pounded wildly, and your thoughts raced. Your palms grew sweaty, and you felt as though you might faint at any moment. The tension between you was palpable, begging for resolution.

You wanted to bridge the remaining inches, to tell him how you felt—to throw all your plans out the window.

Jin-Woo took a deep breath.

“[Y/N], I lo—”

[The course of the story remains unchanged.]

The window that flickered behind the black-haired man for a fraction of a second was a knife in your heart, now riddled with cracks, as you reflexively pressed a finger to his lips, stopping his sentence.

He fell silent immediately, looking at you in confusion, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. Had he misread the signs after all?

Telling me I was chosen

“Don’t,” you whispered softly—your voice barely audible, but he heard it clearly.

If he said those three words, it would be over—there would be no turning back. If he said those words, you would break. If not now, then eventually—when fate ran its course. Because if you had learned one thing, it was that the system would find a way.

His throat tightened, and his chest constricted.

"I can’t—" you began haltingly, stumbling over your words. You couldn’t think of a single sentence that would make this situation any less painful for him.

You lowered your gaze, feeling Jin-Woo give up. His embrace loosened, and his arms fell limply to his sides.

You didn’t want to do this, but you had no choice. There simply wasn’t a happy ending for the two of you. Happiness together wasn’t meant to be.

Jin-Woo was hurt—he couldn’t believe how wrong he had been.

"I’m so sorry," you whispered before daring to look into his eyes one last time—eyes filled with anguish—before you turned and walked away.

-‘๑’-

The following weeks were quiet. Too quiet.

Jin-Woo and you hadn’t spoken since. Both of you were waiting for the other to take the first step, but neither of you dared to break the uncomfortable silence.

For Jin-Woo, the situation was clear: you didn’t return his feelings and wanted distance, just as much as he did. Yet it still felt wrong.

Your presence had taken over his life; he saw your shadow everywhere. Your absence had left a gaping hole, and the simplest things no longer brought him joy. Even Jinho was dejected. His shadows, too, felt the emptiness your absence had created in his heart—his inner turmoil and recklessness as he threw himself into battles reflected it.

Beru, in particular, wasn’t happy about your absence and kept asking after you until Jin-Woo firmly explained that you wouldn’t be coming back. The insect accepted it, albeit with a heavy heart.

Now I don’t even know you, and that’s the best part of it

Weeks turned into months, and Jin-Woo had regained much of his strength. He had grown more ruthless, focused solely on his goals. He had achieved so much, but none of it mattered if you weren’t there to cheer him on.

Neither the recognition from the Hunter’s Association nor the countless media articles praising him to the skies brought him any satisfaction. It wasn’t your recognition, so he didn’t need it.

He buried his heavy heart behind a wall of indifference, but he realized he was drifting further and further from any semblance of a normal life. He was rarely home, found himself in increasingly precarious situations during battles, and noticed how little he cared.

No matter what he did, nothing could fill the void.

It simply couldn’t go on like this, so he decided to do something he usually resisted.

He resolved to ask Hae-In on a date.

All I know, you’re the only thing that I see in color

While Jin-Woo threw himself into leveling up, you had shut yourself away at home for some time. Jin-Woo’s wounded face was burned into your mind; after all, it was the last thing you had seen of him.

Guilt gnawed at you, sapping your strength and will to move forward.

You had lost weight, only left your home for absolute necessities, and spent most of your time sleeping. You cried so much that you began to believe you had no tears left.

Every fiber of your being missed him.

His voice.

His scent.

His laughter.

Even his reprimanding tone when you and Beru got into trouble.

Everything about him. Your heart cried out for him, whether you were awake or asleep.

This heart is torturing me

A sigh escaped your lips as you stared at your phone screen—the numerous missed calls from Jinho had gradually become fewer, but he never gave up.

More guilt.

But what could you do to fix this? Calling Jin-Woo? Just tell him the truth? Maybe that would be the fairest way…

Countless times, you had typed his number into your phone, only to stop yourself at the last second. The fear that he wouldn’t believe you was too great. Or was it the fear that he would believe you?

You shook your head and stood up. This couldn’t go on. You had to talk to him, at least one last time—to come clean before you returned home.

You couldn’t bear the silence between you anymore.

The only pain I understand

Your eyes widened as you stared at the TV screen. A photo had just appeared on the display—your hands instantly dropped the paper cup you’d been holding, spilling the hot coffee it contained onto the ground.

With your mouth slightly open, you stared at the screen, which was displayed in the shop window of a store you had just been walking past.

You had stopped in your tracks as the image suddenly changed, revealing a paparazzi photo.

It showed Jin-Woo and Hae-In, with his arm around her shoulders.

Maybe it didn’t mean anything—maybe it was all just a big misunderstanding—but in your current state, you didn’t want to hear any of it.

Your heart had already cracked when you had to reject his feelings, but this time it felt as though it had shattered into a thousand pieces.

Your mouth went dry, and you couldn’t form a single coherent thought.

You stared at the picture as if hypnotized.

You half-expected a spiteful inner voice to appear, taunting you and telling you it had been right all along—but it stayed silent.

I can't escape the weight of your ultraviolent heart

You tore your gaze away from the screen, and your legs started moving on their own.

Faster.

Much faster.

As if you could somehow run away from it, as if these images wouldn’t follow you for the rest of your life.

Your body instinctively reacted to the pain in your soul, numbing it.

The pain ebbed away, leaving behind an emptiness that took over, shielding you from breaking down—at least for the moment.

When the door to your apartment finally closed behind you, shutting you away from the public’s eyes, every bullet hit you at once.

Your stomach churned, forcing you to vomit into the sink.

Your body doubled over, and you clung to the edge of the counter until the shaking subsided, until you rinsed your mouth and collapsed to your knees, clutching at your chest in anguish.

Your body trembled uncontrollably as you screamed out the pain you had been holding back for so long. You screamed until your voice grew hoarse, until no words could escape your throat anymore.

How had it come to this? Why had he entered your life if he was never meant to stay? Why was the universe so cruel? What had you done to deserve this?

It’s a poison in my gut

It took an eternity for your body to stop trembling and the sobs to subside. Your tears dried up, your body too exhausted to produce any more.

You sat on the floor, your back against the wall, drained of all strength. Your head throbbed, and every trace of willpower had left your body.

Weakly, you lifted your hand and swiped downward in the air.

[Do you really wish to leave the game?] [Yes] / [No] [Yes]

Jin-Woo woke with a silent scream from his nightmare, his hand outstretched, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. His breath came in ragged gasps as he sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes darting frantically around the room.

A few seconds passed before he realized he was in his bedroom. The full moon shone through his window, bathing everything in silver light.

It was just a dream…a damn nightmare. But it had felt so incredibly real.

His hand clutched at his chest, which ached under the crushing weight of emotion. He had seen your tear-streaked face as you looked at him, whispering a faint, “Goodbye.” Relief washed over him as he realized it had only been a dream. He rubbed his eyes, only to notice the glimmer of tears on his hand under the moonlight.

But it still felt so real - he felt so hollow, as though a giant hole had opened in his chest. As if something was terribly wrong. His mind wandered to you once again, missing the warmth of your Presence once more. He was sure you had seen the News, the speculations and rumors about his relationship with the blonde S-Rank - but they were all false. He only wanted to shield her from the Spotlights, since it was him who dragged her along in the first place. The Date with Hae-In was a welcoming distraction from fighting in a Dungeon, but it felt all wrong. It just made him realize once more, that it was you he wanted by his side - as lovers or friends, he couldn't care less. He just wanted you.

His resolve hardened: tomorrow, he would visit you and ask for your forgiveness, hoping you would be willing to forgive him. Hoping the empty feeling would finally disappear, that he would be whole again.

With that thought in mind, he drifted back to sleep. But the emptiness remained.

You’re the only thing that I see in color.

[to be continued....] ღ ◌ ͙۪۪̥˚┊❛~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ❜┊˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ღ

Wow, this story just came to me while I was on the bus, listening to music…what can I say—I had to write it down before it was too late!

English isn’t my first language! I hope everything was understandable and legible.

since y'all are just suckers for drama, there will be a part two~ But first, the first chapter of my other Jin Woo x Reader story [Anomaly] will release next week! stay tuned! The Prologue is already out! Thanks for all reblogs, likes & comments.'*•.¸♡ I really appreciate it <3 ♡¸.•*' ~Utopia ༊*·˚

[tinytinyblogs]

Hey can you do yandere skz punishments

Punishment time darling

They give you everything you could ever want, but crossing them is a mistake you’ll never want to make.

Hyung line, Maknae line (coming soon)

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

Bang Chan isn’t one to act impulsively, not when it comes to you. He’s always calculating, always planning. When you disobey him, he doesn’t explode in anger like someone else might. No, Chan prefers something quieter, something more effective. He believes punishment should teach a lesson, not waste energy. And when it comes to you, he wants you to feel the weight of your guilt, to truly understand why you were wrong. Isolation is his preferred method. It’s clean, controlled, and, most importantly, it works. The first time he catches you breaking one of his unspoken rules—talking to someone he doesn’t approve of, going somewhere without telling him—he doesn’t raise his voice. Instead, he gives you a long, measured look, the kind that sends a chill down your spine. His usual warmth is gone, replaced by something colder, sharper. Later, when it’s just the two of you, he sits you down. The air feels heavy, suffocating. His voice is low and calm, almost tender. “Think about it, darling. I’m doing this for your own good,” he says, his expression carefully crafted to appear apologetic, though his eyes betray something darker. “If I’m not protecting you, who will? This world is too dangerous for someone like you. Without me… you’re nothing.” The words sting, but they also confuse you.

He delivers them with such conviction, such unwavering certainty, that a part of you begins to question yourself. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you were careless, ungrateful even. He leans closer, his hand brushing against yours as if to comfort you. “You’ll understand soon enough,” he murmurs. And then it begins. Subtly, at first. Your phone mysteriously stops working, and when you ask about it, Chan is quick to offer an excuse. “It’s better this way. You don’t need all those distractions.” Your friends start to drift away—he makes sure of it, carefully orchestrating misunderstandings and missed calls until you have no one left to turn to. Your schedule becomes eerily predictable, revolving entirely around him. He insists it’s for your benefit, that it’s safer this way. The isolation creeps in slowly, but it’s relentless. The world you once knew shrinks until it consists of only him. And every time you try to protest, he’s ready with the same disarming smile and soothing words. “I know this feels harsh, but it’s because I love you. You’ll thank me someday.” Yet, no matter how gentle his tone, there’s no mistaking the steel beneath it. Bang Chan doesn’t give second chances. By the time you realize the full extent of his control, it’s too late. You’re trapped, and he knows it. And to him, that’s exactly as it should be.

Minho

If Minho grows quiet and his sharp gaze locks onto you, it’s never a good sign. When you talk back to him or let your emotions run wild, and he remains silent, it’s far worse than anger—it’s dangerous. His silence is not passivity; it’s a storm waiting to unfold. Minho doesn’t like wasting energy, and why should he? When he acts, it’s always calculated, deliberate, and impactful, ensuring you won’t dare to repeat your mistakes. The last time you pushed him, your words came tumbling out in frustration, escalating into a full-blown argument. He listened without interruption, his expression unreadable, the stillness of his body unnerving. Once your words ran dry, he finally spoke. “Are you done?” he asked, his voice eerily calm, laced with a sharp edge. “You’ve been crossing the line lately. You know that, don’t you?” The weight of his words sat heavy in your chest long after he left the room. Sleep felt impossible that night as anxiety churned in your mind. You couldn’t ignore the suffocating feeling that something was coming. And you were right. Just as the clock struck midnight, the sound of your door creaking open made you sit up in bed.

There he was, standing in the doorway, his silhouette outlined by the dim hallway light. His eyes, dark and piercing, met yours, and an unsettling smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Waiting for me, lovely?” he asked softly, stepping into the room with a predator’s grace. Before you could respond, he tossed something onto the bed. The clatter was jarring, and your breath hitched when you realized what it was: your phone, shattered into pieces. “Phone? No more,” he said with an icy smirk. “I wonder what else I should make into pieces. Those stupid plushies you’re so attached to? Or maybe… someone precious?” A soft, humorless laugh escaped him as he leaned closer, his face mere inches from yours. “Remember this, love. No crossing the line. Consider this your warning,” he murmured, his voice dangerously low. “Don’t make me dirty my hands, alright?” His words cut deeper than any shout ever could. Straightening, he glanced at you one last time before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. With Minho, silence was never just silence. It was a threat, a promise, and a lesson. And when he acted, it was always with a precision that left no room for misunderstanding.

Changbin

Explode—that’s the only way to describe him when he’s angry. It’s not subtle or restrained; it’s raw, chaotic, and terrifying. When his temper snaps, it’s like a storm that tears through everything in its path. He throws things against the wall, his voice rising into a roar that makes your chest tighten with fear. The sweet, soft side he usually shows you is gone, replaced by someone you can barely recognize. “You think I’m joking right now?” he shouts, his eyes blazing with fury, so red it’s like all he can see is rage. He plants himself in front of the door, his body a solid barrier ensuring there’s no escape. The once tidy room is unrecognizable—vases lie shattered on the floor, shards glinting in the dim light, papers scattered everywhere. Each crash feels like a knife twisting in your gut, and all you can do is collapse onto the floor, your knees too weak to hold you up. His breathing is heavy, his chest heaving like he’s barely holding back from completely losing control. “Ignore me like that again,” he growls, his voice low and dripping with menace, “answer me without thinking, and next time, I’ll throw you against the wall just like I did those vases.”

