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risuola · 2 months

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III — GAMBARE, GAMBARE — F. READER x SUKUNA RYOMEN

In the world of crime and blood, Sukuna knows what's off limits. You certainly are one of those things and yet, he's unable to stop thinking of you.

cw: smut, little angst-ish in some places, mafia!au, unprotected sex, a hint of body worshipping, violence, mentions of death, subtle threats, reader discretion is advised — 3,2k words

a/n: third part, thank you so much for support guys! it means the world to me to see how INSANELY big is the tag list now. i literally love y'all~ ❤️ also, just as the first part got inspired by the absolutely menacing quote from our king, it only felt natural to include the famous gambare, gambare (do your best) into this one.

series masterlist

Sukuna prefers to think of himself as one of significant intelligence. Over the years, during which he ruled over the entire criminal milieu, he proved himself to stand atop of anyone who dared to even think of overturning his jurisdiction. All the exceptionally dumb bold ones that once wished to take the position of a boss from his hands had learned the hard way why troubles with Sukuna Ryomen are the least desirable fate of anyone who bears any volume of oil inside their brains.

It’s not only tactical or business intelligence that he’s priding himself with. It’s also the excessive knowledge about general rules of life that allowed him to comfortably push and pull the edges of what’s right and wrong, bending his own reality to his liking. Now it’s intuitive – he just knows where he can put more pressure and where it’s not worth his time. He knows what to bet his money on and what won’t realistically pay back. And most importantly, up until that point, Sukuna thought he can tell with his eyes closed which people he should consider crossing paths with, what men can be useful whilst he aims to reach his targets and which crowds he shouldn’t mess around with – for various reasons, most of which being just business and inconvenience. Same thing concerns women. Ryomen’s position works like a magnet and not a day passes by without girls, often way too young to even think of him, throwing themselves at him, led by fantasies of money and power veiled in the shades of love. If he wished, he could have a different toy every time the night falls and if he’d be just slightly less trained, he might have fallen for the temptation. But he didn’t.

Sukuna learned it from experience, not exactly his own, but of his pawns, that allowing random women in the proximity of their profession usually leads to catastrophes. Girls get persistent, they grow attached, they fall in love sooner than it’s even logical and then they threat, they blackmail; all of which eventually leads to their deaths because dealing with just barely adults that weaponize tears and screams is something he doesn’t allow in his circle. There were no exceptions, any man bearing similar power to Ryomen knows that there’s no place for romance in the world of death and bones, the one that’s stained in red and sorrow. If there happens to be love, it’s always of people from inside the criminal circle, sharing the same set of broken morals. Mafia should never tie itself romantically with civilians. Especially him, the leader, the menace that he is in the world of misdeed, murder and corruption, knew all too well why he should never, ever, even think of someone from outside of his tale as of anything more than one time plaything. That would be irresponsible, straight up naïve. It would be foolish. He knew all of that and not even once he felt any need to engage into any kind of relationship with someone that he deemed non-profitable to his general targets.

Then why the fuck he kept thinking of you? Why he kept seeing you after what was supposed to be a fun one-time fuck? Why did the taste of your lips and the sweet scent of your skin made him so completely addicted that he couldn’t focus on his own business without his mind wandering to the memory of you at least once an hour? He just liked your body, he told himself every time he thought of sending you a message. You were a good lay, it was purely physical. You did, after all, take his dick like you were born solely for this very purpose. He was meeting you only for sex and it was an accident that some of these meetings began with a dinner. All of the gifts he showered you with were just a form of payment for the service. Sukuna knew much better than to let his emotions take control of him.

“What’s on your mind?” Your quiet voice tore Ryomen out of the realm of his self-criticism. The tone that you spoked with was raspy, the testimony of the rough, throat-fucking he had used you for just few hours prior, and yet, it still somehow flowed with cottony softness, so characteristic to you.

“Nothing important,” he replied bluntly, lowering his gaze to where your face was buried into the broad muscle of his chest; your frame completely hidden in his own, much larger and stronger. It was another night you spent in his house, one of those that began with the reservation in one of Tokyo’s best restaurants that served traditional Japanese cuisine. You showed up in a dress made of dark olive silk, long enough to reach your high-heeled sandals and clinging to your shapes as if it was made to be worn over the divinity that was your body. The long, scandalous slit exposed one of your legs and the thin straps accentuated your shoulders and cleavage just perfectly. It was a dress that he himself bought and ordered to be delivered to you in an expensive box before that day. Now that very same gown was laying somewhere, discarded on the floor in the living room of his mansion.

“Sometimes I feel like you’re plotting my death,” you chuckled against his skin, the vibration of the act made him scoff because both him and you knew that the scenario you offered wasn’t exactly falling into the realm of fiction.

“If I were to kill you, I wouldn’t need to plot it. One bullet is all it would take,” he retorted with calm and despite any logic, instead of creating some distance, instead of running away you hummed at his statement and pressed your lips to the center of his chest.

You were way over fearing Sukuna and his world. The few months that you spend seeing him, you came to terms with the heavy weight of tragic fate that was now resting on your shoulders. It couldn’t end well, you shouldn’t tangle yourself with a man such as him, the path of your normal life should never come even close to the blood tainted one he was walking through. You should have never left the club with him and once you did, you should have run out his house the moment he gave you a chance. Instead of that, you stayed. That night, after the time of Ryomen’s pursue and the unfortunate event with Naoya and his gang, soon turned into two. Then just few more and then many more. The one-night stand evolved into continuous romance and though it was strewn with roses and intimacy, it came also with the realization that the more you see him, the less days you have left. There was no way for someone like you, an outsider, the mere civilian with no mafia bonds whatsoever, to be living a long life. Sukuna has enemies, there are people that want the power he holds and will eventually target you. That is, of course, if he doesn’t kill you himself over time – out of boredom or prevention. You knew a lot, he had told you more than he should.

But you loved him. You had seen him do some pretty dark things that would make most people’s eyes water, and in all honesty, it did the same thing to yours, but then, with you, Sukuna was always protective. You loved the way he always seemed to know just what you needed, the way he read you like an open book and knew just what to say or do to put you at ease. You loved the way he made you feel like the only woman in the world, how he made you feel beautiful, even on the days you felt like a total mess. He was a danger, a threat so deadly you shouldn’t play with it, he was a flame that you were bound to burn yourself on, but he was also the only person in the world you felt so safe around. Ever since you met, he had protected you. Even if his words were harsh and his own deeds rough, he never failed to envelop you in a bubble inside of which nothing and no one could hurt you.

“Oh, how much you’d miss me,” a certain sense of amusement hinted in the tone you used as the sheepish smile stretched your lips. Ryomen acted suddenly, grabbing the tiny thing that was your body and pressing your back to the mattress. His fingers wrapped around the frail of your neck; it wouldn’t take much of his strength to snap it and yet, you seemed rather comfortable with his grip secured around your airways. Over the time you managed to grow enough trust to know he won’t hurt you for no reason. Your lover was a man powerful enough, there was no need for seeding fear in you. You were also smart enough to differentiate the real danger from the playful acts. If Sukuna truly wanted you to be scared, you most definitely would be scared shitless.

“You think so?” His tone dropped an octave as he crawled above you; your bare figure now trapped underneath the weight of his presence. He got your legs between his initially, the heavy shaft of his dick rested over your lower belly as he shifted his hand from your throat down to cup your breasts. Your body seemed to never stop attract him, no matter how many times he touched and tasted it. You looked almost angelic in the dim light of that morning; the remnants of sleep still painted over your features and the only things that disturbed the innocence of your picture were the marks he had left on your plush, velvety skin. Red and angry spots that he sucked onto your flesh adorned the beauty of your frame, ultimately making you his own. “Aren’t you a little too confident?”

“I think I’m confident just enough,” you grinned playfully, smoothing over his hands, one staying on top of his palm on your breast and the other reaching up his arm to touch more of him. There was always a hunger lingering inside of you, you were never completely satiated and even if your body was utterly exhausted, you were always happy to take more. Sukuna made you feel ecstatic, like you were really his only one and though it was an illusion that you chose to believe in, it felt good to imagine yourself as his only care.

“And why would I miss you, huh? Aren’t you only a plaything for me?” The question he asked was meant to sound venomous but the sound of his voice betrayed the lighthearted intention. “Do you think I’ll blink twice when discarding you when I get bored of what you can give me?”

“I don’t think you’ll hesitate,” a chuckle once again shook your chest gently as you watched how Sukuna gently pulled your legs up from underneath him and brought one of your ankles to his face. The kisses he smeared along your shin were delicate, completely contrasting with the threatful impression that he was trying to make. He was worshipping you so openly, it made you blush every time. “But even though I know you wouldn’t think twice before killing me, I also think you’d miss me afterwards.”

Once the tender caresses finished, your calves landed on top of his shoulders as he leaned forward, squeezing a breathy moan out of you as he pushed his length into you to the very base of it, sliding on enough spit that it made the entrance easy. Ryomen learned your body through and through, he knew you can take it, he knew you’re always ready and eager to take him. Even if it’s early, even if it hurts. No matter when and where, if he told you to sit on his dick in the middle of a grocery store, you’d probably do just that and ask no questions. And yet, he knew where the boundaries are. Not once he pushed you when you were feeling bad. Not once he used you when you were not ready. The knowledge he now had about you came from observation.

“I think I would miss you,” he purred, his lips so close that they brushed against yours as he spoke. He’s got you in a mating press, filled to the brim with his bricked-up manhood and completely at his mercy. “You are addicting.”

“So keep me safe,” you whispered, cupping his face and chasing the kiss he was yet to give you. The request caught him slightly off guard. The pleading undertone made his heart clench; a feeling that he’s gone without for a decade at least and though he hated the odd sensation in his chest, he also couldn’t deny the warmth that spread throughout his body.

“You are safe with me,” the reassuring lie he followed with a heavy press onto your lips, sealing his words with his own tongue and silently promising you his protection. A vow that he wished to keep and yet, feared he won’t be able to. But now, it wasn’t important. Now you were here, in his bed, on his dick. Now there was just you and him.