The venom in his words makes your heart race, and for a split second, you can’t tell if it’s an empty threat or a promise. Either way, the weight of his fury presses down on you, leaving you frozen in place. And then, just as suddenly as it started, the storm begins to subside. He straightens, his eyes still fixed on you, but the blazing anger in them softens into something almost tender. He takes a step forward, then another, crouching down to meet you on the floor. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, as if trying to erase the memory of the chaos he just unleashed. You flinch as he reaches for you, but he doesn’t stop. His hands find your face, cupping it gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that have spilled down your cheeks. “I’m sorry, love. You need to understand how much I love you,” he whispers, his tone pleading. It’s disorienting, the way he shifts from monster to lover, his gentleness so at odds with the destruction around you. “So don’t make me lose my temper again, got it?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. The warning is clear, and you can only nod.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin has a way of making you doubt yourself, twisting your thoughts until you’re unsure of what’s real. He doesn’t raise his voice or resort to anger—instead, he makes you feel like you’re the one who’s wrong, like you’re the villain and he’s the victim. His charm is intoxicating, but beneath it lies something dangerous, something that leaves you questioning everything about yourself and your relationship. When you upset him, he doesn’t comfort you or address it directly. Instead, he turns it into his own game, one where the rules are stacked entirely in his favor. He knows exactly how to manipulate the situation, how to make you feel like the guilt is entirely yours. His voice is soft, trembling just enough to tug at your heartstrings as he asks, “Do you even love me?” Somehow, he manages to conjure tears—perfect, convincing tears that make your chest tighten with guilt. You know he’s playing a part, that the sadness in his eyes is an act, yet it still works. His vulnerability feels so real, so raw, that you can’t help but question if maybe you truly are the problem. He always knows what to say to make you doubt your actions, and soon enough, you’re scrambling to fix something you aren’t even sure you broke. He doesn’t stop there.

His words cut deeper than any raised voice or angry outburst ever could. “I feel like I’m nothing to you,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping as though he can’t bear to look at you. “Do you even care? Am I just wasting my time here?” The weight of his accusations settles heavily on your shoulders, making you feel like the worst person in the world. And that’s exactly what he wants. For Hyunjin, this isn’t just a moment of hurt—it’s a game, a calculated strategy to make you prove yourself over and over again. You find yourself apologizing, explaining, and convincing him of your love, even when you don’t fully understand what you’re apologizing for. By the time he leans in, brushing a tear from your cheek, you’re already falling into his trap. “Tell me,” he whispers, his voice barely audible but laced with desperation. “Tell me how much you love me. Please… I can’t live without you.” His words are a plea, but they carry a weight that crushes you. It’s not just about proving your love—it’s about erasing the guilt he’s so carefully placed on you. And when you finally stammer out your assurances, he smiles faintly, knowing he’s won. For Hyunjin, victory isn’t loud or violent. It’s quiet, devastating, and entirely unforgettable.

[valentine-cafe]

im drooling for some haoyu 9948v ANGST

maybe haoyu getting bored of reader and decides to just. (kill) get rid of them. he's like 'ok whatever not my problem' then sometime after it just SNAP! clicks.

he killed you and now hes not gonna find anyone like you again

˖⁺. ﹙ bloodthirsty phantom  x gn reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . dull eyes !! 🍒 :  phantom ˖ yandere ˖ vngeful spirit character﹙ verse 9948v hàoyǔ. ﹚

you always knew that someone like him would eventually be your demise. what happens when a being such as him gets bored of you ? | cw: reader death 

It had all been nice at first. Well, that’s how you remembered it.

The inafmous phantom of your world, hauntingly beautiful, yet dangerous, murderous. With all the intent to snap anyone’s neck that came in his way. Bathe in their blood.

You remember the first time his eyes landed upon you, the obssessive gazes and the suddeness of when he stole you away. Kept you in his abode for none to see or visit. His beautiful prize. Your soul most addictive to him.

He huffed you like you were a drug to get high on after every murdering spree.

It got to your head that he never once hurt you. No, he protected, kept you safe and sound. Sure, he was and is manipulative but. . . You could manage, you had him, right?

Why should you miss your old family and friends— You are his, and he is yours. He wouldn’t get bored of you.

Alas. As malicious and godlike as he is. His animalistic hunger convinced him otherwise. You weren’t much more than a toy. You weren’t his cerise, nor were you that interesting to begin with.

A past-time soul to take away the boredom.

And when you suddenly no longer took that boredom away — that’s when you noticed the signs, his nonchalance around you. The sudden threats to snap you in half, the agitation he suddenly displayed to you like it. The same he shows to everyone.

What was it you had done wrong? You never really figured it out. An impossible task to do so nontheless.

It was incomprehensible for your mortal brain to understand his.

You lay in bed now, sleeping soundly. Yet to know the fate coming for you.

Oh how the angels weep for it, whichever poor guardian that wards you, begs for you to awake. It is not possible to hear. Not with the barriers of the realms.

And your intuition has been shattered long ago.

The door creaks open. Heavy footsteps moving towards the side of the bed, alongside the strong smell of iron that reeks off of your beloved.

Blood covered fingers trail down your spine, while a freezing pair of lips press against the lobe of your ear. Breath sighed onto your warm skin.

“How unfortunate you cause me such boredom.” He whispers. Might as well take you out in your sleep. The screams may have been delightful. But why not let you dream instead. They say the dead can still hear a bit before their soul has gone away.

Doubtless he will have any use of that either way as well. Perhaps he should simply suffocate it when it floats aimlessly above you. Awaiting reaping.

No reaper comes into this household.

“Hàoyu.” You groggily call, as you rouse from your sleep. Eyes groggy and full of heavy sleep still.

Poor you, barely able to process the teeth that rip out your throat and the long talons that rip through your skin and bones like they are nothing.

What quick and painful death, the blood spraying everywhere. You don’t get to see it, as he so violently tears you apart. Like a feral animal. Laughing as though it is some funny joke to him.

And when it is all over, and he is holding your corpse in his arms. He strokes a thumb across your face and tuts. “Its nothing personal, hm?” A little chuckle rumbles through his chest as he drags you out to the yard, where the rest of his past loves lay beneath the earth.

Yet. As day by day pass by. And he returns from the long sprees with his cultists. He settles down in the lounge of his manor, and awaits your presence each and every time.

A strange feel arises in his chest. Is it sorrow?

No, surely not. . . He was bored, why would he suddenly begin missing? What had been that different about you in contrast to all of his other lovers?

And as a month, perhaps two? What does perception of time matter to him - passes by, it dawns upon him. He was missing you. He was grieving the loss of you of which he bore on his hands. The murder of you.

Waiting, you had been waiting for him to come join you that night. After all of the ruthless threats, ignoring and snapping he had been taking out on you.

Was it boredom? Or had it been the part of him that just thirsted for blood instead?

He no longer knew.

One thing was for sure, you weren’t coming back. Your soul left without a trace after your death. The violent and malicious magic that tore through you suffocated it completely. There is no afterlife for you. There is no you anymore—

And he can try as much as he wants to, to find you again. In every cultist, person he may randomly stumble into. Someone with your eyes, your smile, your laugh, your kindness. But he can’t. Because it isn’t you.

He wants you.

[bondwithme-murderstyle]

End of Session spencer reid x fem!therapist!reader

wc: 4.7k

Summary: Spencer Reid regularly attends therapy sessions and although his therapist picks his mind apart during their time together, she doesn't quite seem to consider that he's been doing it back to her all along

warnings: +18, mdni!! therapy setting, explicit descriptions, oral (f receiving) fingering, no kissing, porn without plot, unprotected p in v (do as I say, not as I do), no y/n, reader is described as wearing a bra and panties, overstimulation, cockwarming/soaking if you turn around and squint, Spencer edges reader, not as soft!dom as I planned oooops

an: ahhh! my first one-shot ever! i hope y'all like it! i got right to work on it for you! therapy!spencer we love you <3

Smut below the cut!

Spencer Reid had been a client of yours for some years. From the loss of his friend Elle when he was just a young man finding his feet in the world, to the passing and resurrection of Emily Prentiss when you watched his clipped wings start to ruffle and break free one feather at a time, and since the death of his fleeting romance, Maeve, you had watched him grow. A kind man. A nervous man at times depending on what was on his mind. But all the same, a good man.

There were sessions where he wouldn’t stop talking, his mouth going a million-miles-a-minute and there were sessions where he would sit quietly and only answer questions when prompted. Often, in these silent kinds of sessions, his arms would rest on the chair and his fingers would tap and tug at the stitching of the armrest, his long, slender fingers meticulously tracing the thread that held the chair together. 

It was an easy bet that Spencer was one of your favourite patients despite the irregularity of his appointments due to his career. He never brought trouble to your door. He never turned down your offer of coffee or water, he was always kind when he spoke. “Yes, please.” or “Not today, thank you.” And he always, at the end of every session, asked how you were as he gathered his belongings and made his way for the door. 

You had him penciled that evening. 6:30pm. Your final session of the day. 

Since watching Spencer mature and bloom into the man he was today, you knew how inappropriate thoughts could be if they remained untethered. Having known him for so long in the most intricate of ways, your relationship had become somewhat of a relaxed professional friendship that he paid you for. But with that, came the leniency of your mind that sometimes would wander when with other clients. Spencer was far more intriguing. 

And you often took your sessions home with you. It wasn’t the topic of the session you focused on when alone at night reading your books or taking a soak with a glass of wine; instead, it was the feelings he had expressed, it was the deep timbre of his voice and the purse of his lips when he listened intently to your advice. Oh, how closely he listened as though hanging on every word like you were the woman with all the answers to the universe when you sat opposite him. Those thoughts were proving dangerous but it was a far too delicious treat to deny yourself. 

It had become almost a ritual before his sessions, to look at yourself in the bathroom mirror and give yourself a talking to. Should your mind continue to wonder, images growing more detailed and salacious, you would need to consider referring him to another therapist in the building in order to maintain the standard both of you expected. When his hair had started to grow long and he hobbled in to your office with crutches and then a cane some weeks later, it made your throat run dry for the first time. Of course, before that, in your natural human way- you observed a cute and smart man who just needed an ear to vent to. It was small at first, those mindless and fleeting ideals. When he picked at the edge of the chair, the bony structure of his fingers stirred and the thoughts started to linger for longer. Little moments, little mannerisms took root deep in your mind, eagerly awaiting the call from him to arrange his next appointment. You always made a point of taking his call personally, mainly to gauge a rough understanding of his reasoning for making the appointment but also to hear his voice and you even went to the lengths of sharing your direct office line. 

That evening when he arrived, you could tell it was a quiet session. You still asked if he consented to having his sessions recorded but this time, he refused. Respectively, you noted the change and decided to leave your recorder in your desk drawer for the night. Spencer didn’t take his regular seat opposite your own. He had a mystery about him tonight. His hands rested in his pockets and he ventured to the window of your office, head slowly tilting as he observed the street below. “Can I get you water, or coffee before we start?” You asked and closed the door. “Not tonight.” There was an edge. A clip in his tone. Something played on his mind and you tried to work out what it could be as you took your seat and crossed your legs. Your notebook was opened and you clocked the time. 6:34pm. “Okay.” You sighed and smiled, waiting for him to turn around, “Let’s get started.” “Let’s.” Spencer said but remained with his back towards you. He hadn’t brought any of his usual belongings. There was no satchel that always took its place next to his seat. He had no jacket or sweater, only a crisp white shirt covering his back. You maneuvered your pen between your fingers, waiting for him to begin. You noticed the difference in the atmosphere. Mellow and subdued but you could smell the electricity, like the thickness in the air before a storm. Brewing, looming, ready to crack at any moment. It was difficult to concentrate in the silent space, your eyes studying the structure of his stature. He was no meek creature anymore. There was a broadness to his shoulders, a subtle- “Can I ask you a question?” Spencer spoke up but didn’t turn around. “Of course.” You answered him and readied your pen against the paper. “Do you believe in physiological profiling?” “Studying body language?” You questioned, “I do. It’s a marginal part of what I do.” “It’s what I do everyday.” He responded and now turned to look at you. Your eyes caught his. They were burning and dark, a sternness shrouded his face as he awaited your retort. Your lips rolled together in thought, attempting to pinpoint the root of the question. “You do it too. Every client. You read them.”

“I try to focus on their mind, Spencer.” You smile politely.

“Try to?” His ears pricked up and he took a step closer. “You don’t intend to study them?”

“I don’t. I observe what my clients give. I don’t look much deeper than that.”

“You’ve been studying me.” Spencer approached, reminiscent of a pack-animal stalking close to its prey. 

“I’ve been working with you for a long time, now, Spencer. That’s why I record our sessions. I study your words, your cadence, your tone- it tells me more about you than your body-language could.” Your words made him stop and fix himself to the corner of the rug by your desk. His eyes narrowed slightly before he licked his lips and tugged a hand from his pocket to pull at his bottom lip. You tilted your head and watched him. Ever a stoic man, Spencer smiled and nodded after a moment before his hand dropped from his mouth. “Spencer, what brings you here tonight?”

“You do.” His other hand freed itself from his pocket and he gestured to the end-table by your chair, “Put it down.” He instructed and stalked that little bit closer. His command made you scoff lightly and you closed your notebook over on itself, placing it aside.

“Spencer,” You teased, “I have to make notes if you won’t consent to recordings. Completely confidential, I assure you every time you come here.”

“You don’t need notes, doctor. You know enough.” The words cut you to the quick, the quickening beat of your heart caused a flush of heat into your palms, your cheeks. “Do you know what I do when I’m here? Aside from the obvious?” Spencer asked and licked his lips a second time, the pink tip of his tongue dragging slowly back into his mouth over his bottom lip before closing again, waiting for an answer. You weren’t sure where he was going, you weren’t sure how you felt other than incredibly warm and in need of some water. His eyes remained on you, inescapable and fixed. 

“What do you do, Spencer? Aside from the obvious.” You echoed and he seemed to like that, bringing his steps closer once more until he stood by your chair, your table. “I don’t play guessing games. You know I’m not very good at them!” You try to joke and find your hands clasped now between your thighs in place of the notebook, “You should tell me.” 

This was the moment where his hand came to rest on the arm of your own chair, crouching at first and then kneeling. “Open.” He instructed carefully. At first your lips parted, speechless and you were aware in your rational mind that this was close to bordering on inappropriate. Secondly, your legs uncrossed and once more, this seemed to please him. “Do you know what I do when I’m here?” He repeated the question, moving himself to the front of your legs with a gaze that only encouraged you to open up a little bit more. Your heart was in your mouth, your clustered hands beginning to perspire and a heat built as a result. You shook your head, completely transfixed by the look in his eyes. The dark look that flit back and forth on your face and stole your ability to breathe. “I,” Spencer began, his free hand pushing one knee out of the way, “like to think,” the other knee. A space just large enough for him to push into, “about what you think.”