Your dainty fingers found their place in his hair as he began thrusting into you. The new slick that combined with the remnants of the night made his movements easy as he dragged his hips back almost all the way out and then pushed back to the point of his pelvis clashing with the back of your thighs and your ass. The pace he set wasn’t fast. It wasn’t anything of what he’d most often pick, there was no violence intertwined into the melody of his hips. That morning it was sensual, it was deep and just rapid enough to stimulate every sweet spot inside of you. Stroke after stroke he was driving you crazy, he just barely started and already you felt yourself dripping. The filthy, wet sounds filled in the early aura and the muffled moans and whimpers accompanied them.

Sukuna allowed your legs to fall lower from where they were pressed against your chest and you hooked them around his hips. The newly earned access to his neck and shoulders you immediately used by allowing your hands to wander in the area, scratching his skin just to force a low purr from his throat. Every sound he made, you swallowed greedily as the kiss continued. Your tongues were dancing to the fiery rhythm of intimacy.

The coil in your stomach tightened all too quickly, you wished it to give you more time to enjoy what he was willing to give you but no matter how much you wanted your body to calm down, he made it absolutely impossible to achieve. Your veins were running with pure ecstasy and lust, the heated flurry that now was your brain was focused only on him, on the rhythm of his hips, on every sweet little lie that he whispered to you. Ryomen knew how to make you weak, he knew just how to angle his body to hit that one spot, the most sensitive one and you could feel him grinning against your lips. He knew you were close. The delicious squeezes that your cunt did on his girth were enough of a hint to notice and it gave him a sense of pride to be able to make you come undone so easily.

“Just few moments more,” he murmured and you nodded eagerly. Tears prickled in your eyes, gathering along your lash lines like crystals that he wished to kiss away, but was now too engulfed in the taste of your lips to part. His movements got quicker, just a little heavier as he began slamming into you with more force than at the beginning. Mornings tend to rid Sukuna from the ability to last – the ones that he spends with you in his arms, with your naked body pressed against his, unknowingly shifting against his dick for hours. That makes him unable to keep his composure for too long. Sometimes he feels like you strip him of all qualities that he once prided himself in, leaving him bare only to your eyes, with only the most primal needs exposed and he felt good with that kind of freedom.

“…don’t stop, oh god, ‘kuna~”, you were whimpering, arching your back underneath him and squeezing your little hands over his shoulders. “I can’t, I—”

“Oh, you can. Do your best,” Sukuna chuckled, teasing you with such impossible tasks. Your head fell back, your thighs were trembling against his sides and he could tell he’s losing you. You were far too deep in the realm of desire to hear his words; all of your world now came down to what you felt, to how you felt him and Sukuna loved your blissed out state. He loved the way he was the one to push you so far over the edge that you wouldn’t notice if the world was ending. But what he loved above that, was how you were gripping onto him; holding him tightly, pulling him closer as if you never wanted him to move away, as if he was everything you needed. And he was.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered against your throat, painting the skin over there with wet trails of kisses and new, red marks – the ones gentle enough to fade in a matter of hours. You moaned something incoherent. “Cum for me,” he allowed, not even sure if you’re registering his words. It had to be unconscious; the way your brain caught his voice between the blurry lines of everything else.

Your climax hit you like a rock; his name was slipping over your tongue continuously, so sweet and breathless that Sukuna was once again reassured that he never wants to hear anyone else calling him. Your walls were squeezing his throbbing length, he twitched and flexed inside you, groaning with satisfaction and before he allowed himself to come, he pushed himself up. As he sat on his heels, he pulled you with him; your body now on top of him and he used his hands to guide your hips up and down his dick. You wrapped yourself around him, finding a safe space for your face right where his neck connects with his muscular shoulder and all he needed to feel the bliss was the sensation of your teeth sinking into his skin.

White seed painted your insides as he shot it as deeply as he could reach with you on top of him. Few more moves, few more groans and you could feel him relax. His strong arms snaked around your waist as he shifted slightly to lean against the headboard, straightening his legs in front of him. You stayed pressed against his chest, catching your breath and feeling the tension leaving your body as the morning went by. And as Sukuna held you so close to his heart, he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that it felt so right and that made the question bloom inside his brain. Was it still strictly physical? Was it ever only about sex?

» PART FOUR

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sea-lanterns · 6 months

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SAW

synopsis: (slasher! AU) as a devoted follower, you would do anything to please your master.

featuring: arlecchino (columbina mentioned at the end)

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, mentions of death, death traps, brief mentions of child traffi.cking, sadism, master x follower dynamic, praise, pet names (she calls you doll, babydoll, etc.) mockery, lap se.x, thigh riding, strap on, biting, hickies, rough se.x, spa.nking, manhandling, mentions of th.ree.some, implied th.ree.some at the end.

art credits: junji ito's "house of marionettes"

Fastening on the metal bear trap onto an unconscious victim’s head, you hummed an eerie tune to yourself knowing your beloved master was watching you from above. It didn’t matter that you were currently sitting in a padlocked room with a man about to die right in front of you, you just wanted to please your master by any means necessary. Even if it meant killing all these people by sending them into death traps.

You tightened a certain screw on the trap before smiling to yourself and leaning back. The man in front of you was no innocent man, he was a criminal, a monster, and he deserved this fate whether he liked it or not, causing you to smile in sadistic pleasure for the upcoming end of his life.

“Tight as a button.” You hum to yourself, looking up at the security camera located in the far right corner of the room. You knew your beloved master was watching, and you couldn’t help but give it a little wave to show that you had completed the task she assigned you. “I did it…” You exclaim softly, smiling at the flashing red light on the camera. “I’m gonna head up now, okay?”

You stood up and paid no mind to the unconscious man you just doomed to suffer a fate worse than death. Humming all too nonchalantly before leaving the room and locking it shut, ensnaring the man to leave him dead before making your way down the hall with a skip in your step. Various screams of terror and pain rang out from the other death traps as you made your way over to a secret door. The sounds of torture like a song to your ears while you pushed the passcode buttons to unlock a passage to a room.

“What an awful melody…” you murmured to yourself, glancing back at the trap rooms to listen to one more scream of terror. “It’s beautiful.”

The door to the secret passageway popped open and you moved inside with ease, your body slipping through as you maneuvered through the narrow hallways of the abandoned building. “Abandoned” as it appeared to the public, people unaware of the multiple deaths coinciding within its walls for the police have failed to track down the mastermind behind these deaths.

The mastermind to which you served and dedicated your entire life to.

Navigating your way towards another hidden door, you pushed it open to see a tall woman sitting idly in front of a bunch of security cameras, her lean figure illuminated by the many monitors and making her seem like a god of some sort. A pleasant shiver runs down your spine when you see her, and you immediately take a bow and keep your head down low.

“Master, the player in room 14 is ready to begin his game.” You say with grace, glancing up at the taller woman in hopes of pleasing her. The woman doesn’t move for a moment, but her chair creaks slightly as she slowly turns around to face you. There she was. Your savior, your master, your goddess. The one behind the torture games, the mastermind behind all the killings…

Arlecchino, the Jigsaw killer.

“Come, sit.” She says calmly, staring at you with those X-shaped pupils of hers that had you pressing your thighs together. “On my lap, come on sweet girl…”

She points down at her legs and you immediately walk over to plant yourself on her lap. Arlecchino wrapped her clawed hands around your waist before leaning forward to take a deep inhale of the scent in your hair. “Did my doll tighten the trap like I asked…?” She whispers into your ear, exhaling with a small groan as she squeezed your hips tighter with her hands.

“I did. I followed everything you taught me to, master,” you say obediently, looking up at her with the brightest of smiles. “Did I do good? Are you proud of me?” If you had a tail it would for sure be wagging…

Arlecchino chuckled huskily before leaning down to kiss your neck. “You did wonderful, pet…” she says in a dark tone, running one of her nails over the bare expanse of your neck. “The drug should be wearing off soon. Would you like to watch his game with me?” She asks in a polite tone, almost mocking with the way she smiled at you so tenderly.

“Am I allowed to?” You ask softly, staring up at her with wide, doe-like eyes. Arlecchino groaned at the sight and had to keep herself from just shoving you onto her desk and fucking you raw right there, but she had enough restraint and took a deep breath.

“Do you have to be cute, my doll?” Arlecchino husks, staring up at you with those crimson eyes of hers. “You make it impossible not to devour you…”

Your cheeks flushed at the compliment and you couldn’t help but glance away shyly. “Sorry, master…” you say softly, causing Arlecchino to scoff before smiling. “Don’t apologize, I was merely teasing…”

She pinches your cheek with her fingers before tilting your chin over to look at the monitor in front of you. “Let’s watch his prolonged suffering together, my pet. It looks like he’s starting to awaken…”

Adjusting comfortably on Arlecchino’s lap, she kept a firm hold on your waist before watching the man in the room start to awaken. He looked dazed, clearly confused why he woke up in a green-tiled room with a metal contraption stuck to his neck. He had no idea that he was about to die if he didn’t meet the requirements for Arlecchino’s game, and the thought slightly amused you as you watched him groggily stumble around the room in delusion.

The metal contraption attached to the man’s neck was Arlecchino’s infamous “bear trap.” A simple, yet deadly death trap designed to enclose multiple spikes into a person’s head if they did not complete the challenge on time. It was one of Arlecchino’s favorite traps, as it was a trap designed to kill instantly, yet instill tremendous amounts of fear into the person, as the idea of being Iron Maiden-ed in the face was too scary not to think about…

“Ah…perhaps it’s time we give him a call,” Arlecchino hums, giving your cheek a sensual kiss. “Don’t forget your mask, my pet. The adorable marionette one that makes you look simply stunning…”

You nod obediently and grab the porcelain mask on the table, Arlecchino grabbing her own rubber mask that mimicked a slack-jaw puppet. It was so kind of your master to make you a mask of your own, one that was the perfect complementary pair to match hers so that it looked like you were a couple.

You were, but it was hidden under the facade of a master and follower cover.

“Let’s give him a wake up call, shall we?” Arlecchino grins, turning on the camera and setting up the voice distorter. When the man looks up at the TV in the room, he sees two masked people, you and Arlecchino staring back at him with the creepy and unsettling puppet masks that sent shivers down his spine. It was unsettling with the way you two presented yourselves, and he immediately began shouting at the screen for answers.

“Quiet down, will you?” Arlecchino’s voice ran through the mic, gripping your waist tighter before covering your ears. “You are disturbing my precious doll with your foul words…”

The man refuses to shut up, causing Arlecchino to glare at him through the holes of her mask. She pushes a certain button and the wires of the bear trap suddenly inch closer to the man’s face, causing him to scream.