“W-What I think?” Your voice is barely a whisper. His hand remained on your knee and started to move down over your calf, tracing the definition and giving a soft squeeze before moving back up to the part of your thigh that joins to your knee. 

“I think,” Spencer said rather knowingly, his thumb and fingers pressing gently at the soft, malleable skin beneath your pants, “you think about me.” This made you hold your breath. Damn it all to hell, what was he doing?

“Spencer, this is becoming unprofessional.”

“Your thoughts about me are unprofessional.” He quipped and pushed his hand higher. “How long have you had them?” He asked and gave another firmer squeeze to the middle of your thigh. You could feel your breathing grow deeper, quivering in your chest as you attempted to keep your mind reeling over and over your code of conduct. Your silence must have been too long for his liking. “I said, how long have you had them?”

“Not long.”

“You’re lying to me, doctor.” 

“I-I’m not.” You defended and swallowed harshly, your hands coming apart to straighten yourself up in your chair. Your movement made him surge towards you, stopping just inches from your chest, both hands now on either of your thighs. “Spencer, is something going on? You’re not acting like yourself.” You tried again to keep your mind on an even-keel and remain the authoritative figure. 

“I am acting like myself. The part you don’t see,” His breath ghosted over you, “the part you think about when you know you really shouldn’t.”

How did he know? You had been so careful to remain professional and upright in his company. Whatever he had known, he gave nothing away until now. “You’re going to stand up for me and we are going to switch places, doctor.” Spencer said and his hands pushed further into your thighs, moving with a pressure so close to the heat that bubbled and swirled. There was nothing you could do except comply. When you tried to move forward, his force on your legs kept you down, “I didn’t say right now.”

“Spencer, w-what are you doing?” You asked with a hot anticipation, itching for the thumbs on the insides of your thighs to venture where you know they shouldn’t. Just a skim. Just a taste. His influence on you and control of the situation was melting your mind. 

“I’m doing what I want. What you want.” He looked up at you and took a firm hold of your legs, pulling your body closer to the edge of the chair. It made you gasp and his fingers felt now against your ass, deliciously sandwiched between the soft leather and the polyester of your tailored pants. “And you want to take these off.” He said as his fingers deliberately pushed into the seat of the pants. Without thinking, without arguing, you looked down at him, lips still parted and short breaths coming in and out of your mouth as your fingers unfastened the clip, the zip. He helped you to stand but didn’t move to his feet. Instead, Spencer fell back on his knees, only moving back just enough to remain faced with your panties as the black pants were pushed down your thighs, caught by him and ripped the rest of the way down with a fervour that took your breath away. When you sat back down, you kicked them off of your feet, Spencer’s hand feeling over the soft skin of your calf once more, his other hand unbuckling his leather belt.

“This isn’t-” he stole your words amidst the jingle of his buckle and the heat of his lips on your skin, “Oh-!” You could feel yourself grow hot, your hands remaining by your sides and holding onto your legs as he kissed and traced featherlight against you, edging closer to where you desperately needed him the most. 

“Do you always do as you’re told by a client?” Spencer breathed warmly against you, tricking into your core and you had no choice but to lean back and take a deeper breath. As you tried any attempt to cool yourself down, you felt his teeth graze closer, nipping the sensitively thin skin. “I asked you a question, doctor.” He spoke low enough to feel the vibrations ripple through your muscles, tantalising you further. 

“C-Clients don’t tell me what to do.” You managed to stagger the words out as his hands were placed at the bottom of your back, further edging you closer like a hungry child pulling their plate closer to the edge of the table. His eyes glanced upwards to you, an eyebrow raised and scanned down your neck, settling on your chest and you knew immediately what he was asking you to do without saying any word at all. You heed his instruction and unbutton your blouse with shaking fingers, his arms pressing against the spaces yours left behind and his hold was firm, head dipping back to your thighs and lips ghosting dangerously close. 

“Can you guess what I’m considering now?” He questioned  and placed a soft kiss to the hem of your panties before pulling your legs further apart from a simple tug of his fingers that slipped down beneath you. Spencer’s breath was hot and he licked a thick strip up and over your clothed cunt, relishing with a smack of his lips. You writhed and sighed, fingers hesitant to undo the last few buttons. 

“Please.” Your voice was quiet and you felt the air of his chuckle swirl around your core. 

“Can you guess what I’m considering now, doctor?” Spencer repeated himself again with an exaggerated punctuation and you nodded deftly, the only thing your body could think to do other than ooze with arousal. You let your head rest back on the chair, the task of your buttons completed and your hands rested over your stomach. You heard the snapping of his fingers, the absence of his hands on your skin but instead tugging your panties down instead of touching you. The snapping made you look down at him where he was already watching you on his knees and with almost no readable expression on his face. “I want you to look at me and compare this to your thoughts.” 

You weren’t sure when your panties were completely removed but they were and you were now laid mostly bare, your client placing one of your legs over his shoulder and kitten-licking his way around you. “You can look at me, can’t you?”

“Y-Yes. Mmmhmm.” You nodded and used your elbows to keep your view clear, your vision trained on him as his licks became shorter, slower and eventually right where you wanted them. 

“Clever girl.” His voice was muffled as he licked his way through your folds, brandishing your click with the flare of his tongue and making you whine each time. “I’ll know if you don’t look, doctor.” He warned before digging in. Spencer licked deep enough that you could feel it, your head spinning each time his nose brushed against the most pleasurable point of your body. The noises he made sent you reeling and panting. He was enjoying it, lapping you up with enthusiasm. Each groan drove deep into your body, into your bones and made your skin prickle. 

“Spencer-!” Your voice caught as he worked intrinsically against you, the hold of his hand sliding down the leg that now rested on his shoulder, fingers trailing from the front to the back and one slender digit found its way inside and you cried out a strangled moan at the intrusion. 

“You can take more.” He informed, another finger joining in the warmth. “You’re so fucking wet, doctor!” Spencer said quietly before tonguing and sucking at your clit as though you were melting right in front of him. “This all for me?” He asked between laps. His fingers curled within you, moving slowly back and forth in a fashion you could only describe as leisurely. The smacks of his lips and tongue only furthered your pleasure and you felt sure that your elbows would give out. As Spencer worked with devotion, your leg on his shoulder pinned him closer to you, your hips grinding slightly against his face and your fingers gripped at the leather they rested atop. With his fingers building a rhythm, his mouth slurping and canting at your core, you couldn’t help but notice the lack of contact from his other hand. It was nowhere to be found until you managed to tear our eyes away from the flashes of tongue. Spencer was touching himself whilst touching you and the sight had you insatiable. A particular moan that came from him had you sobbing quietly, 

“Spencer, plea-ah! Fuck, keep going-” You mewled. 

“You’ll finish when I finish.” Spencer said but continued to pump his fingers at a growing pace, tongue flickering and his hand working steadily on himself. You can’t contain the moans, you can feel your core tightening, your legs prepared to clench around his head like a vice. 

“Don’t stop!” You breathe, your hips bucking and you could feel the distinct shift of his mouth. A grin. It sent you so very close. His fingers were dripping, you could feel the never-ending flow of your slick teamed with his mouth and Spencer let out a jarring grunt, “Spencer, fuck- I’m close!” 

The words made him stop, violently removing his fingers and leaving you hollow, throbbing and desperate for more. His mouth gave one final suck of your clit and he pushed back from between your legs to stand and drop his own pants. “Move.” He commanded and you did just that. When you stood up, your legs were weak, you resented him partially for leaving you so close and he knew that. As though in a dance, you traded places, your eyes never leaving his, heady with desire for the rest of him. When he took the seat, his fist continued to pump at his cock, the pleasure evident from his own parted and glazed lips and you weren’t quite sure you were prepared. With his wet fingers, he beckoned to you. “Let’s go.” Spencer encouraged as though on a time-constraint and you did just as he asked.

With your legs on either side of him, your breasts pressed against his body, he removed his hand from himself in order to palm at your breasts, teasingly at first and then toughening after you were instructed to “open” once more. There was nothing else you could do than comply and your lips opened slowly. Too slowly. His wet fingers dragged over your lips before pushing their way in and resting at the second knuckle and your mouth enclosed on his fingers. “Thatt’a girl.” He mused and teased at your nipple with his thumb. It made your eyes close, the electric-pleasure halting you in your tracks and your suckling at his fingers ceased. You could feel the tip of him brush against your cunt, eagerly awaiting his next instruction. You tried to hold back but ended up slowly and surely lowering yourself just enough to gain the friction you required. “So, you do think about me?” Spencer asked and with his fingers in your mouth and your cheeks hollow, you nodded. His hand tugged down from your bra, fingers catching at the rim of the cup and snapping back against your skin and making you freeze. You felt the trail of him down over your ribs, destined to touch you. “Hop on, doctor.” He said breathily. 

You were nothing if not obedient by now and you teased yourself a little more to make up for the loss of your orgasm. Your eyes opened and you watched him- Spencer was enamoured by the way your mouth worked on his fingers, tasting the sweetness of yourself and you started to move down slowly, his tip stretching just enough for you to hold his fingers in your teeth and pant. His lips fell open more, allowing you the time to adjust and take him inch by inch. The hot stretch was intoxicating and you settled on top of him with a whine. Spencer removed his fingers from your mouth and his hands held you tightly. You were aware of how full you were, of how much he would knock against you when you decided to move. “You can take me.” He reassured you. 

Steadily, with your forehead clocking onto his, your hips started to move. Slow at first, finding your centre and reveling in the thickness and fullness that made you gasp with each fragment of movement. You lifted yourself and dropped yourself carefully, his tip pushing deep against your cervix and you felt him start to work on your clit. Fingers unable to gain any purchase due to the sheer wetness you had created. “Fuck, you’re so tight f’me!” Spencer groaned but you retorted, “You’re bigger than I’m used to, Spencer!” With a squeal, you settled against him, moving back and forth instead of up and down where he could hit that mouth-watering spot over and over. Your cries made him moan, his hand on your hip so tight and sharp but it only added to the experience. The grip he had on your skin gestured for you to move more, tugging up, signalling he wanted to feel you rise and fall. The feeling of being stretched and played with in tandem had you incredibly close, oh, so incredibly quickly. Paired with his hot breath that skated down your chest and over your breasts, the only thing you managed to do was weakly grind up and down. “That’s it.” Spencer nodded, his lips now deftly open and the odd groan came from deep within his throat. “Ohhh, good-girl! More.” He instructed, helping lift and drop you with the hold on your skin. 

After a while of finding your feet, the cacophony of pleasure rang through your office. Once certain you knew exactly how he wanted you to move, Spencer’s hand felt its way across your back, grappling with the touch of you and you bounced steadily. His curses were music to your ears, his fingers increasing quickly against you and you were fit to burst. You could feel yourself throb and twitch, the hot coil grinding tighter and tighter as Spencer relentlessly fucked over your clit with his fingers. Your hand tugged at his hair for leverage, squealing and whining as he helped in fucking up into you with even more wonderful moans. “Oh, fuck!” You whimpered at the speed he had chosen, the friction he was causing and you were close. So fucking close you could taste it. 

“You want to cum?” Spencer asked and took one hand from his hair, guiding it down between your bodies before completely enveloping you in his hold, “Work for it.” 

You had to. Your fingers replaced his, his arms around your body tight enough to crush as he moved up into you feverishly. “I’m want to cum, fuck-!” You panted into him, “l-let me cum!” You winced and sent him off on another long groan, “Cum. I want to feel you fucking cum on my cock, doctor!” He commanded and with your fingers moving quickly, a heavy sigh from him sent you over. You spasmed, moaning and wailing his name but your fingers pushing you through it, his cock forcing into you as you clenched with a shudder and your head fell into the crook of his neck with sobs spilling down onto his shirt. Spencer’s thrusts never faltered, however. “You can take another!” He decided and unwrapped one arm to bring your face to his, pleasure taking over his lips, his eyes, everywhere, he looked completely bewitched. “One more, my clever-girl. Just one more.” “I can’t-” You choked with your hand going slack between you. 

You weren’t sure how, but he managed to take you to the desk, landing you down with a slow and achingly long drive into you. When did he get rid of his pants? You didn’t remember. Spencer pulled himself from you with abandon and stood you up, “Move.” He commanded and turned you with a flick of your shoulder and with your back to him and stars in your eyes, you felt the stiff wetness of his cock tease between your folds as his hand easily bent you over. You were jelly at this point, prepared to go wherever and however he wanted. Spencer didn’t give any time for adjustments on this go-around. He was quick to slam deep into you, your hands grasping whatever they could on your desk to steady yourself as he pounded deep and quickly with his hands grabbing at your hips and giving him stability. “You’re taking me so well!” He panted against you, everything becoming too much but somehow not enough. Your breasts brushed over pens and papers and your hand finally grappled on to the edge of the desk as Spencer laid you out, “So fucking good!” He moaned and with each snap of his hips, he dragged you closer and closer to that deliciously familiar edge. You gagged and choked and moaned and whined each time his tip burgeoned against you until his thrusts became erratic, infrequent, “Cum on my cock, doctor! Fuck, I-” Spencer panted and he gave three deep and bruising thrusts before stilling and grunting a weak attempt of your name. He was white-knuckling your hips and as he spilled hotly into you, and you cried out once more, a final strained cry and you started to drip down your thigh. As you moved wave after wave through your climax, you felt the throb of Spencer, deep and hot against that perfect spot that had your knees buckling and shaking. For good measure, he continued to pull out and drive back in, all the while he muttered “you did so fucking good!” and variations of “good-girl, clever-girl!” in much softer, breathier tones. With each drawback, he spilled a little bit more down your thighs, dripping and mingling with your own fluids until eventually, he was gone entirely. 

You tried to piece yourself back together, exposed and weak but completely high on the feeling of your client. The clarity dawned on you. You listened to the ruffle of clothing, the jangle of a belt  and quick-snap of a zipper. “I won’t pay you.” Spencer spoke as he placed your panties that had been cast aside now on your desk by your hand, “That’s prostitution.”