“That’s better.” She smiles sadistically, removing her hands from your ears so you could hear. “As I was saying before you rudely interrupted me with your incompetence…”

She begins explaining the rules of the “game” giving the man a chance to escape before the inevitable closure of his death.

“You were put in this room for becoming involved in a child trafficking ring. To escape, you must find the key to the exit behind one of the tiles in this room. You have ten minutes to complete this task, failure to finish it before the intended time limit will result in the bear trap around your neck closing.”

The man’s eyes widened and you had to keep yourself from chuckling out loud.

“Your time begins now.”

Arlecchino then clicked off the camera and pulled off her mask, watching as the man began scrambling to search for all the tiles. There had to be at least a thousand tiles in that room, as every square inch of the walls and floor were covered in small, marble tiles. Ten minutes was being generous, but even within that extended time limit, you knew it was almost impossible to find the key as each tile was carefully adjusted to look normal and not out of place.

“So, what should we do while we wait for his ten minutes to be up?” Arlecchino hums, pushing her nose against your neck. She seemed to be implying she wants something intimate with you, but being the obedient follower that you are, you looked up innocently and tilted your head.

“What does master want to do?” You ask in a gentle tone, Arlecchino smirking with the most intimidating gaze.

“I want to do something sinful, my dear…” she says in a gravelly tone, practically growling into your ear before tugging at your pants. “Indulge in your master, will you?”

Another scream rips through the monitor and you couldn’t help but grow a little wet at the way Arlecchino was keen on fucking you in the middle of a game. She slowly moved her hand up your thigh and you could feel just how sharp and strong her fingers were as they squeezed the ball of flesh above your jeans. The way she could so easily kill you had you on a rush, and Arlecchino groaned at the way you started to warm up against her lap with how wet you were.

“Doll, you’re just begging for me to touch you, hmm?” She chuckles into your ear. “Need my cock in you that bad, huh? You’re lucky I decided to wear it today…”

Her hand moves down to unzip her trousers, revealing a thick strap on that you knew you could take easily with some prep. “You…You were wearing that the whole time?” You exclaim with surprise, a surge of heat pulsing through your core. “I was sitting on it the whole time…?”

She throws her head back to laugh at your stupidity. It was so endearing with how innocent you were when it came to these sorts of things. “I’m surprised you didn’t feel it,” she chuckles through her amusement. “It’s a girthy thing, almost too big if I do say so myself.”

“It’s not big…!” You quickly retort back, pouting at your master before holding onto her shoulders. “I can take it. I can take it all.”

“I don’t doubt it one bit, sweet girl,” Arlecchino grins amusedly. “However, you do need quite a bit of prep work to take such a stretch. Fortunately, you’re already semi-wet, but…” She gives you a wolfish grin before toying with the belt loop of your jeans. “I’ll need that cunt of yours dripping more if you’re gonna take me now…”

You let out a small groan before unzipping your jeans to begin kicking them off, the eagerness of getting her strap inside you too obvious not to notice, as Arlecchino found it difficult to keep a straight face. “Easy there, dollface…” Arlecchino purrs lightly, squeezing your cheeks together with her hand so your lips form a small pout. “I’m in no rush, and neither should you.”

You let out a small noise of complaint at this, before obeying her words and going at a much more leisurely pace. Once your pants and underwear were off, you sat back down on Arlecchino’s lap and whimpered at the feeling of her rough trousers against your aching hole.

“Mmm…quite a delicious sight already…” Arlecchino husks, wrapping her arms around your waist once more. “But not quite wet enough. I think it’s best if you grind against my thigh for a bit, hm?”

She stares up at you with that incredibly intimidating —yet sexy— look, rows of sharpened teeth glimmering at you under the lamplight air of the room. You had no idea how such a hot woman would be the face behind the infamous Jigsaw killer, but you weren’t complaining. She was yours and you were hers.

“Yes, master.” You respond in a soft tone, beginning to shift your hips so that you could start grinding against her pants, panting slightly from how stimulated you already were from her dirty talk.

Arlecchino chuckles and leans back, relaxing in her chair as she watches you grind and ride her thighs with resolve. The sight of you trying so desperately to appease her was such a turn on, and for a moment she forgot that she was currently overseeing a man’s death just rooms away from where you two were sitting. “That’s my good girl…” Arlecchino murmurs, unable to contain her groans as she fixes the shaft of her strap so it sits upright. “Just a little more and you can ride me silly.”

At her encouragement, you only grind harder, whimpering at the pleasurable feeling of her trousers providing friction to your already sensitive clit. There was a pulsing sensation that you could not deny, and as you kept grinding your hips on her leg, you felt yourself growing more wet.

“Goodness…you soaked a spot right on me,” your master smirks almost predatorily, “I think you’re ready to take me, sweet girl…”

As an extra precaution, Arlecchino grabs a bottle of lube from the corner of the table and squeezes a helping of it onto the impressive girth of her cock. The clear liquid drips down her shaft slowly, and Arlecchino gives the length a few shallow pumps before angling it so you could move.

“Come on, just like we practiced.” Arlecchino hums, thumbing the tip of the shaft before watching you hover over the head with a bit of hesitance. “I’ll go slow, don’t worry…”

You grip the edge of her shoulders before slowly sinking down onto the head of her cock, the wide tip slowly spearing you open before you whimper and start to feel resistance.

“Ugh…fuck…” Arlecchino grit her teeth and had to resist the primal urge to slam you down and start thrusting into you. She knew she promised you to be gentle and wanted to keep her promise no matter how tempting it may be to break.

“Easy there, easy…” she grunts and slowly eases her hips to help you adjust, watching as you slowly inch down bit by bit. “Master…” you whimper out softly, biting your lip before taking a deep breath. “I think I need more lube…”

“No, you’re fine. This is enough.” Arlecchino groans, shifting your hips with her hands before kissing your neck reassuringly. “Just need to find the right…angle…”

You let out a yelp when you suddenly sink down all the way, your hips meeting hers as all of her shaft had somehow fit into you with one swift motion.

God you severely underestimated the size. It didn’t look that long, and it wasn’t. But oh lord was it thick. The girth of it enough to stretch you wide open and have you squirming in her lap to adjust, letting out pathetic whimpers as you’ve never felt so stretched open before.

“M-Master…” you gasp, the breath knocked out of your lungs as you feel Arlecchino’s teeth graze your neck. “Too big…”

“What?” Arlecchino practically laughs sadistically in your face, X-shaped pupils almost glowing with amusement. “Didn’t you say you could take it all? That it wasn’t too big?”

You whimpered when you were reminded of your confident words.

“It’s not too big, babydoll. You said it yourself.” A sudden shift in her tone had you fearful for a moment as you suddenly felt a sharp thrust pulsate against your inner walls.

“Ah—!” You start to let out breathless pants and gasps when Arlecchino begins to thrust madly.

“You were so confident earlier, what happened to wanting to take it all immediately?” She mocks, grinning with pleasure as you writhe in her grip. If there was one thing you learned while working under Arlecchino, it was that the woman was a lot stronger than she looked under that lean muscle. Practically pinning you down until you couldn’t move, before making you bounce up and down her lap till the tip of her cock was all you could feel.

“Don’t tell me my doll is defying orders now.” Arlecchino growls, slamming you back down until your pussy practically wraps itself around her length, gripping it for all that it was worth, while you lolled your head back in absolute bliss. “N-Nngh…master…” you moaned out pathetically, the stretch burning you wonderfully while you cling to Arlecchino for sanity. “Slower…please…”

Arlecchino scoffs at that and gives your rear a tiny spank, laughing at the way you recoiled in surprise.

“Slower? You want me to go slower?” She was mocking you again, the sadism evident in her voice. “Babydoll, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

She spanks your read once more and bites your neck rather aggressively, a dark hickey beginning to form at the base while she continues ramming her girth into your cunt. The way you were holding onto her so tightly —and pathetically— gave Arlecchino a power strike of ecstasy, the woman animalistic with her ruts as she digs her claws even further against your ass.

“You’re dripping so much, my sweet girl,” she groans into your throat, “Such a mess, I’ll need you to clean everything up for me later, right?”

She sneers at the way you whine at her words before shaking your head in obedience.

“Yes, master!”

“Good fucking girl.”

She suddenly lifts you up and places you on her desk, the bright blue monitors illuminating your body like a heavenly light while Arlecchino thrusts more brutally into your flesh. Rough hands prying your legs further apart as she pushes you down to deliver a passionate kiss. With one final push, you feel your body twitch before a squeal leaves your lips and cum drips down your thighs, your climax reaching a beautiful finale, as the monitor above you plays the sound of the man screaming to death in his room. The trap had closed around his head and ensnared his head in a casket of spikes, leaving him to bleed out in the tiled room of door 14.

“Hah…hah…looks like he didn’t make it.” Arlecchino pants, grinning all too wildly before kissing your neck affectionately. “Good girl. I knew I could count on you…”

As she nuzzles your neck with her face, you hear the door behind her suddenly creak open before gentle humming fills the room. Arlecchino turns back to see who had entered, before smiling at the sight of the other person.

“My, my, I see you’ve had your fun with her already.” Came a familiar, feminine voice. You looked up to see a shorter woman wearing a pig mask shutting the door, lithe hands reaching up to pull off the atrocious mask, and revealing a petite, yet beautiful woman you recognized as Columbina. One of Arlecchino’s most dutiful proxies.

“Goodness, she’s certainly soaked your pants, Arlecchino.” Columbina tuts with faux astonishment. “I can’t believe you two started without me.”

“You were taking too long,” Arlecchino chuckles back, caressing your cheek with a clawed nail. “You should’ve been faster.”

“Ah, I was too busy setting up the victims for the next few games,” the pigheaded woman sighs, strutting over to pinch your cheek playfully. “Looks like this little one will have to make it up to me now…”

You instinctively melted under Columbina’s touch, nuzzling your face into the soft, sweet palm of her hand. She cooes affectionately at the sight, before giving your head a little puppy-like pat. “Good girl…”

“She is, isn’t she?” Arlecchino grins, picking you up once more to sit on her lap while she rests on her chair. “I think this sweet thing can spare us one more round. For Columbina’s sake, right?” She lifts your chin with a finger, staring at you as if almost daring you to say no.

“Of course, master…” you say obediently, arousal starting to drip down your thighs once more at the possibility of a threesome.