Your voice trembled, body close to convulsing from everything that happened. “Spencer-”

“This will be our last session, doctor.” He said, his hand leaving the panties to gently lift your chin before he pulled away and headed for the door. “Our time ran over. Sorry to keep you.” Spencer informed in a polite voice before closing the office door behind him.

[cypherbxbe]

fluff boyfriend!satoru forgets your birthday. ♡

♡ ♡ ♡

The storm outside couldn’t hold a candle to the one inside you. Calling it a tornado might’ve even been generous. You were furious, and rightfully so.

Satoru had forgotten your birthday. Again. The second year in a row.

You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let it get to you this time. He was busy, after all. Between mentoring the kids, keeping the jujutsu world from crumbling, throwing himself into dangerous missions, and carrying the weight of everyone’s safety on those broad, infuriatingly confident shoulders, of course something as mundane as your birthday wouldn’t make the cut.

And yet.

You’d hoped.

Just a text, you’d told yourself. A little acknowledgment that you mattered enough to cross his mind for one second.

But the day came and went, and there was nothing. No call. No text. Not a single hint that he’d even realized what he’d done.

Now, as the hours ticked past, the texts and calls finally started to roll in - like the storm only hit him a day late. Each buzz of your phone, each notification lighting up the screen, only added fuel to the fire simmering beneath your skin.

You ignored them all. Some might call it petty. Stubborn, even. But your mind was set, even though deep down you knew you could never stay mad at him for long..

The door creaked open, and you froze. Unease prickling at the back of your neck. Unlocked? And then a strange mix of vanilla, something sweet, and a hint of burned almonds wafted through the air.

Before you could react, a familiar voice rang out from the kitchen. “Hello, sunshine! Finally home?”

Your eyes widened as Satoru’s unmistakable head of white hair peeked out, his grin annoyingly smug. A million questions flooded your brain, but the loudest one was: What the hell is he doing here?

Wary, you edged toward the kitchen. The sight that greeted you nearly made your jaw drop.

There he was, piping icing onto a lopsided cake, his tongue sticking out in concentration. He looked up as you entered, flashing you his signature smirk.

“Well,” he said, gesturing at the cake. “What do you think? Nailed it, right?”

You stood there, speechless, disbelief etched into every line of your face. The anger that had been boiling inside you moments ago now shifted, replaced by something softer - something you weren’t ready to name just yet.

Still, you didn’t say a word, your eyes darting from the cake to him. The furrow in your brow eased, almost without you realizing.

Satoru noticed. He always did.

“I know I messed up,” he murmured, stepping closer. The space between you disappeared, and before you could react, he gently took your hands in his. His touch was softer than you’d ever felt it.

“Happy birthday, Sweetheart,” he said, voice quieter now. “Please stop being mad… It breaks my heart.”

And just like that, your heart melted. A soft sigh of defeat escaped your lips, your shoulders sagging as all the fight drained out of you. It was ridiculous - how whipped you were. One word from him, and you were done for.

“My birthday was yesterday…” you mumbled, voice quiet and devoid of its earlier edge. You tried for a pout, but it lacked conviction, and you both knew it.

Satoru’s grin only widened. Without missing a beat, he slipped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. One hand snuck under your shirt, tracing slow, featherlight patterns along the smooth skin of your back.

“Better late than never, right?” he teased, his tone soft enough to make your stomach flip. You let out a soft huff, but before you could muster anything more, his lips were on yours. The kiss was unhurried and warm, filled with an apology he couldn’t quite put into words.

Your resolve crumbled entirely as his hands pulled you closer, the tenderness of his touch melting away any lingering frustration.

The faint smell of vanilla lingered in the air, the cake sitting forgotten on the counter. In his arms, with the world fading away, you realized this was the only gift you truly needed.

[aishangotome]

[Gilbert] Love's Cleaning Time - Part 3

Part 2

Michael, thank you for your letter. I'm relieved to hear that you're doing well in Rhodolite. Regarding the matter you wrote about the other day, I looked into it on my end. It seems there's a collector in Rhodolite who specializes in buying books. This collector apparently buys rare books at whatever price is asked, and the poor, aiming for a chance to make a fortune, are desperately searching for treasures. I thought Rhodolite had good public order, but it seems every country has its share of troubled people. Akatsuki's bookstore isn't famous because the books he handles are too niche, but many of the books he deals with are rare and valuable, the kind of gems that would make a collector drool. Ah, I can't sleep at night when I think that something might happen to the little rabbit. Knowing you, Michael, you've probably already identified the person behind those watchful eyes. Could you use them to meet with the collector? And invite him to Obsidian's black market. ––I hear there are many rare books of historical value there.

Gilbert: Hmm... An outing after so long makes my heart race. Don't you think?

Roderich: ...I have a headache.

Gilbert: Ahaha, pull yourself together. You were the one who said it, right?

Gilbert: That thieves should be taken down.

Roderich: I can handle this alone.

Roderich: There's no need for Prince Gilbert to venture to the outskirts...

Gilbert: Hehe, I've wanted to see the black market for a while now.

Roderich: ...What would Walter say if he knew?

Gilbert: Ahaha, why should Walter restrict my actions?

Gilbert: This black market is really quite amusing, isn't it?

Roderich: .....

Fleeing Man: Run! It's the military!

Fleeing Woman: Why is the national army here!? No, I don't want to die!

Man with a Pile of Books: No, I just came here without knowing anything! Why must I be detained by the military –– uwaaah!

Gilbert: Ahaha, what a grand hunt. How strange.

Roderich: ...Was this truly necessary?

Roderich: Even though the black market is illegal, it exists due to political deals.

Roderich: The collapse of this black market will earn the resentment of some nobles.

Gilbert: That's the reason I came here.

Gilbert: You know why I'm called the "Conqueror Beast," don't you?

Roderich: ...Of course.

Gilbert: Resentment from the nobles? Ahaha, I'm not kind enough to let them harbor such things.

He steps on a man who lies pathetically on the ground, books scattered around him.

Even when his cane digs into the man's skin and he cries out in agony, Gilbert doesn't care.

Gilbert: Filthy creatures like him think nothing of hurting others for their own greed.

Gilbert: As long as they get what they want, they don't care if innocent people get hurt.

Gilbert: This world is overflowing with "unconscious malice."

Gilbert: That's why I have to be overprotective.

Gilbert: If the most beautiful thing in this world were to be harmed by such an insignificant creature...

Gilbert: I would want to destroy the world right now, wouldn't I...?

Roderich: Prince Gilbert...

Gilbert: Hehe... Roderich, I'll leave the command here to you.

Gilbert: Ah, and also...

Gilbert: Keep it a secret from Michael that I was rough with them, okay...?

*back to present time*

Emma: –– ...It's true, I stopped feeling those eyes on me at some point.

Emma: I thought it was just my imagination and almost forgot about it, but...

Gilbert: Hehe, that's good.

Gilbert: I'm glad nothing happened to you.

(I had no idea... Behind my peaceful everyday life was the goodwill of a great villain.)

Prince Gilbert takes the documents from my hand and traces the letters with his finger, a nostalgic look on his face.

Gilbert: I got scared after that.

Gilbert: Akatsuki said it would be alright, but it really wasn't.

Gilbert: There are so many dangers around you, and something could happen at any moment.

Gilbert: I couldn't stand the thought of it... so I ended up doing it.

(Michael continued to come to the store after that.)

(I talked to him about all sorts of things, unaware of the person behind him.)

Gilbert: I'm sorry.

Emma: Why are you apologizing? This is a story about how you were protecting me...

Emma: I should be thanking you ––

He gently places his index finger on my lips.

Gilbert: No, little rabbit.

Gilbert: You were being watched the whole time. By a royal from an enemy nation who did terrible things to Rhodolite –– no...

Gilbert: By a strange man, all this time.

Emma: .....

Gilbert: Little rabbit... do you know what the most troublesome evil in this world is?

When I shake my head, Prince Gilbert slides the hand that was on my lips to my cheek.

Gilbert: "Goodwill."

Emma: Goodwill is evil?

Gilbert: Yes. Goodwill, when you look at it another way, is "unconscious malice."

Gilbert: If you didn't know me...

Gilbert: ...and you found out that "a spy from an enemy nation's royal family was secretly watching your life," how would you feel?

(If I didn't know Prince Gilbert and only knew that information...)

Emma: ...I'd be scared, very scared.

Gilbert: Right?

Gilbert: In the worst case, it could have been more terrifying than being attacked by thieves.

Gilbert: My goodwill would only be malice to you.

Emma: .....

Gilbert: That's why you shouldn't thank me so lightly.

Gilbert: I'm a villain through and through.

Gilbert: The leader of the "filthy creatures."

(...Thinking back, I was scared during my time as Belle.)

(Prince Gilbert knew everything about me, and I felt like I was being watched.)

(But when I heard that story just now, I didn't feel scared.)

(Maybe my senses are already messed up.)

(...Or maybe ––)

Before Prince Gilbert can pull his hand away, I grab it ––

.

.

.

Part 4

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[olivialau]

Shadow's Embrace Ch.33

Sukuna x Reader

Notes:

This story unfolds in the Jujutsu Kaisen world, set in a slightly altered universe where Sukuna inhabits his own vessel distinct from Itadori Yuji's body, making him a separate entity.

Summary:

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, becomes fascinated with a female sorcerer rich in potential but lacking control. Initially seizing her for his destructive plans, Sukuna aims to bind her abilities through a contract. Yet, as he tries to dominate her, he finds himself intrigued by her strength and determination. Over time, his interest evolves from strategic advantage to a deeper, personal connection.

---------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER 33 - Whispers and Whistles

“We need to discuss something, girl.”

Instinctively, your feet shuffled back, and your hands shot up between you in a rather unconvincing attempt to claim your space.

Your racing pulse betrayed you, oh so easily, in the subtle quiver of your fingertips: a scared animal, trying to bluff its way out.

Despite your earlier—and clearly misguided—assumption that he was the most, how would you put it... agreeable of Sukuna’s accomplices, Kenjaku's polite mask was fracturing before your eyes.

For the first time, his face truly matched the dangerous aura you’d always sensed beneath the facade.

When his gaze caught your trembling hands, his lips curled higher. His eyebrows smoothed, eyes widening just enough to let the menace bleed through. Those empty, dark pupils locked onto yours with piercing focus, leaving no room for misinterpretation: he wasn’t backing down.

He took a step forward, bumping his body into your outstretched palms, completely unbothered by your poor attempt to protect your space.

Cocky bastard.

Before you knew it, you’d jumped back. A big leap to get as far away from him as possible in a single motion.

Kenjaku laughed it off, closing the gap straight away, mirroring each of your steps until your back met the unyielding brick wall of the apartment complex.

With his robes practically smothering your face, you were desperate to gain even an inch of extra space. So, you let your backpack slip from your shoulders, pressing yourself against—no, into—the surface behind you.

Despite Sukuna's assurance that Kenjaku wouldn't dare harm you, his shift in demeanor—and, his pale hand now reaching for your chin—told a different story.

“Just take a step back, and I'll talk with you, okay?” Your voice wavered in a last-ditch effort to defuse the situation.

As expected, his feet stayed firmly in place. His thumb and index finger pinched your jaw, fingers tightening as he dragged your head from side to side, studying you like a specimen under glass.

From this close, you could see every gruesome detail of the crude stitches crisscrossing his forehead. It was disgusting, and you hated that you couldn't look away, trapped by his grip, forced to endure the silent inspection.

His thumb drifted to your lower lip, pulling it down before the pad of his finger ran over the tender flesh inside. For a second, when he leaned in even closer, the disturbing thought of him putting his filthy lips on yours seemed to become less of a creepy notion and more of an inescapable reality.

Your hand twitched toward the knife in your boot, mind already calculating the exact angle and force needed to drive it into his side if he dared to cross that line.

But just then, he shifted his focus away from your lips. His fingers drifted lower, hooking around the edge of your collar, tugging lightly as he tilted his head, eyes drifting over the curve of your neck.

A black strand of hair fell across his face as he examined your neck up close. It brushed your skin, and the tickle made you tense up. It was the revolting kind of tickle. The kind you feel when a spider creeps up your leg, the kind that makes your skin crawl and your stomach churn.

You could feel his eyes traveling down your cleavage before his pupils darted up to meet yours for just a second, a knowing chuckle spilling from his lips.

The audacity.

It quickly snapped you from fear to fury.... Your hands found his shoulders, ready to shove him away. But before you could, Kenjaku stepped back of his own accord.

There was an instantaneous change in his demeanor, as if a switch had flipped. His eyes narrowed to polite crescents and that unsettling grin morphed into a courteous smile that somehow managed to be even more disturbing.

What the hell had just happened?

“Just as I thought,” he murmured, as another chuckle escaped him. Your heart was still hammering in your chest, but you forced yourself to steady.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you demanded.

Kenjaku's gaze flicked to your neck with subtle implication. Confused, you followed his line of sight. Your collar was still wrinkled, jutting forward slightly, and as you peered down to fix it, Kenjaku's thorough inspection suddenly made a lot more sense.

The scratches, the red marks...

Though his mask of civility remained firmly in place, it couldn’t entirely conceal the glint of sick amusement woven through his words.

“So,” he drawled, “you and Sukuna are involved in that way, hmm?”

He reached out a hand toward your shoulder, but you swatted it away with a sharp flick. A wounded expression crossed his face as he pulled back, softly brushing over the red sting—drama queen—before letting out a deep sigh.

“Girl, you do realize Sukuna is just using you, don’t you? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I wouldn’t want to see a young thing like you get hurt.”

His worry was so blatantly fake it almost made you laugh. Kenjaku didn’t care about your well-being any more than Sukuna cared about subtlety when he'd ravaged your skin.

You met his gaze, steady now, your confidence slowly returning.

“Thanks for the advice, Frankenstein—” The freshly improvised nickname slid off your tongue with biting sarcasm.

“—but I think I’ll be just fine. So, if that’s all...”

You crouched to grab your backpack, slinging it over your shoulder, but from the corner of your eye, you saw Kenjaku's expression flicker—a tiny twitch, yet enough to make you pause.

Oh.

It seemed Kenjaku didn't take kindly to being called names.

Your fingers tightened around the straps, and you braced yourself, wondering if your little jab would cost you dearly now.