“Atta girl…” Columbina giggles, pressing up behind you and kissing the back of your ear. “Just the perfect doll for us to share…”

You only bucked back your hips at that, ready to give whatever these two women wanted from you.

#arlecchino smut #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #slasher au #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin women smut #genshin women x reader #genshin imagines

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uvuyai · 2 months

Text

ძᥲᥡ 2 ~ һᥙmіᥣіᥲ𝗍і᥆ᥒ + 𝗍ᥡіᥒg ᥙ⍴ [EVENT]

Yandere! Blade x FEM! Reader

–genre. Smut, nsfw

–tw. Blood, skin carving, humiliation, skin writing, non-con, creampie, sadist!blade, spanking, porn with plot(maybe), size difference, stomach bulge, choking, overstimulation, possessive behaviors, blade is called ren, mentions of the hard R in the beginning, neglect, degradation, reader is blades reincarnated lover, prone bone, MINORS DNI, non consensual touching, nipple play, SW and Kafka is helping blade, headlocking, dub-con, blood,

–synopsis. You've been kidnapped by the swordsman of the Stellaron Hunters and brought to their headquarters. It's Valentine's Day and he planned something special.

Mari/yai's message – just know i was very uncomfortable with writing this. I've been drawing lately so it's been a while.

You were tied up in the basement of the Stellaron Hunters headquarters. You were just walking down the streets of luofu till you were grabbed into an alleyway and a cloth covering your mouth and then you inhaled chloroform, passing out into the person's(or thing) arm. When your captor brought you back to where they lived, they introduced themselves as Blade but he told you to call him ren.

Blade. As in the wanted criminal and part of the Stellaron Hunters?

After a while he got tired of your useless attempts at escaping (mostly snitched on by Kafka or Silverwolf by telling blade you escaped.), and then forcefully forced himself onto you. After that he left you.

He would come back occasionally if Kafka told him so if he didn't want you to die. He would bring you clothes and food to keep you alive and helped you take care of your hygiene. You didn't eat in front of him and just pretend to be asleep most of the time in the corner of the mattress.

You tried talking to him but couldn't since your stuttering held you back and you couldn't make eye contact with him since he fiery red eyes would stare into your soul, stunning it immediately.

He brought you stuff like a note book to draw or use it as a diary. Since you barely could get your words out, you wrote ‘Why did you kidnap me?’ on a page. He only muttered the word “Lover” and left it at that.

Well today was Valentine's day as you'd know by the calendar beside your bed. You still didn't love him or let yourself develop Stockholm Syndrome. If you could tell, he hated it.

You behaved well for the days, months, or even years he captured you. He let you out of your ropes and lets you walk around the basement. Various furniture was added like a desk that faced a window(that was very hard to break), a bed set, and a built in shower.

Silver Wolf gave the glory to Blade that he can have one of her old games but he decided to give it to you so you wouldn't be as bored when he went.

Kafka came down and called out for you. You raised your head from your pillow and looked at her with sleepy doe eyes. “C'mon dearie, Blade will be home soon and he has something planned for you.” she grabbed your forearm and dragged you to the bathroom and ran you a bath as if you were her child. She helped you shave your legs(and everywhere else including pubic) and did your hair into something simple. She gave you pink Valentine's Day themed lingerie undergarments to put underneath the white lace night gown.

You wished you knew why Blade suggested Kafka to give you this. The clothes fit you nicely. Your mind was all over the place as you thought about how Blade got the correct measurements of your bra and panties.

Kafka led you out of the bathroom and back to your bed and went back up stairs and came back down with a low black gift box. She skied the top off the box to reveal red ribbons. The box was branded so it must've been from a sex store or somewhere that was expensive. You thought it was for your hair otherwise it's weird to come in a box like that.

Kafka placed her hands behind her back and closed her eyes and let out a pitiful sigh. “I'm sorry, dear.” Before you could turn around something rough and hard hit the back of your head. It put you to sleep on impact.

She dragged your body to your bed and threw you on your bed, grabbing the ribbon and tied it tightly around your legs and wrist. The extras went around your waist and torso. You were truly a beautiful doll. She wrapped soft cloth around your mouth and eyes. Just breathe through

She left the room and as if on cue, Blade stepped through the door. In his deep voice, he spoke. “Did you do what I asked?” Kafka nodded her head and gave off her signature smile. “I did but I had to neutralize her because she was struggling too much for my comfort.” she was obviously lying. He could obviously tell too.

He stepped his way to the basement where you were. He heard distant whimpering and sobs which were coming from you. He reached you and noticed your squirming. Your breath hitched as you heard boots stepping your way. The ribbons were hurting way too much to even ignore for a bit.

“Hey waterlily, It's really disappointing how you didn't behave for her.” he breathed. “You should be punished for that. I see she did most of the work.” you heard something slam on the nightstand next to your bed.

He hooked his finger underneath the blindfold to reveal your doe stricken eyes.

His lips lifted into a smirk while he trailed his bandaged fingers from your face to your collarbone. He noticed your squirming got more vapid. You shook your head as you didn't want him to continue.

His hand ripped the strap that was holding the gown, revealing your covered breast. Your face felt as if it was burning from embarrassment. He pushed you onto your back and got on top of you. Your muffled protests became unheard as he grabbed scissors and cut the straps from your bra, removing it, and revealing your tits.

“You look like a slut... Begging for someone's attention.” he laughed. “That someone's attention you want is me.” he dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a knife and a permanent marker.

He slid the knife down your torso, the force was enough for it to draw blood. He leaned down and lapped at the blood while maintaining eye contact with you. Tears ran down your face and dried ones were replaced.

He fully discarded your dress and panties and threw them somewhere on the bed or ground. He used his gloved hand to finger you. Your slick immediately gathering on his hand. “Has all this fear got to you? I would've mistaken you for being a masochist, y'know.”

He unbuckled his pants and slid down his boxers that revealed his large, thick throbbing dick. It was flushed red at the tip and a white bead of precum was drooling from the slit. He thrusted two fingers into your cunt. He wanted to prep you since it's been a while since he had done anything with you. The stimulation was overwhelming. You desperately tried to kick him away but he grabbed your waist and replaced his finger with his dick rubbing against your pussy. Your juices covered the downside of his dick.

He leaned back to position his dick between your pussy lips. He thrusted up into your pussy, hitting your spongy spot on impact. A little blood covered his dick as well. A bulge would pop up with each thrust of his hips. Your scream was muffled and you leaned your head back on the pillow. You were biting at the cloth that was covering your mouth. It was covered in your saliva as well.

Blade hooked a finger underneath the cloth and pulled it down. Your breathing was harsh in a way that if it was cold, air would come from your mouth. As his thrusts started to pick up and your juices webbed his whole dick, he picked the knife back up and started to engrave a letter below your tits. The letter was his initial, the letter ‘B’. The icy hot pain was all over your body(it wasn't but it felt like it but mainly between your thighs), Blade licked the blood up, enjoying the metallic iron taste from it. His dick landed painful hits to your cervix, making you grimace at the feeling.

During that, yelps, whines, and moans were heard through the basement. If you were loud enough, Kafka and Silver Wolf would hear.

His thrust got more erratic. His thrusts were sure that by the time he finished your pussy would be gapping open and molded into the shape of his cock. You tried to cover your moans by turning your head to the side and trying to muffle them as much as possible. Blade was quick to grab your face, squishing your cheeks together as he got up in your face while looking at your unfocused eyes filled with tears. He trailed his eyes down back to where he drew the letter below your tits.

He slowly itched a small cross(which was a plus sign,) and after a while, he carved your first name initials after. It looked like those cheesy trends where it shows what initials are meant to be for example; B + Y. He did all of this while keeping his thrusts while you squirted your juices onto his lower abdomen and cock. He grabbed the permanent marker and drew a small heart around the heart.

He grabbed you by the shoulders and squished you against his chest. He rocked his hips back and forth and wrapped his arm around your waist to keep you steady. “You are such a slut. Nothing but my cum dump.” The cold permanent marker touched your skin, sending shivers down your spine and to your core. He wrote a few words like “CUMDUMP”, ”SLUT”, and “Blades/ren's property” on your back. He placed a few humiliating words on your collarbone so anyone could see it and also remind him what you are to him.

You pussy clenched around his dick, signaling your. “You wanna cum, yeah? Then cum. Cum for me.” he said between grunts. Your string of moans and mewls of being overstimulated, he released his cum inside you. Your stomach was slightly bloated and thick, sticky cum leaked out of your cunt and onto the bedsheets(it had little bubbles in them and stuck together like a spider web).

Blade was quick to flip you onto your stomach with your ass in the air. He grabbed the knife and released your wrist from the ropes binding them together. Your wrists were finally able to breathe. His rough hands grab at your wrist, pulling them to make you arch your back further.

He angled his cock back at your entrance, pushing his hips forward and his cum and your juices acting together as a secondary lube. The movement of his hips grew faster as time passed.

He leaned down to where his chest was touching your back. He resumed his torcher and thrust into you so hard he could break into your cervix and split you apart. His hand snaked up to your neck, squeezing it slightly so it wasn't hard enough to stop your breath. He used it to angle your head so he could kiss you. You moaned into his mouth and drooled all over his tongue.

His thrust started to get sloppy and he felt your breath get harsher from you breathing through your mouth. He wrapped both of his thick bulging arms around your neck, placing you in a loose headlock. A hand slipped down and tugged at your nipple. You released the kiss as you tried to get your breath back by sticking your tongue out. He placed a loud smack on your ass which made you come on his dick, stunning you.

He came inside you for the second time. You don't know how long he'll be doing this for as you feel his dick hardened inside you.

;(

#𓆩ri.𓆪 #✉️.txt #[ ♪o(〃＾▽＾〃)o♪ ]#✎ suggestive 𓆪 #𓆩!smutty.𓆪 #✎ yandere #𓆩ri.txt📝𓆪 #yandere x reader #yandere smut #blade x reader #blade smut #blade x reader smut #honkai blade x reader #yandere blade #yandere blade x reader #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #✎ characters from other clubs #[ .nsfw ]

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ddarker-dreams · 5 months

Text

Golden Girl.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: The psychological damage inflicted from Gojo Satoru's presence, canon-typical violence, Gojo and Geto are both kinda questionable in their own ways. Word count: 16k.

-Index-

April 1st, 2005.

8:02 a.m.

You don’t get it.