But his mask effortlessly slid back into place—another fake smile.

He was good at this.

“You’ve got spirit,” he murmured through gritted teeth—the only way he could suppress his mounting irritation with a certain impudent brat.

“I can see why Sukuna likes to play with you.”

You rolled your eyes and were about to walk away when his next words made you pause.

“But that’s all you are to him; a toy. That’s all you’ll ever be.”

A toy...

As much as you wanted them not to, his words got to you. You couldn’t help it—you couldn’t help but wince at the sharp pang that struck your heart...

Kenjaku let his gaze drift to some distant point, his hands curling into loose fists to still the twitching of his fingers.

“When you break, or when he tires of you, he’ll dispose of you. You know that, don’t you?”

You hissed through gritted teeth, crossing your arms to shield yourself from the truth in his words.

The idea of being used, of all the warnings you'd so stubbornly ignored being proven right—that was the one fear you dreaded to acknowledge.

And hearing it said aloud made it so much harder to deny, leaving you with nothing but fragile, circumstantial proof that Sukuna wasn't the monster that everyone claimed he was.

Maybe you really were just a foolish girl lost in her own delusions... But even then, you didn’t intend to just admit that to this freak.

“Why does it matter to you?” you snapped, shifting your weight onto your right leg and cocking your hip in a weak attempt at nonchalance to hide your hurt.

But luck had it that Kenjaku didn’t even bother to look at you. His sandal scuffed against the tiles, grinding tiny rocks into dust—the sound gnawing at your already tight-wound nerves—before he finally answered you.

“What does it matter to me...?”

He let out a sigh. “If you’re dead—if Sukuna loses interest and cuts you up into little pieces... well, that sets us back in our plans.”

His pupils slid to the side, narrowing in on your neck with a certain disgust.

“The more he indulges his toys, the sooner they’ll bore him,” he continued, his disgust morphing into mock pity. “Nothing more than a ragged, used puppet.”

His fingers traced the scar running through his temple, and his lips twisted into a smirk.

“Now, I’ve got a knack for using broken puppets,” he added with a soft, unsettling laugh. You didn’t even want to imagine what that meant, and you couldn’t, for Kenjaku didn’t give you any time to dwell on it, continuing his lecture without pause.

“Sukuna, however? He barely tolerates new, shiny puppets. Let alone used ones.”

Kenjaku straightened his robes, the sharp sound of fabric snapping against itself breaking the tension as he turned to depart.

“I’d like to keep you around for a little while. So I’d advise you to take a step back. Don’t let him use you like some cheap—”

He paused mid-sentence, turning his head to glance over his shoulder—a taunting grin on his face as he let his mask fall away one last time.

“You know what I mean, don’t you?”

---------------------------------------------------------

The entire way to Jujutsu High, your emotions swung between seething rage at that sanctimonious, insufferable monk—and the nauseating anxiety his words had left behind.

The latter doubled by the dreadful anticipation of having to explain your sudden disappearance to everyone at the school. God. You could only hope they'd forgive you for ignoring all their calls and texts.

At least Gojo had forgiven you—though you weren’t naive. You knew his interest wasn’t just about you. It was as much about your entanglement with the deadliest being in existence—and, most inconveniently, also the object of your desire: Sukuna.

You stopped just in front of the school gates, drawing in a deep breath of courage.

Despite your unsettling run-in with Kenjaku, you'd somehow managed to arrive early—a small mercy, considering you still hadn't figured out how to explain your apparent resurrection to your classmates. Ideally, you wanted to do it in a way that wouldn’t completely throw everyone off—but how?

With your head lowered, you slipped into the building, trying to blend into the background. You passed by countless unfamiliar faces, each one seeming to scrutinize you. Maybe it was just paranoia, but it felt like everyone knew. Like Sukuna’s scent was all over you, and they could smell it.

A flash of white caught your attention as you passed the teachers' lounge—Gojo's spiky hair jutting up over the back of a leather couch. You paused, fingers curling around the strap of your bag, considering whether Gojo might be able to offer some advice on handling your unexpected comeback without causing a major scene.

In retrospect, asking Gojo Satoru for counseling on subtlety was probably the dumbest thing you could ever have done.

Which was precisely how you found yourself crammed into the classroom's supply closet, surrounded by towers of dusty files and the sharp, chalky smell of accumulated academia. The musty air tickled your nose as you tried not to sneeze.

All because Gojo thought it would be hilarious to turn your return into 'his best prank to date'.

Before long, you could hear the shuffle of feet and the scrape of chairs as your classmates filed in, completely oblivious to your current... predicament.

Right on the other side of the flimsy wooden door of the closet, you heard the heavy thud of a backpack hitting the floor. Yuji, most likely—he always sat in that same seat in the back.

“Oi, Megumi, you seen Gojo-sensei today?”

His voice carried through the thin wood, lighthearted but tinged with some concern.

“He’s acting stranger than usual.”

Megumi’s response from the desk to his side was as immediate as it was flat. “I don’t question anything that man does anymore.”

There was a brief pause, as if he were quietly processing something, before he added, “But yeah… he’s been acting weird. Keeps snickering to himself like a lunatic.”

From the desk in front of them, Nobara—the queen of gossip—swiveled around in her seat and chimed in.

“Oh my god, yes! I caught him having a full-on conversation with that closet in the back earlier. Like, dramatic hand gestures and everything. I swear he's finally cracked.”

Yuji snorted, barely containing his laughter.

“No way.”

Before they could spiral into further speculations, Gojo’s obnoxiously loud voice rang out, cutting through the conversation and officially kicking off the class.

“Alright, kiddos!” He sang out, way too cheerful, even for him—seriously, could he be any more obvious about being up to something?

“Today’s class is gonna be legendary. Prepare to be amazed, awestruck, and have your jaws hit the floor!”

Nobara groaned, slumping over her desk with a suffering sigh.

“That’s what you said last time, and then you spent an hour showing off your stupid Pokémon cards.”

The gasp of horror that followed was so extravagant, you could hear it all the way from the front of the class.

Yeah, that's how dramatic it was.

“They were Digimon cards, you uncultured soul! DI-GI-MON!”

You could hear his footsteps next, the soft tap of his shoes growing louder as he moved toward Yuji’s desk.

“Yuji, my favorite student who actually knows the difference between Pokémon and Digimon...”

You just knew Megumi rolled his eyes at that.

“Could you be a dear and grab me… uh, a cursed tool from the supply closet over there?”

A chill ran down your spine, and your breath hitched. Oh no.

You pressed your ear to the door, nerves tightening as every possible outcome flashed through your mind. Would they hate you? Yell at you? Storm out? Or worse—would they ignore you, just like you had them?

Your thoughts snapped back to the present when Yuji, on the other side, started to question if Gojo had really lost it.

“Uh… you sure there’s cursed tools in there?”

“That’s what I said,” Gojo chirped, his voice dripping with glee that was now borderline frightening.

After an uncomfortable silence, you heard Yuji hesitantly push his chair back and stand up. “Okay, if you say so…”

His cursed energy drew closer, and though you could feel it, the sound his footsteps barely registered—drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears, thumping to the rhythm of your anxious heart.

You were definitely going to kill Gojo after this.

The wood rattled as Yuji’s hand landed on the handle of the sliding door, and with a protesting creak, he pulled it open, flooding your hideout with light.

You blinked up at him, frozen—like a deer caught in headlights.

And Yuji blinked back, his expression cycling through confusion, disbelief, and dawning recognition faster than a slot machine. “...Huh?”

Then, the class fell silent.

“Hey, guys...” you managed, stepping out of the closet with an awkward shuffle, brushing the dust from your uniform as you did.

Megumi, who had been determinedly ignoring the whole situation, snapped his attention over. His eyes widened fractionally—which, for him, meant he was more than a little surprised.

“You've got to be kidding me,” he muttered, though the relief in his voice betrayed him.

Nobara's shriek of delight shattered any remaining tension as she launched herself at you, nearly taking you down.

“Finally! Finally, I'm not stuck alone with these loser idiots anymore. They have zero gossip, no sense of fashion, or hygiene for that matter. It’s been torture, seriously. You have no idea!”

Yuji's indignant “Hey!” barely registered before he wrapped both you and Nobara in a bear hug that threatened to crack ribs. His voice softened, warm breath stirring your hair as he spoke.

“We were really worried, you know? I must've called a hundred times, checked every restaurant, café, and park in town—Megumi too...”

Megumi's cheeks flushed as he glanced away, suddenly finding the window incredibly fascinating. And the tension that had been suffocating you finally loosened as you allowed yourself to relax into the impromptu group hug.

Gojo's triumphant “Ta-da!” was completely unnecessary at this point, but when did that ever stop him? He spread his arms wide, beaming. “Didn't I promise today's class would be spectacular?”

Nobara wriggled free from Yuji’s embrace, and as soon as he let go, her gaze sharpened, and she raised a brow at you.

“So Gojo-sensei convinced you to hide in this nasty closet?”

“More like coerced," you muttered defensively, crossing your arms.

Gojo gasped, “Coerced? Me? I merely provided some gentle encouragement!”

“Gentle encouragement?” Megumi's voice dripped with skepticism as he mirrored your crossed arms, eyes narrowing at his teacher. “And what exactly did that entail?”

Gojo's blindfold shifted ever so slightly, a glint of mischief hiding behind it as his grin widened.

“Oh, you know, just mentioned that if she didn't play along, I might accidentally let slip something about her situation with Su—”

Your hand shot out with the speed of a striking snake, clamping over his mouth mid-word as you mouthed a,“Don’t. You. Dare,” in his direction.

Nobara's eyes lit up, and her grin turned positively feral. “Oh? Oh. This is going to be good.” She leaned forward, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Spill it, sensei.”

“Nope. Not happening.” You fixed Gojo with a glare that could have melted steel, your hand still firmly pressed against his mouth. “Right, sensei?”

If he valued his life, he'd keep his mouth shut about a certain crimson-eyed complication in your life.

Gojo nodded, peeling your hand from his mouth.

“Sorry kiddo, my lips are sealed.”

---------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the day passed in moderate normalcy—well, as normal as things could be at Jujutsu High—and, apart from the constant bombardment of questions about where you'd disappeared to, why you couldn't reply, and why you had such a knack for vanishing in the first place.

All that practice in lying these past weeks suddenly seemed lost on you as you wove together one pathetic excuse after another. You couldn't fathom how they still tolerated you.

The afternoon's training session was particularly brutal—though you couldn't shake the suspicion that your friends had coordinated their attacks as subtle punishment for your radio silence. By the time you finished washing up and preparing to leave, your muscles ached with a strain that felt more like penance than practice.

And the thought of returning home—to him—added an equally painful strain on top of it.

Your tired goodbye in the corridor was interrupted by Nobara's firm grip on your arm. “Listen here, missy. You better show up tomorrow, or I swear we'll kidnap you back to the dorms ourselves.” Her words were stern, but her eyes soft.

“24/7 surveillance. Don't test me.”

Yuji punctuated her threat with a quick flick to your forehead. “Yeah, you idiot.”

Even Megumi contributed a curt nod and his signature “Hmph”—which, felt like a paragraph of worried lectures compressed into a single sound.

You bowed slightly before offering a salute, forcing lightness into your voice.

“Yes sir, yes ma'am!”

As you zipped up your coat and turned to leave, waving one final time with a genuine smile on your face, the normalcy of the moment felt comforting and light.

The crisp afternoon air hit your face as you stepped outside, and for a moment, you reveled in that strange weightlessness that came with pretending everything was fine.

Yet there was that familiar pull too—that inexplicable gravity drawing you back to the tension, the danger, and the intoxicating feeling of Sukuna's cursed energy, draping over you like a blanket. The pull usually grew heavier the farther you walked from the school premises.

But this time, when you reached the gates, you realized you still felt unusually light—so light, in fact, that something felt off... and a quick pat-down of your chest confirmed your suspicions: you'd forgotten your backpack, with your phone inside.

If you lost your phone now and were forced to ghost your friends all over again, you weren't sure if they'd forgive you so easily.

Your shoes squeaked against the polished floors as you hurried back inside. But just before rounding the corner to retrieve your bag, Nobara's voice, pitched high with frustration, stopped you cold.

“Okay, but seriously—am I the only one who thinks something's like, seriously wrong here?”

You froze mid-step, pressing yourself against the wall. Your heart clenched at the genuine concern in her voice.

“No.” Megumi's response lacked its usual detachment, instead replaced by brimming frustration. “The excuses don't add up. Phone troubles? Family emergencies? And now suddenly everything's fine?”

“Yeah...” Yuji agreed—the gravity of his voice was enough to make you want to sink into the ground.

“Did you see how she kept touching her neck? Like she was hiding something?”

“And flinching whenever anyone got too close,” Nobara added, anger bleeding into her words. “I know we're all pretending everything's normal, but—” A frustrated groan escaped her. “God, it pisses me off! We're supposed to be friends, aren't we? What's the point if she can't trust us?”

The sound of Nobara's shoe scuffing against the floor filled the heavy pause that followed.

“Maybe...” Yuji started, “maybe she's in some kind of trouble? Like, the kind she can't talk about?”

“All the more reason she should tell us,” Megumi cut in, “We're not exactly helpless. Whatever it is, we could—”

“Help?” Nobara's snort was bitter—nothing like her usual bright laugh. “How can we help if she won't even tell us what's wrong? I mean, I get it. I do. But it still...”

Her voice cracked. “It still hurts, you know?”

You let yourself slide down the wall.

Sure, they'd welcomed you back with open arms, but underneath that warmth lay real pain, real worry. These people—your friends—had spent weeks wondering if you were dead in a ditch somewhere, and here you were, feeding them cheap excuses.

“Should we tell Gojo-sensei?” Yuji asked.

“He already knows something,” Megumi replied with a certainty that suggested he'd been watching, analyzing, for far longer than you'd realized. “Haven't you noticed? He watches her like a hawk.”

“Yeah, well, fat lot of good that does us,” Nobara muttered. “He's probably in on whatever this is. You saw how he was acting this morning.”

After another weighted pause, Yuji spoke again, stripped of nearly all his drive. “So what do we do?”