This campus is huge. Unbelievably so. If someone said you’d waltzed into the Imperial Palace, you’d believe them, and not just because you’re gullible. Although, that’d certainly play a significant role.

Your suspicions strengthen after you walk over the third arched bridge. That’s an arched bridge too far. No school can have this many fancy-looking bridges, the schools back home are practically held together by chewed pieces of gum and scotch tape. Your jetlagged brain combs through the whirlwind you’ve endured in the past few hours. Did you give the wrong address to the taxi driver back at the airport?

He did look confused, but you hadn’t given it much thought then.

You go as still as a statue.

… What if this is the Imperial Palace? If that’s the case, you’re definitely trespassing, right?

How do you explain that to any guards that might happen by? You can envision the headlines now — Foreigner Extradited for Trespassing, Sentenced to Life, No Chance at Parole. All those hours you spent working on your student visa would be for nothing! And you’d be in prison, which is a bummer, because you’re not rich enough to weasel out of the criminal justice system.

You’ll have to join a prison gang, there’s no way around it. Would they let a fourteen-year-old in? In the event they don’t, you could always form one yourself. Leadership’s never been your thing, but it beats—

“Hey there,” a feminine voice calls out. “You lost?”

You whip your head around to the sound’s source. Instead of seeing an intimidating guard ready to haul you off, there’s a girl about your age. She has brunette hair styled in a bob, a beauty mark beneath her left eye, and an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips.

Unless the Emperor is issuing major budget cuts, this can’t be a guard.

You consider her uniform. The high collar, sheer tights, long sleeves, and brown shoes match yours, but the skirt’s different. Yours flares out and cuts off right above your knees. This minor discrepancy makes you wonder if you’re breaking the dress code on your first day. You push the concern aside for future you to deal with.

“That obvious, huh?” You laugh.

“Just a bit.”

She introduces herself as Ieiri Shoko, a first-year student like yourself. You respond in kind, offering up your own name and grade. It’s a relief to know you won’t be arrested or wandering this complex for an eternity. She walks by you and turns on her heel, tilting her head.

“Gonna come with?”

You nod and happily fall into step beside her. She doesn’t seem to be in a rush, not that you mind. It gives you time to admire the idyllic scenery around each turn. There are lush green forests, gardens, and more traditional buildings than you can count. The only detail you find odd is how empty the area is. Besides Ieiri, there isn’t a soul to be found.

“Ieiri-san, is today a holiday by any chance?”

“Just Shoko’s fine,” she says, feeling around her various pockets. “And I don’t think so. Why? Too quiet?”

“It’s almost like a ghost town.”

Shoko smiles. “Enjoy the quiet while you can.”

Well, that’s a bit ominous, but you’ve yet to meet anyone in the jujutsu world who is 100% normal. You think it might be an unspoken requirement at this point.

Shoko gives up on whatever she was searching for — a lighter, if you had to guess — and tucks the cigarette away. This reinforces your theory that those involved with jujutsu have one quirk at the bare minimum. By that logic, you must have some peculiar quirk of your own. Recalling your earlier Imperial Palace debacle, you realize it might be more than one…

“Oh, by the way. All our classes got canceled,” Shoko says.

You blink.

“On… the first day…?”

“Yeah. Something about a last-minute meeting,” she stretches her arms above her head and yawns. “I’m heading back to the dorms for a nap. I think yours is near mine, there are boxes with your name on them in the hallway.”

What a relief! There had been no word on the packages full of your personal belongings you shipped here ahead of time. The hellscape that is checked baggage had no bearing on you. Immensely pleased with this revelation, you set aside the urge to explore and accompany Shoko to where you’ll be living for the foreseeable future.

In keeping with the spirit of the rest of the school grounds, your room is spacious.

Shoko left you to your own devices. You can faintly discern her presence in the room beside yours, laying down as she said she would. You thought you’d want to do the same, but something about the crisp morning air sliced through your exhaustion. You’ll ride the high and crash later.

Adventure awaits — the exploration of the unknown, the sharpening of a faint, hazy image.

You’re back outside again. It’s amazing how, no matter where you are, you can feel the wind in your hair and the sun on your cheeks. This serves as a grounding reminder that you’re real. Reality and the ambiguous nature of jujutsu are often at odds with one other, fighting to occupy the same space. Each side spins a convincing speech about why you should give it credence while discounting the other.

Unlike a politician’s diatribe, there’s no changing the channel or turning down the volume. This invisible and perennial battle won’t ever gain total victory or retreat. There’s bound to be collateral, such is the nature of war. For some, it’s their life in a literal sense, for you, it’s sanity. Coherence. The incorrigible truth that two plus two equals four.

See, young kids aren’t given enough credit. They’re always watching, learning, and absorbing. They get the basic idea that two plus two equals four before they even know what numbers are. For instance, as a baby, you cry and writhe until your needs are met. There’s a framework. An adult in the vicinity plus wailing equals getting fed. Then later, it gets more complex. Not eating your vegetables plus getting mouthy equals timeout. So on and so forth.

You accrue this network of information that makes life navigable.

Then, while visiting some distant relative in the hospital, a massive hole gets blown into this previously steady network. Such was your experience.

Something strange sat atop the IV in the small, cramped hospital room. The adults exchanged well wishes for the man surrounded by beeping equipment and blinking screens. Everyone present focused on this man, except you. You observed this thing, about the size of a sparrow, that flitted to and fro. Whatever it was, it had too many eyes. Each rolled in a different direction, like a bowling ball that couldn’t stop spinning.

Eventually, a long yet thin appendage emerged from the unidentifiable creature. You stood petrified as it entered the man’s ear canal and sipped. The man groaned, beeps increased, and numbers flew high. It sipped harder. His screams grew louder. Everything got chaotic. People in white and blue entered the room. You heard words like ‘cardiac arrest’ and ‘defibrillation.’ Your parents dragged you away.

The creature continued to sip.

On the car ride home, you asked why no one stopped it. The creature plus its sipping equaled the man’s horrible pain. That’s what you figured, anyway. They asked for clarification. What creature? Where had it been? What did it look like? Since young kids are smarter than they’re given credit for, you recognized the tone that was directed toward you. Disbelief, but in a nice, adult way.

If you insisted on the creature’s existence, they grew worried. When you told your friends — who in turn, told their parents — their worry grew. If every drawing you scribbled tried to depict the creature’s likeness, their worry overflowed. You overheard words like ‘traumatic experience’ and ‘coping.’

So, you stopped mentioning it. This stopped the concerned murmurings you’d overhear. You tried really hard to believe what they said about nightmares and mean imaginary friends. This worked well enough until you noticed similar creatures everywhere. On the playground, bus, graveyards, and abandoned houses. They weren’t all the size of a sparrow either. Some were tiny enough to be mistaken for gnats. Others were huge and salivated large pools against the ground.

It was around this time that you developed a second shadow. A spinning golden ring that could fit in the palm of your hand followed you everywhere. No one else could see it, but unlike the creatures, this ring didn’t scare you. Just the opposite, in fact. You considered it a guardian angel.

If the gnats got too close, it’d slice through them.

When the huge, drooling ones reached out their mangled hand, it’d cut through their wrists.

Later on, you’d learn this ‘guardian angel’ was called a ‘cursed technique.’

Smiling, you descend a flight of stairs. From today onward, you’ll be surrounded by people who don’t discount the equation you spent your early years erasing. They’ll be around your age too! You already like Shoko, she’s pretty and has a calming presence. You wonder what the others in your class will be like. How many will there be? Twenty? Your social studies class topped out at thirty-four.

You hope you can befriend everyone.

The gears turning in your head grind to a halt upon noticing the view. Maybe it’s how the morning sun casts a soft glow upon the verdure, or maybe you’re just easily impressed. Whatever the case, the sight stokes awe inside you. Trees line both sides of the gravel path ahead, their canopies inclining as if leaning down to hear a whisper. Smudges of green streak through the air, accepting any destiny the wind bestows.

What an image, straight from the pages of a fairytale book!

You fish out your new phone, a hot pink Razr V3, recalling its camera feature. Even if the photograph isn’t award-winning, you want to preserve this moment.

You can’t explain it. This intuition isn’t rational, it doesn’t adhere to that ever so reliable two plus two. It transcends. The fall of a domino, a flap of a butterfly wing. Seemingly unrelated yet intimately interwoven by invisible lines.

Whether preordained or the consequence of chain reactions you’d have to trace since birth to understand, what happens next stains you its color. The soul grasps what logic dismisses. And right now, your soul says this moment in time and space should never be forgotten.

As for why, your soul suggests you uncover that for yourself.

Alas, you can’t actually stop time. Perception and reality don’t always agree. While it felt like everything came to a grinding halt, the wheels never stopped turning.

And so the powerful gust soaring from your right punches the air from your lungs.

Gritting your teeth, you dig your heels into the ground. The sheer force pushes you back some inches. Next comes a hail of debris. Chunks of soil, sediment, and splintered wood descend. Recognizing this threat, your mind yells at your body to move. Those earthly implements are soaring faster than a bullet. However, the baleful gale restricts precise movement. You’re nothing but a bag of flesh and viscera to the indifferent swell. It’ll send you tumbling the instant your feet lift off the ground.

Dodging isn’t an option.

Those rocks… your cursed technique could dice them up, but then you’d get pelted with shrapnel rather than stone.

Which is the better outcome? A body littered with numerous holes or a few craters?

Your arms fly up to protect your major organs. You’ll endure what you can.

Except, instead of enduring an onslaught, nothing happens. Nothing hurts, rips, or gets torn to shreds.

The wind hasn’t stopped, but it no longer touches you. You jump back, out of the line of impact. The debris parts like the Red Sea and grants you safe passage. From this vantage point, you’re a witness rather than an unwitting participant. The unrelenting force rages on. You gape at the path of destruction it’s left behind, indiscriminately swallowing trees, foliage, and the ground. It looks like a meteor surged in a straight line through the forest.

No matter what you’d chosen to do, if it weren’t for that abrupt opening, you would’ve died.

Heart thumping wildly, you snap your head toward the direction this miniature storm originated from. Was it a curse? If it is, then you’re hopelessly outclassed.

No, that doesn’t seem right, you think. You’re familiar with how it feels when a curse is nearby. Should it be close to your power level, it’s like getting splashed with frigid water. For curses above your abilities, that sensation gets amplified. It’s as if you’ve been plunged into the Arctic Ocean. Right now, you’re not experiencing either of those sensory nightmares.

A silhouette walks through the dusty haze that destructive force left behind.

“Whoops,” the person within says, “That was close.”

You run over, swatting the dust lingering in the air. Anyone close to that force could’ve gotten severely injured. Concern seeps into your being as the figure emerges.

“Are you okay?!”

The first thing you notice is a head of white hair. Next is this person’s height, you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. Eyes that were, for some reason, covered by circular sunglasses. There’s a sideways grin on his face, the absolute last expression you were expecting. From his uniform, you guess he’s a student like yourself. His most prominent feature isn’t anything visible. It’s the sheer aura he exudes, you’ve never experienced anything similar. There’s no hostility, but it’s intense.

You inhale shakily.

“Never better. You?”

He sounds chipper.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, giving yourself a once-over.

You pinch your eyebrows together while assessing your condition. The white-haired figure notices this and asks, “Ya sure? Nothing hit you, right?”

“That’s the weird thing, though,” you frown. “I should be covered in dust, but there’s not a single speck.”

His grin widens, like he’s in on some joke you aren’t. This plucks a cord of irritation within you. Narrowing your eyes, you take a step back. You focus on the cursed energy engulfing him, then compare it to residuals left behind by the force. The residuals in the path it carved out are too faint to properly discern. All you have implicating his involvement is a hunch.

You remember how the gust itself felt, though. The ferocity that had every nerve in your body ringing funeral bells.

Your eyes flit between the gaping maw and the sunglass-wearing stranger.

“Want a hint?” He asks. You don’t miss the teasing lilt in his voice.

“You caused that surge,” you deadpan.

“Close enough, I’ll give half credit. Next question! What stopped you from getting buried in layers of dust?”

You have no reason to play along, yet scampering off feels like you’d be conceding something. The competitive nature boiling in your blood refuses to admit defeat. Especially after he subjected you to that terror, without even apologizing! It’s the least he could do. What an inconsiderate jerk. You’ll knock him down from that high horse if it’s the last thing you do.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you consider the information you have to work with. Whatever he did had to involve his cursed technique. Did he apply a shield to you? It’s the most obvious answer, but that doesn’t explain everything. A shield would lessen the damage, not negate it entirely.

How did he pull that off…?

As you’re piecing this puzzle together, someone in the distance yells, “Satoru!” drawing out each syllable. The person before you winces but doesn’t lose his boyish smile. You sense another presence heading this way. After you turn around to face this new addition, two large hands settle on your shoulders from behind. You bristle and try shaking them off, but this weirdo doesn’t let go.

An older man with a severe expression stands atop the staircase. His uniform is pitch black, denoting a different status than a student, if you were to guess.

“One hour,” he huffs out, “One hour, I ask for you to sit still and behave. And what do I come back to? An entire tunnel running through the school grounds?”

“It was for good reason, sensei,” this ‘Satoru’ insists. He squeezes your shoulders. “[First] here mistook a bug for a curse and yelped, ‘Kya, there’s a curse!’ I, being the good samaritan I am, dispatched the threat with what I thought to be an appropriate amount of force at the time.”

You make a face. “Eh?”

“Huh?” Yaga must find this explanation as convincing as you do. His countenance filters through multiple emotions. Confusion, frustration, disbelief, and then, finally, exhaustion. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t come up with anything better than that?”

“I didn’t come up with anything! Tell him, [First]! Are you going to abandon your savior when he needs you most?”

Yaga turns his attention to you, pity evident in his eyes.

“Satoru did… sort of protect me from something… in a way?” You mumble.

Satoru’s fingers twitch when you speak his recently learned name.

Yaga sighs. “We’ll discuss this later, Satoru.”

And with that, the first teacher you’ve met walks away, shaking his head. His demeanor reminds you of a disappointed parent. Suddenly cognizant of the unwelcome contact on your body, you jerk your shoulders forward. This time, he releases you. You get the sense he could’ve easily held on if he wanted to.

“Man, you suck at lying,” Satoru whines.

“Me? What sort of cover story was that? If you ever become a defense attorney, your clients are screwed.”

He throws his arms behind his head and grins. “You gotta admit, the impression was solid.”

“That was the most egregious part!”

“I thought it was a nice touch.”

You roll your eyes. Before this back-and-forth drags on, there’s a specific detail that’s nagging at you.

“By the way, how do you know my name—”

“Suguru, how long are you gonna sit back and watch? Voyeurism is frowned upon, y’know,” he cuts you off mid-sentence.

Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets at his not-so-subtle implication. Thrown back into a weirded-out limbo, you start slinking off. Forget trying to understand how he knows your name despite never telling him. These are the types your parents warned you about, you need to flee! Hormonal high school boys should be sectioned off until they’re no longer threats to society. Nuclear warfare pales in comparison.

“She’ll never want to come near you again if you keep saying things like that.”

Another student calmly strides out from behind a nearby tree. You squint, ensuring this isn’t an illusion. How long has this guy been here? Why couldn’t you sense his presence? Especially when he’s been so close, just a few measly feet back. The black-haired addition gives you a closed-mouth smile. Similar to Satoru, he’s rather tall. You’ll need a neck massage from all this looking up.

“Geto Suguru. It’s nice to meet you,” Geto greets.

You introduce yourself as well.

“It’s your first day here, correct? How are you finding everything? Have any questions?”

“None that I can think of, but thank you! It’s been uneventful, up to a certain point.”

Satoru yawns obnoxiously loud, interrupting your exchange. “Look what you did, Suguru. She’s all prim and proper now. I might fall asleep.”

You shoot him a scathing look but bite your tongue.

“What? No need to hold back. Say whatever you want, I can take it,” he asserts, tilting his head enough for his sunglasses to slide down. Two pools of frosty blues bore through you. You freeze up at the sight. Snowy eyelashes, glittering, gemstone-like eyes, why would he ever hide them? You’ve never seen such a bewitching color.

He strikes like a serpent at the opening you’ve given him.

“All this staring’s gonna make me shy. You can take a picture, if you want. I don’t mind.”

Any spell you were under withers and dies.

“Actually, I was just thinking that you remind me of a celebrity,” you say.

Satoru preens, interpreting your words as a compliment. Before his ego inflates enough for him to float away, however, you give him a smug smile of your own.

“Ever heard of Sanrio’s Cinnamoroll? You two could be twins! It’s adorable.”

His shoulders droop and Suguru chuckles, the sound coming out muffled from behind his hand. You spin around, content, humming to yourself as you walk up the stairs. You block out whatever Satoru shouts in retaliation. His words go in one ear and out the other. Something tells you this is the best strategy for dealing with him.

So far, you’ve met three classmates, and that was enough to exhaust you thoroughly.

You wonder what everyone else is like.

Later that evening, Shoko explains it’s just you four in your class.

You finish chewing your takeout, swallow, and then reply, “Eh? Seriously? But this place is crazy big.”

“Not many folks can use jujutsu,” Shoko says. She picks a mushroom up with her chopsticks and places it in your container. “Four students is a high amount, all things considered.”

You plop the mushroom into your mouth. Savory flavors coat your tongue, warming your heart and your soul. Delicious food is the antidote to all woes. Presently, your biggest woe happens to have white hair, unfairly pretty eyes, and a knack for getting under your skin. Recalling your previous encounter makes you grimace.

“Hey, Shoko. Would I get in trouble for spraying Satoru with water?”

Instead of responding, she stares at you, blinking owlishly.

“What’s up?”

“Haven’t heard any student but Geto call Gojo by his first name,” she explains. “We’ve only been here a few days though, so who knows.”

You tilt your head. “Who is Gojo?”

“Satoru. Gojo Satoru’s his full name.”

“... Ah.”

You swipe a pillow from Shoko’s bed and slam it into your face.

“I’ve been calling him by his first name?!” You whisper yell, heat rushing to your cheeks.

That’s far too intimate. This is awful, a tragedy, the end of your life that had just begun!

Shoko rubs your back reassuringly as you process the harrowing information.

This has been the first proper school day.

Teachers have come and gone depending on the class. You and Geto have been taking notes, Shoko’s fallen asleep, and Gojo occasionally throws a wadded-up note at the three of you. Shoko’s collection piles up on her desk, Geto throws his away after reading them, and you chuck yours back at Gojo when the teacher isn’t looking.

He catches it with a grin each time, as if you’re playing a friendly game of baseball.

This guy really irks you.

When it’s time to eat lunch, he’s the first to get up.

“What does everyone want from the vending machine?” Gojo asks while clapping, earning your attention. “It’s on me.”

Suguru requests Coca-Cola and Shoko, newly awake, says Oi Ocha.

“I’m okay, but thank you,” is your response.

Gojo swaggers over and you immediately regret sounding so polite.

“First you don’t open my notes and now you won’t accept my generosity? Is this what it’s like to get bullied?”

“I think bullying is typically worse than that,” you respond. His deep frown, although likely an act, still tugs on your heartstrings. Empathy is truly a double-edged sword. “... Georgia canned coffee, please.”

Gojo points a finger at you. “Aha! I knew it! Something about you struck me as a caffeine addict.”

(You throw a pen at him, which he easily sidesteps).

“Does the resident sugar addict have any room to talk?” Geto hums.

“Plenty. When you eat sweets, it’s to enjoy the flavor. In other words, an experience! When you drink coffee, though, you’re only torturing yourself to keep your eyes open.”

“Some people like coffee’s flavor,” Shoko chimes in. She rests her chin on her fist. “You would if it was sickeningly sweet.”

You take in the sight of your classmates bickering. It stirs a warm, pleasant feeling in your chest, like walking outside on the first day of spring. Such a simple exchange instills a sense of normalcy, no matter how fleeting. Gojo’s larger-than-life personality, Geto’s sneaky ways of goading him on, and Shoko’s occasional wry comment; you sear it into your memory.

There’s no real weight to the jabs everyone flings around, it’s like water off a duck’s back.

“You’ll meet lots of interesting folks, I’m sure,” your jujutsu mentor, Ishimoto Akane, had told you. “Make the most of each day. Forgetting to live is the worst injustice you can commit toward yourself.”

Smiling, you retrieve your pen/ammunition, intent on hitting Gojo with it eventually.

Drizzle and heat olive oil in a pan. Add grape tomatoes, seasoning, and minced garlic. Stir occasionally until the grape tomatoes break down.