“We wait,” Megumi said firmly. “Keep watching. And when whatever this is inevitably blows up—because it will—we'll be ready.”

You heard Nobara's sharp intake of breath, like she was about to say more, but instead, her footsteps stormed off toward the dorms, followed by the others' more silent retreat.

After giving yourself a moment to compose yourself, to wipe away the tears threatening to spill from your eyes, you retrieved your abandoned backpack from the empty hallway.

The walk home felt hollow, each step through the bustling city streets seemed to echo into the distance.

You'd convinced yourself you were protecting them by keeping them in the dark, but maybe you were just protecting yourself from having to face the reality of your choices.

The worst part? You couldn't even promise you'd tell them the truth tomorrow. Not with Sukuna's binding vow hanging over your head like a guillotine, and not if it meant admitting you were becoming a monster by falling for one.

So you'd keep lying. Keep hurting them. Keep pretending everything was—

“Watch it, brat.”

The growl came a second after you slammed into what felt like a brick wall. A bit of déjà vu—was this the third time? Fourth time you'd bumped into him like this? You stumbled back, already knowing who you'd find towering over you.

And it was exactly the crimson eyes you'd expected.

“Can you move, Sukuna?” you snapped. He hadn't done anything particularly egregious today—well, besides nearly making you come undone under his fingers this morning. But perhaps, subconsciously, you blamed him for the hurt your friends were feeling right now... how typically pathetic of you to once again push the blame onto someone else.

You stood in the middle of the street, people flowing around you like water around stones, oblivious to the predator in their midst.

And when that predator bared his teeth at you and his angry glare didn't seem to waver, you gave in,

“Ugh... I'm sorry, okay? I'm just not in a good mood today.”

He let out a low growl and grabbed your shoulder, shoving you forward. “Walk.”

It wasn't a suggestion, and so you let him steer you through the crowd, his grip tight enough to remind you exactly who you'd been addressing so casually. At the first empty alley, he yanked you in and planted himself against the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Is this about the conversation with Kenjaku this morning? I'll just forget about it so—” you started, trying to head off his wrath, but his sharp laugh cut through your words.

“Oh? Were you eavesdropping on our conversation all the way from the bathroom, woman? How sly...” His eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Perhaps I should chain you up the next time I have guests.”

The threat barely registered as you realized—the conversation he was referring to was the one he had with Kenjaku by the door during your shower, not the one-on-one you had with Kenjaku outside.

And thank god for that, it was better he remained entirely unaware of that particular encounter.

“No, I just—nevermind. Why did you drag me here?”

He reached deeper into his pocket, pulling out what appeared to be an ordinary silver whistle. It caught the dying sunlight as it dangled from his fingers.

“Tomorrow at Jujutsu High. Three o'clock. Blow this and it will summon a curse.”

“Why would I—”

“Because,” he cut in, clearly savoring the moment, “Jujutsu High will be receiving some unexpected visitors tomorrow.” His lips curled into that cruel smile that reminded you he was no ally—he was an enemy, fighting from the opposite side of a chasm you kept trying to bridge.

“And you, brat, are going to create a distraction for them.”

Your stomach dropped. “You're kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I'm joking, woman?” He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between you until barely inches remained.

“There’s something inside Jujutsu High that we need. Jogo and Mahito will retrieve it tomorrow, but they can’t unless all eyes are elsewhere. You’ll blow this whistle, summon a curse, and create enough chaos to make those pathetic fools scatter and scurry, leaving their precious artifacts unguarded.”

“No.” The word came out stronger than you expected, fueled by the memory of your friends' hurt voices. “I won't help you with a plan that puts my friends at risk.”

His jaw clenched. “Don't forget your place.”

“My place? What place? My place as the toy you play with in the morning and discard in the afternoon? The girl you can’t decide if you want to kiss or kill?” A bitter laugh escaped you.

His hand twitched, and you recognized the tell—he was about to strike, either grab your throat or slap your face. But you knew his mannerisms so well by now that you caught his wrist before he could complete the motion.

And he... he let you.

He was stronger, you both knew that, and yet he allowed your delicate fingers to wrap around his wrist and halt his fury.

“They're my friends,” you said quietly, not with fight but with earnestness in your voice. “And you're asking me to help hurt them. Do you realize how fucked up that is?”

You could feel his entire body trembling with rage beneath your fingertips, fighting against his baser instincts.

“The binding vow—” he started—

but you weren't finished yet.

“Yeah, I know about the stupid vow! I'm reminded of it every minute of every day, but I won't obey you if it means people die—people I care about...”

A long silence followed, and you could see the battle raging behind his eyes. His wrist occasionally twisted in your grip, the fire behind his pupils fluctuating between a small flame and an inferno before settling somewhere in between.

He yanked his hand free and took a step back, running his fingers through his hair in a simple human gesture of frustration.

When he spoke again, his voice had lost some of its earlier edge.

“Even those frail teachers at Jujutsu High won't break a sweat against a curse like this—it's barely a grade one. Hell, even your little group of friends could exorcise it if they used their brains. It won't kill anyone.”

But it wasn't the curse that worried you—it was Patch-face and Volcano-head.

“That's not good enough. Do you remember how Mahito maimed me before? I want your word that they won’t kill anyone, that I won’t stumble upon a pile of deformed corpses or the smell of burned flesh.”

He stared at you for a long moment, irritated, because he couldn't quite comprehend how this had transformed from an undisputable command into a negotiation.

But he saw that wet gleam in your eyes, and—

“Tch. Fine,” he growled finally.

“I'll tell that fool Mahito to keep his victims breathing, and refrain from altering them... permanently.” He pressed the whistle into your palm, his fingers lingering a second longer than necessary.

“As for Jogo, he won't cause any unnecessary casualties, but I'll give him the same warning if that's what it takes for you to blow the damn whistle, woman.”

Sukuna grabbed your chin, tilting your face up to his, hovering mere inches away.

“And you will blow that whistle. That is a command.”

You met his gaze, and there it was again—that magnetic pull, that force that made you silently nod in agreement. That power Sukuna had over you not just because he'd enforced it, but because some part of you allowed him to have it.

And if you could have read his thoughts in that moment, you would have known he felt exactly the same way.

Though... he probably would have worded it differently: like a curse you'd put on him, like a festering wound steadily working its way deeper, cracking open his skin so his carefully buried humanity started to slowly ooze out.

And just like you, he was allowing it to happen—allowing you to touch that bare skin and peel it open just a little further each time.

When you couldn't hold his gaze anymore, you took a small step back, fidgeting with the whistle before tucking it into your pocket.

“Hey, Sukuna?”

He raised an eyebrow, staring down at you.

If he agreed to your conditions then...

“Thank you.” The words came out soft, and before you could second-guess yourself, you rose on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

Your first kiss that was, just a kiss. Not a battle, not a lust-fueled dance. Just a simple, ordinary touch of lips.

You pulled away quickly, not daring to see his reaction as you turned and dashed toward the apartment, leaving Sukuna frozen in place.

He stood there, motionless, as the city moved around him in an endless blur of faceless ants. His fingers drifted up to his lips, brushing over them.

For the first time in centuries, the King of Curses found himself utterly still, utterly silent. The inferno of his cursed energy had quieted to barely a whisper, like even it was holding its breath.

As the last rays of sunlight bled from the sky, casting long shadows across the empty alley, Sukuna finally lowered his hand from his lips. A low, confused growl rumbled in his chest as he turned to make his way to the apartment—home to you.

---------------------------------------------------------

Okay, first off, I want to apologize for the hiatus. Life hit me with a lot—health issues, writer’s block, the holidays—and some other personal challenges in my private life. It’s been overwhelming, and honestly, I kind of lost my spark for a while.

Ao3 curse? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just good ol' bad karma for releasing smut on the internet—who knows?

That said, when I finally started writing again, it felt really good, so I’m going to do my best to stick to a bi-weekly update schedule from now on. Some chapters might be a bit shorter because of it, but when I’m in the flow, they might end up being longer too. We’ll see how it goes!

For everyone still here reading—thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your support means the absolute world to me, and I genuinely appreciate each and every one of you. Truly, I love you all. 💕

Taglist: @sukunasthightattoos , @tomiokasecretlover , @6demonize6me6 , @blindbabycadder , @domainofmarie , @marcoschuitmaker , @geniejunn , @chanaaaannel , @nessca153 , @technicallysublimedemon

If you want to be added to the taglist, so you don't miss any updates, please let me know in the comments or with a private message. Thankyou!

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Second Chance | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Summary: It’s been two years since you and Sebastian considered each other friends, but that’s all about to change when he finds you in the back of the library.

Words: ~6,000

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Modern AU, Hurt/Comfort, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, One-Shot

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, the faint bassline of a song pulsing through his earbuds as he stared at the pages of his textbook. The words blurred together, his focus slipping away. He rubbed his eyes, pushing his hair back in frustration. Normally, he thrived on the chaos of multitasking—music blasting, three assignments spread out in front of him, and the ever-present buzz of his phone vibrating with group chat notifications. But tonight, none of it held his attention.

Instead, his thoughts kept drifting back to her.

To you.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he stared blankly at the spell diagram on the page. It had been a long time since you and he had been on speaking terms, but that didn’t stop you from haunting him. It was ridiculous, really. You weren’t even in his life anymore. You’d made that perfectly clear after fifth year.

Back then, you’d been inseparable, two halves of a chaotic whole. You were his clever, competitive, and sharp-witted partner in crime, the one person that matched his energy, who pushed back when he pushed too far. At least, you had… until the end. Until he’d crossed too many lines, gone too far chasing answers he thought he needed.

When you walked away, it was like the ground had shifted beneath his feet. He hadn’t realized how much of his world revolved around you until you weren’t in it anymore. And then you’d gone and changed.

The girl who once stayed up debating spell combinations with him and snuck into Crossed Wands had turned into the model student overnight. Top of the class. Prefect material. Polished and poised in ways that made you almost unrecognizable. You’d dropped out of Crossed Wands entirely, called it “unsanctioned” like you hadn’t been one of its fiercest competitors. And worst of all, you avoided him like he was contagious.

Not that he blamed you. He’d been reckless, selfish, dangerous. And you’d always been careful. You’d never taken him up on his offers to teach you darker spells, not even when he’d sworn you could handle it. Not even when he’d practically begged you to trust him. You’d drawn your line and stood firm, and when he crossed it, you’d walked away.

And he missed you.

It wasn’t just the obvious things, though Merlin knew those hurt enough. Like the way you used to roll your eyes at his jokes, even as your lips twitched in a smile you tried to hide. Or the way you stood your ground against him when everyone else gave way, meeting his sharp edges with your own. No, what he missed most were the moments in between—the quiet spaces you filled without even realizing it. The way your laughter could cut through his darkest moods, or how you’d sit beside him, shoulders brushing, as you shared a companionable silence in a way that felt like a language only the two of you spoke.

Now, there was only silence. Cold. Empty. And it was all his fault.

He’d ruined it. He’d ruined you—or at least, the version of you that used to laugh with him and wipe the floor with him in duels you had no business winning. The version of you that once trusted him enough to sneak out at midnight and risk detention just because he said it’d be worth it.

Sebastian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he dragged a hand down his face. The textbook in front of him was abandoned now, forgotten in the tangle of his thoughts. His playlist shuffled to a new song, something slower, the kind of melody that made his chest ache.

Pathetic.

That’s what he felt like, sitting here brooding over someone who probably didn’t think about him at all anymore. You’d moved on. You had your perfect, spotless life, and he was just the lost cause you'd left behind.

He should have been over this by now. Hell, it wasn’t like he didn’t have other things to focus on. Seventh Year was demanding, and he had his own reputation to maintain—being Sebastian Sallow, Hogwarts’ resident troublemaker, wasn’t a title that earned itself. He liked his image well enough, even if it only scratched the surface. It gave people something to talk about, something to expect, and if they underestimated him in the process? Even better.

But all of that felt hollow tonight. He couldn’t shake the memories of you, the way things used to be, and the gnawing and incessant knowledge that no one else had ever fit into his life the way you had.

The faint rustling sound from the back of the library barely registered at first, lost in the haze of his thoughts. But when it came again, louder this time—a shuffle of footsteps, a whispered laugh—Sebastian’s attention sharpened.

Pulling out his earbuds, he frowned and glanced toward the back corner of the library. The lights were dimmer there, casting long shadows over the towering shelves.

Curiosity and a creeping sense of amusement pulled him from his chair. It wasn’t unusual for students to sneak off to the back room for some privacy, Merlin knew Sebastian had been caught back there more than once, but he couldn’t resist taking a peek.

As he rounded the corner, the whispers grew clearer—murmured words followed by a soft laugh that sent a shiver down his spine. He knew that laugh. Knew it so well it hurt.

And then he saw you.

Pressed against the shelves, your fingers gripping the front of Garreth Weasley’s shirt as his hands rested low on your waist. He was leaning into you, close enough that there was no mistaking what was happening. Your lips met his with an urgency that made Sebastian’s stomach churn.

For a moment, all he could do was stare, his mind struggling to reconcile the scene in front of him. You. The same you who avoided him with practiced precision, who sat at the front of every class with perfect posture and perfectly color-coded notes. The same you who had a spotless detention record, and never even handed library books in late. The same you who’d left him behind.

Yet here you were, shattering that image before his very eyes, snogging in the back of the library.

And Merlin help him, he felt like he was splintering right along with it. Because you were tangled up with Garreth bloody Weasley. Like it was nothing. Like you weren’t supposed to be better than this type of thing. Like you hadn’t spent the past two years proving to everyone that you were.

The first rush of emotion was jealousy, sharp and acidic, curling through Sebastian’s chest like a fire he couldn’t put out. It clawed at him, angry and possessive, though he had no right to feel either. You weren’t his. You hadn’t been his for a long time, not since you’d walked away from the wreckage of your friendship and never looked back.

But beneath the jealousy, beneath the gut-twisting ache, there was something else. Something unexpected.

Hope.

It flickered in his chest, small and fragile, but enough to take his breath away. Maybe the girl he’d thought he’d ruined, the one he’d chased away with his recklessness and obsession, wasn’t entirely gone. Maybe the version of you he’d missed—the one who laughed at his stupid jokes, who stayed up with him plotting mischief, who could hold her own in a duel and grin while doing it—was still there.