A mouthwatering scent fills the dormitory’s kitchen. The clock reads 10:04 p.m, indicating how late this dinner is. You keep an eye on your pan as different shades of red smear together, forming the basis for your sauce. Content to leave it unsupervised for a spell, you walk to the drawer silverware is kept in.

The plates are up in an overhead cupboard. You stand on your tiptoes, straining your arm to grab a plate that has no business being up so high.

“Need help?”

You could recognize that voice in your sleep. Or, to be more specific, your nightmares.

“I’ve got it,” you insist.

“Yes, obviously, my sincerest apologies,” Gojo's cadence shifts to a somber, apologetic tone. “Please proceed.”

You stretch your body to its limits, the muscles in your arm crying out for reprieve. Your fingertips brush over the plate’s outer rim. Mistaking this for victory, you pull it out at an awkward angle. The porcelain comes tumbling down to its imminent demise. Out of instinct, you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact.

In the moments that follow, you hear nothing shatter.

Confused, you reopen your eyes to see Gojo Satoru holding the still-intact plate.

You stare at him.

He stares at you (from behind his sunglasses, despite the sun not being out).

Remembering your manners, you say, “Thank you.”

Gojo hums. The low note injects dread throughout your system, as you can guess how the melody will continue. You reach for the troublesome plate. In accordance with your premonition, he takes sadistic glee in raising it high above your head. It stays up there as if it were a full moon.

You take a deep, deep breath.

“Gojo-san, can I have that back?”

“Say ‘Pretty please, Satoru,’ and I’ll think about it.”

“...”

He stares at you.

You stare at him.

“From this day forward, you cannot have any more of my cooking,” you announce as if you were a politician making a new law known.

In what’s an exceedingly rare occurrence, Gojo doesn’t have an immediate retort. You may be unable to see his eyes, but you can tell his expression fell at your proclamation by the muscles in his face.

“Wait, really?”

“Really.”

“Really really?”

“Really really.”

Gojo silently hands over the plate with a bow.

“For you, madam.”

His melancholic act is so convincing and disproportionate to the situation that you can’t hold back your laughter. Gojo’s true strength is his ability to annoy and endear in the same breath. For this reason, your irritation toward his antics never lasts long. You’re sure he’s aware of this and uses it to his advantage. So long as it remains innocuous, you’ll play along.

“Start helping by chopping that basil and I’ll reconsider your verdict.”

Gojo gives a hearty salute.

“Yes ma’am!”

Geto plucks the manilla folder you’re holding and says your name. Perplexed, you glance at him.

“This isn’t worth rereading a fourth time,” he explains. “It won’t be anything near as dangerous as it’s been made out to be.”

He closes it and slides it across the table. You watch through heavy eyelids, blinking off sleep’s seductive whisper. The contents within — census data, maps, photographs — each piece of information refuses to absorb into your weary brain. You’re amazed you had the cogency to slap some proper loungewear on and stumble to the dormitory’s shared living space.

“S’gotta be somewhat important, though, if we got woken up at three in the morning over it.”

Geto laughs airily at that. “You’d be surprised.”

“What do you mean?”

“He means that anything involving the Zenins gets a fast track to becoming everyone’s problem,” Gojo adds from the doorway.

You turn your head in the direction of his hoarse voice. He didn’t bother to fix his bedhead or put on anything half-decent. He’s wearing a gray v-neck and slacks, unlike Geto, who at least put on a pair of jeans. His trademark sunglasses sit ajar on his nose.

Despite yourself, your heart skips a beat. He’s kinda cute.

Gojo gives you a lazy wave and grin. “Wow, you’re actually awake. I thought we’d have to drag you out of bed.”

“In the spirit of maintaining harmony, I’m going to ignore that comment,” you grumble, getting up from the floor to sit on the couch. Gojo sits to your left, slouches into the armrest, and throws his legs on the table. What terrible posture. “Going back to what you said — who are the Zenins? Are they important or something?”

Gojo furrows his eyebrows.

Geto blinks.

You glance between the two of them, feeling increasingly out of the loop. “W-What?”

Gojo, being the fiend that he is, breaks out into unapologetic laughter. You gape at him, your cheeks going from cold to scorching. Geto shakes his head in disapproval over Gojo’s behavior. Still, a small smile works onto his face, further exacerbating your embarrassment. Gojo loudly poking fun at you is one thing, but you’re used to Geto having your back Or at least abstaining from either side.

Vexed, you shoot up, ready to storm off, but Gojo’s hand encircles your wrist.

“My bad, my bad,” he manages through the occasional chuckle. “Come back. We’ll explain it to you.”

You grumble beneath your breath yet ultimately acquiesce.

Gojo peers at you from above his sunglasses. “Ever heard of the Big Three Sorcerer Families?”

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “Would we be having this conversation if I had?”

“Man, that must be nice. I almost feel bad ruining your innocence like this,” Gojo sighs, ever the melodramatic performer. “Hm… let’s see… think of them as the lame, jujutsu versions of Zapdos, Articuno, and Moltres.”

Sitting patiently, you wait for him to elaborate.

He doesn’t.

“Geto-kun, care to translate?”

“With pleasure. So, since cursed techniques are inherited, families often want them passed on from one generation to the next. The Big Three come from bloodlines that hold some of the strongest techniques. As you can imagine, this has granted them lots of influence and power over the centuries. How they leverage these advantages, well…”

Geto trails off and clears his throat.

“—They use it to advance their own agendas and snuff out any meaningful change,” Gojo finishes for him.

You nod.

“Okay, I think I get it! So they’re like jujutsu lobbyists?”

Gojo bursts into another fit of laughter. “I like that! Yeah, let’s call them that. Most of those geezers aren’t even jujutsu sorcerers themselves. They just sit around in the dark and scheme. It’s pathetic.”

Gojo doesn’t care about mincing words. He’s the type to call it as he sees it, for better or for worse. Rarely do you sense such acrimony festering beneath the surface of his remarks. This matter is different. He’s smiling, but there’s a tense underpinning to how he sets his jaw.

“Wait, okay, so, there’s the Zenins, but… who are the other two?” You ask.

“The Kamo and Gojo families,” Geto answers.

Gojo, gojo… that name sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it?

This reveal doesn’t knock the breath from your lungs. You’ve been able to guess for some time now that Gojo came from money. How much exactly, you weren’t sure, but his designer clothes raised your estimates high. Your rich kid radar is as accurate as ever.

You point an accusatory finger toward the white-haired male beside you. “We have a double agent in our midst, Geto-kun.”

“It would appear so. How should we proceed?”

You stride over to Geto’s side, creating the appropriate distance between you and the traitor.

“Imprisonment without trial,” you declare, much to Gojo’s chagrin. “Solitary confinement too. Cosplaying as the working class is a federal offense.”

“Hah? What sort of kangaroo court is this?” Gojo complains. He removes his legs from the table and sits properly, then crosses his arms over his chest. Continuing your charade, you pay him no mind. Instead, you stand on your tiptoes, cup your hands, and whisper into Geto’s ear:

“The convict is disparaging our blameless judicial system. Shall we add ten years of hard labor?”

A malevolent gleam passes over Geto’s eyes.

“Let’s make it twenty,” he whispers back. You nod. Great minds think alike.

You return your attention to the couch, intending to update Gojo’s sentence, only to find he isn’t there. Yours and Geto’s deliberation couldn’t have lasted more than five seconds! Where did your prisoner run off to? His presence vanished as well, leaving not a single trace. It should unnerve you how in control he is of every aspect of his being. Maybe it would’ve had you not known him personally.

Warm breath fans against your ear from behind. “I’m taking this corrupt official hostage.”

With that, your legs give out faster than your brain can register. Your equilibrium is thrown into chaos as two arms lift you. The abruptness of it all has your limbs flailing for purchase and a squeak escaping your lips. Gojo takes care to ensure you don’t fall or harm yourself, but he doesn’t bother hiding his sadistic glee. You’re held bridal style against his firm chest.

Trying to wriggle loose is a meaningless endeavor. Accepting your fate, you go limp, but not without requesting assistance.

“Geto, are you really going to abandon me to the machinations of this criminal?”

Geto walks over, consideration etched into his countenance, stoking hope of rescue in your chest. He reaches for you. It’s almost imperceptible, but Gojo’s grip tightens ever so slightly. However, his hand doesn’t pry you from the jaws of the beast. He just pulls down your shirt, which has risen to reveal a sliver of your stomach.

Wow, what a gentleman.

“Did you ever consider that I might be a double agent?” Geto challenges, relishing in your visible frustration as much as Gojo. Such is the plight of those who wear their heart on their sleeve.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson alright,” you retort. The foreboding nature of your words isn’t lost on them. They await your next move, which you swiftly deliver. “Gojo-san, let me down. If you don’t, I will bite you.”

You can feel how he beams down at you. “Oh, I never would’ve guessed that’s what you’re into— ah, Suguru, a little help here…?”

Geto assesses the situation. After thinking it over, he helps steady you, then uses his newfound leverage to pull you free. He takes great care in putting you down, holding you steady until your feet are firmly on the floor. Your balance rushes to restore itself. In the meantime, Gojo clicks his tongue, processing the weight of Geto’s betrayal.

You give Geto a thumbs up. “Good work. No one ever sees a triple agent coming.”

“It was a split-second decision,” Gojo dismisses with a wave. His impassive expression morphs into a knowing smirk, like he just had a seismic revelation. “Ah, I get it.”

“You do?” Geto hums.

“He does?” You ask.

“Yes and yes. Suguru, you were holding out to see if she’d use her cursed technique, right?”

Geto doesn’t respond immediately, indicating Gojo’s theory holds some merit. Gojo stuffs his hands into his pockets and slinks back to the couch. His gait radiates smugness, although you can’t imagine why. Is that supposed to be a ‘gotcha!’ moment?

“I’ll admit, I am curious,” is what Geto settles on saying, his smile apologetic. Or it’s meant to come off as such.

“Why didn’t you say so sooner? It’s not like it’s a big secret or anything.”

Geto and Gojo exchange looks.

“You should be careful who you go about revealing information like that to,” Gojo warns. You’re not used to hearing this serious timbre in his voice. “Some cards should remain close to your chest.”