Because here you were, letting someone back you into a shadowed corner with their hands up your shirt.

You broke the kiss first, leaning back against the shelf as you caught your breath, your lips still parted, your cheeks flushed. Garreth leaned in close, murmuring something by your ear that drew a soft laugh from you—a sound so achingly familiar that it cut straight through Sebastian. He knew that laugh. It was the one you’d reserved for him, for the ridiculous jokes you’d always rolled your eyes at even as your smile betrayed you. It was his laugh.

Or at least… it used to be.

Sebastian’s nails dug into his palms as he watched, his gaze frozen in place like he was locked under a Petrificus spell. The ache in his jaw reminded him to unclench his teeth, but even then, he couldn’t shake the tension coiled in his chest.

And then you looked up.

Your eyes found his, widening with recognition, and the color drained from your face so quickly Sebastian nearly moved to steady you. The laughter that had been bubbling between you and Garreth disappeared instantly, leaving behind a stunned silence that hung heavy in the air.

“Sebastian,” you said, your voice sharp, defensive.

Garreth turned around too, but didn’t seem particularly bothered by Sebastian’s presence. In fact, he had the audacity to smirk, his usual easygoing charm fully intact. “Relax, Sallow,” he said with a chuckle, taking in Sebastian’s scowl. “I’m sure you've seen, and done, worse.”

The heat in Sebastian’s chest flared as Garreth leaned in closer to you, planting a light kiss on the top of your head. The casualness of the gesture, the ease with which Garreth claimed the space so close to you, made Sebastian’s jaw tighten.

“I’d stick around,” Garreth murmured, just loud enough for both of you to hear, “but I’ve got an essay on advanced potion theory calling my name. Can’t let Sharp down, can I?” He winked at you before stepping back.

Sebastian’s fingers curled into fists inside his pockets, the storm behind his expression barely contained as Garreth turned to him. With a grin that bordered on infuriating, Garreth clapped Sebastian on the shoulder in passing. “Try not to give her too much grief, yeah?” he said lightly before sauntering off as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

Sebastian stood rooted to the spot, his blood simmering as he watched the redhead disappear around the corner, leaving the two of you alone.

You crossed your arms, your expression shifting into one of irritation, though the faint flush on your cheeks remained. "Can I help you, Sebastian?"

Sebastian’s jaw ticked as he turned his attention back to you, the mocking tone of Weasley’s words still echoing in his head. He forced his expression into something neutral but the tightness in his chest didn’t ease.

"Forgive me," he said, his words slow and deliberate. "Just trying to figure out what the hell I just walked in on."

You bristled at his words, your posture stiffening, though the flush on your cheeks deepened. “It’s none of your business.”

“None of my business?” He let out a laugh, low and biting. "You were snogging Garreth Weasley in the back of the library, it's not like you tried very hard to hide."

Your glare sharpened, your arms tightening across your chest like armor. “Don’t start, Sebastian.”

“Start what?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence, though the smirk playing on his lips gave him away. “I’m just trying to figure out when you decided to join the rest of us delinquents. Was it before or after you decided that Weasley deserved the honor of corrupting you?”

Your jaw tightened, and your eyes flashed with a defiance that he hadn’t seen in ages. “You’re one to talk about corruption,” you shot back, your tone scathing. “You’ve built your entire reputation on it.”

“At least I’ve never pretended to be anything else.” He retorted, the smirk tugging at his lips sharp and humorless.

The air between you was charged, the kind of tension that felt as though it might crack and shatter if either of you pushed just a little harder. Sebastian’s smirk lingered, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which burned with something darker—something almost desperate beneath the sarcasm.

“Pretended? You don’t know anything about me anymore,” you said finally, your voice firm, but he caught the faintest tremor beneath the surface. “Don't try acting like you do.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said finally, his tone quieter now, the fire in his chest simmering into something closer to resignation. “Your spotless reputation is pretty well known, love. It’s hard not to wonder what happened to the girl I knew.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy and charged, the air around you humming with unspoken words. Sebastian stood there, his hands still buried deep in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the floor as though it might hold some kind of answer. But when he glanced back up at you, something in his chest tightened.

Because even as you stood there with your arms crossed, your chin tilted high in defiance, he saw it. The hurt in your eyes, sharp and raw, like an old wound reopened. And beneath that—buried deep, but unmistakable—there was something else. Something wistful. Something you were trying desperately to hide but couldn’t quite bury fast enough.

And then, to his surprise, you let out a soft laugh. It was barely more than a breath, but it carried a wry edge as you shook your head, your arms falling loosely to your sides. “Oh Sebastian... you only think I’m such a good girl because I never get caught.”

For a second, Sebastian could only stare, his mind scrambling to process what he’d just heard. Because this—this sounded like banter. Not the cold, guarded deflections he’d gotten used to whenever you were forced to speak to him, but something that carried the faintest glimmer of playfulness. And that little flicker of hope that had been quietly smoldering in his chest suddenly roared to life, bright and insistent, warming parts of him he’d thought had long since gone cold.

He tilted his head, his smirk returning, though it was softer now, edged with something more genuine. “Is that so?” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Are you saying the girl I knew is still in there, underneath that Prefect’s title?”

You arched a brow, folding your arms again as though that would shield you from the weight of his gaze. “Maybe I just got better at hiding it,” you shot back, your voice calm but laced with a daring edge that caught him off guard.

Sebastian blinked, the smirk faltering for a moment before it came back with renewed intensity. “So the golden girl has a secret wild streak? Fascinating. Tell me more.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” you replied coolly, but the faint twitch at the corner of your lips betrayed you. “I’m just better at knowing when to keep my head down, unlike some people.”

“Some people?” he repeated. “You wound me, really."

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping before you could stop it. And Merlin, that laugh—it was so familiar, so achingly familiar, that Sebastian wished he could bottle it, to hold onto this moment and never let it go.

“So what’s next for you, oh master of stealth?” He teased. “Another clandestine meeting in a forgotten corner of the castle? Or is Garreth the only lucky one?”

The mention of Garreth’s name made your expression falter, the brief levity between you vanishing like a popped bubble. You straightened, your arms crossing tightly again, and for a second, he almost regretted saying it.

Almost.

“What’s it to you?"

For a heartbeat, Sebastian considered brushing it off with a joke, deflecting the way he always did when things got too real. But something about the way you looked at him—equal parts defiance and hurt—made the usual mask feel too heavy to hold.

“It’s nothing,” he said finally. He shifted his weight, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Just… didn’t think he was your type, that’s all.”

“My type?” you repeated, incredulous. “What do you even know about my type, Sebastian?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, caught off guard by the question. The truth was, he didn’t know. Not anymore. He used to think he did. Back when the two of you spent endless hours together, when he could read your mood with a single glance.

“Not much, I guess,” he admitted, the words tasting bitter as they left his mouth. “At least, not these days.”

Something flickered in your eyes at that, and for a moment, the silence between you felt heavier than any argument could have been.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if to clear it. “Look, I don’t know what you think you walked in on, but—”

“I think I walked in on you snogging Garreth Weasley,” Sebastian interrupted, his tone dry as he gestured vaguely toward the shelf where he’d found you. “Which, for the record, is a sentence I never thought I’d say.”

You rolled your eyes, the irritation in your expression softening just slightly. “What is it you have against him, Sebastian? Did he beat you in a duel when you were 11 or something?"

Sebastian huffed a laugh, his smirk resurfacing with just enough of an edge to mask the sting your words carried. “Please,” he said, crossing his arms. “Garreth couldn’t beat me in a duel if I tied my wand hand behind my back. You know that.”

“Do I?”

Sebastian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided your piercing gaze. "Look, I just didn’t think he was your… speed."

"My speed?" you repeated, your eyebrows shooting up as incredulity laced your tone.

He hesitated, fumbling for words. "It’s just… Weasley? Really?" He gestured vaguely, his lips curving into a wry smirk. "The guy spends half his time trying to turn candy into explosives. I thought you’d go for someone who could… you know, keep up with you."

Your arms crossed in front of your chest, your glare sharp enough to cut through the tension hanging in the air. "And who’s that supposed to be? Someone like you?"

The question hit him harder than it should have, and for a moment, he couldn’t find a response. Because yes, once upon a time, he thought exactly that. Back when you were still friends, back before everything fell apart, he’d imagined—hoped, even—that he might be the kind of person you’d want.

But that was a long time ago. Now, the very idea felt absurd.

"I didn’t say that," he muttered, though the defensive edge to his voice gave him away.

You scoffed, shaking your head as you turned slightly away from him. "I don’t know why you even care. You made it perfectly clear a long time ago that we’re not exactly friends anymore."

Sebastian flinched, the words hitting like a blow to the chest. He straightened, his arms dropping to his sides as his smirk faltered. "That’s not fair," he said quietly. "You’re the one who walked away."

You turned back to him at that, your expression shifting from irritation to something closer to hurt. "Because you gave me no choice, Sebastian."

He opened his mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. Because you were right. And then, before he could stop himself, his lips were moving, saying the words he should have said so long ago but never had the courage to face you again and say.

"I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, and I’m not asking for it. But I… fuck. For once I just wanted to say it. I really am sorry.”

Your expression shifted the moment the apology left his lips. The tension in your posture seemed to drain away, replaced by something far more vulnerable. For the first time in years, you didn’t look sharp or guarded as you looked at him—you just looked… fragile. It was enough to make Sebastian's chest tighten, his protective instincts flaring to life before he could stop them.

He took a cautious step closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as though you were a skittish cat that might bolt at any sudden movement. “Maybe we should…” he hesitated, glancing around the dim library as though the walls themselves might be listening, “talk somewhere more private.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, searching his face for a long, agonizing moment. He didn’t dare move, barely even breathed, until finally, to his surprise, you gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Come on,” he murmured.

He turned and began walking, glancing back only to see you trailing after him, quiet but willing. The sight of you following him, however hesitantly, sent a pang of something bittersweet through him.

When the two of you finally reached the entrance to the Undercroft, Sebastian unlocked the hidden entrance and led you inside.

The secret room hadn’t changed much since the last time you’d been here two years ago. The same glowing sconces cast their warm light over the stone walls, and the air carried the same faint chill that always seemed to linger underground. But to Sebastian, it felt… different. Smaller, somehow, with the weight of all the unspoken words that had built up between the two of you over the years.

You stopped in the center of the room, your arms wrapped loosely around yourself as though to ward off the cold. Sebastian lingered near the doorway, his hand brushing against the edge of the stone wall as he watched you.

The silence stretched again, and Sebastian shifted uncomfortably, his fingers drumming against the hilt of his wand as he searched for the right words.

“I meant what I said,” he began hesitantly, his voice low and rough, like the words were dragging their way out of his throat. “I’m sorry. For… all of it. For the way things ended. For the way I pushed you away. For the fact that I—” He broke off abruptly, his jaw tightening as he looked away, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

His fingers gripped the back of his neck as he tried again, his words tumbling out in fits and starts, each one heavier than the last. “I—I was a mess. I am a mess. But back then? Fuck, I didn’t even see it. I thought I was doing what I had to do. That I was right. And by the time I realized how wrong I was… it was too late.”

He looked at you then, his eyes glassy with emotions he couldn’t quite hide anymore. “I hate that I hurt you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly, though he forced himself to press on. “I hate that I made you feel like you couldn’t stay. And I hate myself for being too blind, too damn stupid, to see what I was doing to you until you were gone.”

Sebastian took a shaky breath, his hands curling into fists at his sides as if he was trying to physically hold himself together. “You were the best thing in my life,” he said, his voice cracking on the words. “And I—I ruined it. I ruined us.”

He shook his head, his expression a mess of frustration and something painfully raw. “But I never stopped missing you,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Not for a second. And seeing you now… sneaking around, breaking rules—it was like, for just a moment, I thought I still knew you.”

His jaw tightened, and he let out a shaky breath, his gaze flicking away before returning to yours. “Even if you were snogging bloody fucking Weasley.”

You didn’t say anything right away, your gaze fixed on the floor as you seemed to wrestle with your own thoughts. When you finally looked up at him, your eyes were glassy, your voice trembling just slightly.

“I didn’t leave because I thought you were a mess, Sebastian,” you began, your voice quiet but steady despite the way your hands fidgeted at your sides. “I left because I didn’t know how to help you anymore. I left because I was scared,” you admitted, the words heavy in the air. “I saw what you were doing to yourself—pushing everyone away, chasing after things that hurt you more than helped—and it killed me because no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t stop you.” Your gaze dropped to the floor. “And I couldn’t just stand there and watch you destroy yourself,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Because I—”

You took a shaky breath, the words fragile and undeniable. “I fucking loved you, Sebastian. And seeing you like that, knowing I couldn’t fix it—I thought… maybe if I walked away, it would hurt less. And maybe it would force you to save yourself.”

Sebastian’s breath hitched, his lips parting as if to respond, but no words came. The weight of your confession hung heavy between you, and you laughed softly—a bitter, self-deprecating sound—as you glanced back up at him.

“So I left,” you continued, your tone tinged with wryness now. “I threw myself into rules and order and schedules. I thought if I could just be… perfect, the opposite of all that chaos, maybe it would fill the void you left behind.”

You wiped at your eyes quickly as a humorless laugh escaped your lips, bitter and raw. “But it didn’t help,” you admitted, shaking your head. “It still hurt. I still missed you every damn day."

Sebastian felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, like the very foundation he stood on had crumbled beneath him and he was left grasping at nothing, struggling to steady himself. For a moment, all he could do was stare at you, his heart hammering against his ribs as he struggled to process everything you’d just said.

“You loved me?” he asked finally, his voice low and rough, like the words were scraping their way out of his throat. “You… do you love me?”

You hesitated, your arms wrapping around yourself protectively as you glanced away. “Does it matter?” you wiped at your eyes again. “It’s been so long, and we’re… not who we used to be.”

“But it matters to me,” Sebastian said, his hands twitching at his sides as though he wanted to reach for you but didn’t quite dare.

“Sebastian,” you said softly, your tone wavering, “we can’t just go back to how things were. Too much has happened.”

“I’m not asking to go back,” he said quickly, his words rushing out as if he were afraid you might leave again before he could get them out. “I know I can’t undo what I did, but I’m not the same person I was then. And I know things have changed but—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair in frustration before continuing. “It doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.”

“Why now?” you asked, the words quiet but sharp. “Why say all of this now, after all this time?”

Sebastian exhaled shakily, his hands curling into fists before falling limp at his sides. He couldn’t meet your eyes yet, not until he forced himself to speak. “Seeing you tonight,” he began, his voice rough, “seeing you with him… I guess it… I saw what I’ve been missing. What I threw away. And I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt—pretending I don’t miss you. Because I do. Every day.”

His voice softened, steadier now. “You’re still you. That girl I knew—she’s still there. I saw her tonight. And fuck, I miss her. I miss you. And I love you. I’ve always loved you. I don’t care how much time has passed or how messy this is. If there’s even a chance to figure this out—to fix us—I’ll take it.”

The intensity in his words left you momentarily speechless, the air between you thick. You turned away, your shoulders stiff as you tried to gather your thoughts, tried to keep your emotions from spilling over. But it was no use—Sebastian could see it now. The subtle tremor in your posture, the way your shoulders shook with quiet sobs you were desperately trying to suppress.

Sebastian’s chest tightened painfully, his throat constricting as he watched you. For a moment, he faltered, the guilt and anguish rising like a tidal wave. But he refused to let it drown him, refused to let this moment slip through his fingers. He wouldn’t let you go. Not again. Not when you were here, standing right in front of him, raw and hurting in a way he knew all too well.

He stepped closer, his voice soft but resolute as he broke the silence between you. “You said you missed me,” he repeated, his words trembling with vulnerability. “Do you still?”

You froze, your hands clenching at your sides as you tried to steady yourself, but you didn’t turn around. The pause stretched, unbearable in its uncertainty, and Sebastian took another step closer, his heart pounding against his ribs.

“Please,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper now. “Just… tell me. Do you still miss me? Do you still—” He cut himself off, swallowing hard, the weight of his emotions catching in his throat. “Do you still feel it?"

Finally, you turned, your tear-streaked face meeting his, and the sight nearly undid him. There was so much pain in your expression, so much conflict, but beneath it all was something else—something softer, something vulnerable and unbearably familiar.

"Yes, I do."

The moment the second “yes” left your lips, Sebastian was moving, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. His hands found your shoulders first, gentle but firm as if grounding himself, before sliding down to your arms, and then pulling you into him, fierce and desperate.

You froze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden closeness, but then your hands slowly came up to clutch at the front of his shirt, holding on with all the strength you had.

It was overwhelming, the sheer force of finally holding you after all these years. You felt the same—your body fitting against Sebastian like it always had, your warmth seeping into him. And Merlin, you still smelled the same—like wildflowers and ink and something distinctly, heartbreakingly yours. The scent alone was enough to undo him, memories flooding back in a torrent that made his chest ache.

His hand moved to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair. “I missed you,” he said, his voice cracking as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “God, I missed you. And I’m never—” He swallowed hard, his gaze burning into yours. “I’m never letting you go again. Never.”

Your eyes searched his, glassy but soft, and for the first time in so long, there was no guardedness between you, no walls keeping him out. Only you. The girl who had been his anchor, his compass, his everything.

You nodded, your own tears slipping down your cheeks as you whispered, “Good.”

He leaned down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was desperate and tender all at once. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands sliding up to grip his shoulders.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. You were real, and you were here, and Sebastian swore to himself that he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side this time. Whatever it took to prove to you, and to himself, that this wasn’t something he would ever take for granted again.

When the kiss finally broke, you rested your forehead against his, your breaths mingling as you both struggled to steady yourselves. Sebastian’s hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that lingered on your cheeks.

“I love you,” he murmured, the words carrying the weight of everything he’d been too afraid to say before. “I’ve always loved you."

Your lips curved into the faintest of smiles, your fingers brushing against his jaw. “I never stopped loving you,” you whispered. “And I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”

Sebastian let out a breathless laugh, the weight of your words sinking into his chest like a balm over years of ache. His hands stayed on your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek before sliding down to trace the curve of your lips.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice soft but teasing, “there’s one last thing I need to know before I can fully move on from the whole Weasley… situation.”

You raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at your lips despite the tears still shining in your eyes. “Oh, Merlin. What now?”

His lips twitched into a smirk of his own, the familiar cockiness warming his expression. “Am I a better kisser than him?”

“Sebastian.”

“What?” he said, his grin widening slightly, though his gaze stayed soft. “I think it’s a fair question, considering…”

You narrowed your eyes, but the playful warmth in his gaze was impossible to resist. Finally, with a dramatic sigh, you relented, tilting your head slightly as though to consider. “Yes, Sebastian,” you said dryly, though the smile playing on your lips betrayed you. “You’re a better kisser than Weasley. ”

His grin turned triumphant, and he let out a low chuckle, his hand slipping back to cradle your face. “Good,” he said, his voice dropping to a warm, affectionate murmur. “I already knew that. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

You rolled your eyes again, but this time, your smile lingered, and Sebastian’s heart swelled at the sight.

[vidavalor]

Today, if you're discussing actions taken to try to prevent against the effects of possible future negative actions, you're talking about insurance. Up until an estimated sometime in the late 16th/early 17th centuries, though? You wouldn't have referred to this as insurance, even though that word also existed at the time.

For most of history, the word for what we today refer to as insurance was actually assurance.

The two words come from some very similar-sounding French root words. Adding to the confusion, the root words of insurance-- enseurer/enseurance-- actually also meant assurance, but in the sense of a guarantee or a serious promise.

Assurance also originally meant self-confident in an unappealing way, which, along with the general confusion of the similar-sounding words, is thought to be one of the big reasons why assurance fell out of fashion as a word, paving the way for insurance to eventually take over the main, original meaning of assurance.

So, why the two different words in the first place, especially when both of them were rooted in words relating to promises relating to safety and security?

Because while assurance originally meant what we'd consider insurance today, insurance originally exclusively meant a different kind of promise...

The word insurance originally referred to what we'd call a marriage engagement today.

"If it all goes wrong, I want insurance" takes on an additional layer when you consider that Crowley and Aziraphale have been on Earth since the beginning and frequently communicate using etymology (word history) to code their speech in public for safety, as they were also doing in other parts of this very same scene. They both absolutely know the original meaning of insurance.

From what Crowley said in 1862, it's clear that there hadn't exactly been a formal proposal by 1862... how could there have been, really, considering that was some 'if both the human world and the supernatural world ever were to change' pipe dream at the time?... but there was a romantic partnership with a shared understanding that, if they ever could? They would.

They'd turn The Arrangement/The Agreement into The Engagement in a heartbeat if ever things changed and they safely could.

Crowley was clearly not doing well in the 1862 scene, though...

Crowley was really seeking reassurance as much as he was seeking insurance in the modern sense. He wanted the holy water as insurance (modern meaning)-- as protection against Hell-- and he wanted it for their informal insurance (historical meaning)-- to keep the two of them safe.

While Crowley wanting holy water was a surprise to Aziraphale, Crowley's subtle reference to his and Aziraphale's understanding being akin to one of the original kind of insurance was far from a shock to Aziraphale. Neither of them were batting an eye over Crowley's dual-layered use of the word insurance.

Aziraphale just also knew that they were in the park and that ducks have ears, as Crowley himself had pointed out a moment earlier. This was too dangerous a place for this conversation and that Crowley tried to have it here showed how much he was struggling, which just validated even more Aziraphale's hesitation and fear.

Aziraphale knew that holy water could kill Crowley and it's not hard to see why he'd be reluctant to give his obviously anxious and depressed partner the supernatural equivalent of a gun.

Especially when Crowley's PTSD was so bad in that moment in 1862 that he was demonstrably reactive in public to Aziraphale's attempt to keep anybody from listening to realize that they're a couple. Crowley's response just makes it all the more obvious that they are one.

Crowley's inability to have enough situational awareness in the moment to realize or care that he's putting them at risk while simultaneously being (in this case, justifiably) paranoid about them being overheard and asking Aziraphale for the dangerous thing that he's convinced himself will make him feel the safety that he's struggling to feel is a very PTSD thing. It speaks to high levels of unmanaged anxiety.

Even having this conversation in the park and not the bookshop was self-sabotaging on Crowley's part. There's an argument to be made that not doing well to a point that he's semi-consciously trying to push Aziraphale away by putting Aziraphale in a no-win situation in a place where their ability to fully discuss it in the moment is impacted by their lack of privacy.

Crowley was being self-destructive and was putting them at risk as a result, basically proving himself probably too unstable in that era to have holy water in the first place.

What he truly wanted was reassurance that Aziraphale was going to stay with him. Doubting that was the anxiety talking. Aziraphale wouldn't have had to give any indication that he was not going to do so and there's no indication that he was going to leave Crowley. I'd imagine he felt the exact opposite of that and Crowley really, at the core, knew that. PTSD and anxiety can cause levels of self-doubt and make it difficult for a person to trust their assessment of things, as we see with Crowley's struggles to trust himself and others when it comes to things like Gabriel and The Book of Life in S2.

Fundamentally, Crowley knows that Aziraphale loves him but, in 1862, he could have been experiencing a lot of anxiety, self-doubt, and feelings of shame related to the aftermath of 1827, and have really been seeking out reassurance that Aziraphale-- who had already really proven this by sticking through thousands of years with Crowley-- wouldn't leave him... even as he tried very hard to push him away.

It's not rational but emotions-- particularly, trauma-born ones-- aren't always rational. The holy water situation in 1862 is also one triggering Aziraphale's own fears that Crowley will leave him-- will one day go out the door and not come back, either from something they cannot control or because he's decided it's too much for him to endure anymore.

When both people are triggered, it's hard to really talk and even harder to really listen, and someone storming off for awhile is probably inevitable.

But it's not forever. When things calm down, it becomes easier to see what one another was saying, what it was that they really meant, and what they need.

[cheemscakecat]

Shapeshifter rant [angst and yappery]

The big scary looking form he takes is basically a threat pose. Threat poses are what animals use to fight or scare off danger.

Cats puff out their tails and arch their backs:

It’s something that even kittens can do.

Tarantulas lift up their front legs and bare their fangs:

Octopi make themselves look poisonous and can flash colors to scare predators:

It makes sense to me that a shapeshifter would have a bigger, distorted version of their base/“true” form as a threat pose. And that babies would instinctively be able to make that form even if they haven’t seen an adult before.

I think Shifty’s base form, the one he reverts into when he’s relaxing or sleeping, is like the form we see, but smaller and more friendly looking. And that it’s as tall as a grown human or just a little bit shorter.

The shapeshifter is afraid of humans; they lied to him, kept him as a test subject, froze him, and then disappeared. He didn’t know if they were going to come back to experiment on him more, or if they would want to “finish the job.”

He tried to dig his way out of the bunker but was stopped by the steel lining. This form is still fast and very durable, which he would want if the humans ever came back.

This form was made to try and break through the lining of the bunker, but that didn’t work. Instead, Shifty took to hitting the lining to make this form stronger and tougher skinned.

He can perfectly replicate Ford and Fiddleford’s voices, but doing so fills him with rage and makes him crash out. For a time, he would purposely get himself riled up to “train” for the scientists to return.

But as decades passed and nobody came to poke, prod, refreeze, or kill him, Shifty felt he’d been left to rot and gave up.

He still doesn’t trust humans, new or not, children or not. And Dipper quickly proved himself to be a fanboy of the scientist that kept the shapeshifter locked away from the sun and sky, froze him, and then never came back.

The second he realized they knew he was a shapeshifter, he went straight to treating them like a threat. For all he knows human children could be just as dangerous as the adults, and he doesn’t want to be destroyed or captured.

Shifty’s not an evil monster, he believes humans are out to get him and wants to do everything he can to stay safe from them.

The reason he lost his temper when he couldn’t find Dipper and the others is because he had no idea what they might be planning, and no idea what they might be capable of.

Being alone in a bunker for 30 years thinking this way would do a number on anybody. He’s not mentally stable or willing to believe that these new people have good intentions. In his mind revealing himself from the start would be opening himself up to get attacked. Better to pretend to be one of them and figure out what they want.

The reason Shifty wanted the journal all those years ago was to find out Stanford’s true intentions for him. Somehow he overheard Fiddleford muttering about freezing him, and he simply had to know if the scientists were really going to do that. Ford freezing him just confirmed all his worst fears.

So why does he still want the journal, anyway? He feels that Stanford saw him as a monster, and when pretending to be Ford, he talks about himself that way. If he “knows” how the scientists really view him, why would it matter if he has the book or not?

It should have the answers on how to get out of the bunker. He hasn’t been able to escape, he can’t access the room with 50 years worth of food, he knows the outside world exists and would surely like to go there.

It’ll give him some closure in the form of seeing how much Ford despised him and decided to leave him to starve to death in the bunker. Dipper says the author has been missing, but Shifty’s spent 30 years stewing over the scientists betraying him. He’s fully in denial about Stanford or Mcgucket potentially being dead, the idea was just presented that day. No, the book will prove he was right all along, the scientists hated him and locked him away.

There are other creatures in Gravity falls that he could mimic, letting him run free in nature without worrying about humans tracking him down. Heck, maybe the humans actually like these other beasts. Maybe the journal will even give him some sort of insight on why humans are so disgusted with him in particular.

Revenge. The humans refused to let him have the book when they pretended to be friendly. Clearly it holds some sort of value and significance to Stanford. Taking the book and keeping it for himself would surely infuriate Ford. And quite frankly, that’s enough in the way of revenge because humans are too dangerous to be attacked.

On a lighter note, I think that the way Shifty was talking was basically like.. when a kid makes their voice deeper and makes fun of how an adult speaks. He is an adult, but mockingly speaking like Ford in his own voice was a good way to trick Dipper without risking getting angry hearing Stanford’s voice.

This is probably the dumbest headcanon of mine; if you could just be a fly on the wall, on a day where there’s no humans in the bunker stressing Shifty out, I think he would sound pretty similar to Luke Skywalker.

Not the exact same, especially with his emotional state, but similar.