Even if he’s being sincere, you can’t help but feel patronized. You’ll be the first to admit it — certain nuances of jujutsu society are lost on you. Akane wasn’t the type to care for such details. She said worrying about all that bureaucracy would age you prematurely. You half agree with her. Certainly, you shouldn’t let that influence you in the areas it matters most, like combat. However, while you’re in Japan, you’re under their regulations. It wouldn’t be wise to forget that.

You purse your lips. “Obviously, yeah. I’m not going to go blabbering it off everywhere. But, I mean, you two are my friends. This’ll be our first time on the field together. Knowing what cards you have to deal with seems useful to me.”

Gojo turns his head to the side and a few seconds pass.

“Friends, huh?” Geto finally murmurs, testing the word on his tongue. His next smile reaches his eyes. “Who would’ve thought a little sincerity is all it takes to get you flustered?”

Gojo snaps his head back at Geto’s taunt. “Sorry, what was that? Aren’t you the one who—”

You clap to redirect their attention.

“Hey, hey, cut it out already. We’re going to be together for the next few days, right? Let’s all get along.”

“You just care about going back to sleep,” Gojo accuses.

“Yes. Exactly. That is all I care about right now. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’m headed to bed.”

You don’t wait for their response. As stealthily as you can, you sneak through the hallways, careful to avoid creaky floorboards. Upon returning to your room, you kick your house slippers off. The digital alarm clock on your nightstand says 3:53 p.m. Those two kept you up far later than necessary! If this assignment isn’t a big deal like Geto claims, you wish he would’ve said so sooner.

There’s always the option of sleeping during the car ride, but if there’s anything you know about Gojo, it’s that everything in his vicinity can be subjected to torment. You wouldn’t put it past him to draw on your face or blare the horn once you finally nod off.

Your head hits the pillow and you pray for rest to take you soon.

Meanwhile, back in the shared living space, Gojo stares at the spot you once occupied.

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“I think I get it now.”

“That so?” Gojo runs a hand through his hair. “As long as you don’t get it too much.”

Geto chuckles. After a pause, he muses, “Neither of us would be very good for her.”

“You gonna let someone else scoop her up?”

“Are you?”

“They can try,” Gojo smiles. There’s no kindness behind it.

Although this conversation could last well into the morning, in an unspoken understanding, they leave it at that.

“Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure.”

Ink blots descend from above as if the sky were weeping. The viscous teardrops curve downward, creating a dome that swallows the surrounding area. Geto and Suguru have gone ahead, leaving you to carry out basic protocol. You jog to catch up with them. Geto slows down enough to make rejoining them easier, unlike Gojo, who carries on.

“So, this is the stomping grounds of the mean ol’ curse that sent Kenji Zenin packing?” Gojo hums.

“He sustained some serious injuries,” you remind him. Gojo just shrugs. “A fractured sternum and twelve broken ribs… that’s not exactly a walk in the park.”

“A Grade One sorcerer getting whooped that bad by a Grade Two curse? Probably deserved it.”

You sigh, recognizing that Gojo won’t empathize no matter what you say.

The three of you were driven from Tokyo Jujutsu High to Kaizu for this assignment. According to Geto, the information you received likely exaggerated the curse’s capabilities as a way for Kenji Zenin to save face. It looks better for him if the higher-ups deem the threat he faced severe enough to ship off two of the school’s most promising students to handle it. Regarding your inclusion, Gojo so kindly said,

“You’re like the little garnish on top of the entrée.”

You can’t find the energy to get upset if he’s right.

There’s no denying the immense gap in your abilities compared to theirs. You could feel it in the air the instant you met Gojo. For Geto, all it took was hearing a description of his cursed technique. The potential for storing and controlling curses at will is beyond your comprehension. There are so many applications, and so many advantages… you’re utterly outclassed.

Should this demotivate you? Perhaps. You’ll never be as strong as them, it’s delusional to think otherwise. An individual’s proficiency with jujutsu is almost determined at birth. That doesn’t mean it’s static, it just means you have to find ways to excel with what you’re given. Envy is a waste of time. You want to learn from them and hone your abilities. For this reason, you’ve avoided an inferiority complex.

What could be better than learning from the best?

The atmosphere inside the curtain is dingy. It’s like a dark filter glazed over your eyes, maiming any bright or vibrant colors.

Grass crunches beneath your feet despite summer’s abundant rainfall. Nature itself flees the scene, retreating into the woods surrounding this derelict nursery. The briefing you were given went over the business’ murky past. In the seventies, there was an unprecedented boom in births around this area. Working parents needed proper childcare until their children were old enough to attend school. What few facilities existed nearby found themselves overwhelmed. Then an older, childless couple, Mikami and Fujikawa Tetsuo, purchased a plot of land outside the town with their retirement money. They cited the picturesque scenery as their reason for choosing this location, believing that the unpolluted air would be good for the children.

The nursery was built and opened. For years, parents entrusted their little ones with the tight-knit staff headed by the Tetsuo’s. Nothing of note occurred until early in the eighties. On March 24th, 1982, a child was hospitalized after crying ceaselessly for three hours straight. The mother reported that when she picked her daughter up from the daycare, her daughter had been unusually distraught. She didn’t think much of it at first. Toddlers are known for being emotional. However, as time went by and her screams became hoarse, she felt something was terribly wrong. The little girl was given mild sedatives and IV fluids as her body began to suffer from dehydration.

The next day, all seventeen children at the daycare suffered the same mysterious ailment.

Each child underwent tests ranging from bloodwork to brain MRIs to determine what the inexplicable cause of this nightmare could be. Professionals in every area, ranging from renowned neurologists to child psychiatrists flew in from around the world. Naturally, an investigation was opened into the nursery and its owners. No formal charges were made against Mikami and Fujikawa, since no evidence of foul play could be found. Regardless, the community ostracized them and any employees present during the incident.

Tragically, none of the eighteen children recovered. From the instant their sedatives wore off until they were administered again, they’d screech, thrash, and display aggressive behavior toward nurses and family members alike. Parents were faced with the impossible decision of keeping their child ‘alive’ through life support, holding out for a cure that may never come, or granting them a peaceful yet permanent rest.

Only one family kept their child on life support. He remained in a vegetative state and died from complications related to an infection two months later. The seventeen other families, who had grown close through the harrowing ordeal, turned the machines keeping their little ones alive at the same time.

This report might be one of the worst things you’ve read.

Scanning the area, you note faint residuals of cursed energy throughout the decrepit playground. The swings, slide, and both sides of the seesaw contain trace amounts. Did curses form as a consequence of what happened here, or did a curse initiate the disaster? It may not matter now, but all those families never receiving proper closure makes your chest feel tight.

Painfully so.

Considering the officials never found physical evidence, you believe a curse was the cause. What were the victims supposed to do? What could they do? Non-sorcerers can’t perceive curses, much less defend themselves. They have to be chewed, swallowed, and digested.

You kneel at the playground’s edge, inspecting the planks of rotten and peeling wood. It must’ve been assembled by hand. Each piece was planned, cut, and dutifully laid down. All to hold the wood chips that’d protect the kids as they ran, laughed, and played. This place should’ve been a fond memory for them to recall throughout their life.

Instead, it’s the reason they’d never got to have one.

“The cursed energy is concentrated in the nursery room itself,” Gojo determines.

You follow his line of sight and squint. You could tell the building was submerged in cursed energy, but you couldn’t pinpoint an exact location.

“It’s moving in the same pattern, like a grid,” Geto says. Another observation you couldn’t make. “Starting in the top left corner, ending in the bottom right, then starting the process all over again.”

Standing up, you dust the dirt off your skirt. “Why would a curse do that?”

From a tactical standpoint, moving predictably is reckless. Any combatants could use the knowledge to their advantage. Curses have some degree of self-preservation, hence why they don’t waltz everywhere without a care in the world. They’re intelligent enough to avoid spots that sorcerers frequent. Fly heads are the lone exception, but that’s because they lack the intellect necessary to care for their survival.

A curse capable of inflicting such serious wounds on a Grade One sorcerer can’t be that weak.

Gojo exchanges glances with Geto, a semblance of understanding connecting them. You’ve witnessed this wordless exchange before. No matter how much they bicker over conflicting values or petty non-issues, they maintain the ability to synchronize their thoughts and actions.

“What is it?” You snap. As soon as the acrid words leave your mouth, you regret it, although they don’t react. Taking a deep breath, you try again. “Communication is important for these missions, guys. Keep me in the loop… please?”

Geto parts his lips, but Gojo cuts him off. “There are eighteen cribs inside. The curse is fixing the blankets in each one.”

You shiver.

“... Oh.”

“How do you want to go about this, Satoru?” Geto asks. “It can’t be as simple as walking in and exorcising it.”

“Why not? Its cursed energy is consistent with what you’d expect of a Second Grade. We both know this job’s smoke and mirrors, anyway. Let’s wrap it up already and head home.”

“Isn’t it strange the curse hasn’t been drawn out, despite a curtain being cast?” You point out.

For the first time since exiting the car, Gojo looks at you. You stare back at the two black circles that obscure his omnipotent eyes. Something’s been off ever since you embarked on this mission. It’s like an itch you can’t scratch, as its location shifts elsewhere whenever you try. His words have had an edge to them when directed at you. You’re used to his lackluster manners, but this is different.

This cuts and it cuts deep.

Are you that incompetent to him…?

Gojo redirects his gaze toward the ramshackle building.

“I’m getting this over with,” he says. Simply, decisively. Leaving no room for argument.

Leaving no room for you.

Massive tendrils of cursed energy coil around him, flowing unimpeded like water through a rushing brook. You step back solely from reflex. Anticipation thrums through the air and ignites every nerve in your body. You’re left wide-eyed and breathless as it gathers and grows, its potency hundreds of times greater than anything you’ve been able to achieve. It feels as though minutes have dragged by, reacquainting you with the surreal sensation you underwent upon meeting Gojo Satoru that fateful day.

“Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.”

Up until this point in your life, you thought you knew destruction. What hubris, what naivety. Gunfire, grenades, tanks, bombs, missiles; they are nothing but ants before the looming skyscraper that is Gojo Satoru.

This is destruction in its raw, purest form.

This is what it means to be the strongest.

… Somehow, you feel lesser than that ant.

A speck of dust would be a more fitting description.

You expect total disintegration when you reopen your eyes. You aren’t disappointed.

Concrete, wood, glass, steel, plastic, stone, and fabric alike were eviscerated. The ground where the nursery once stood is gone. A bygone era wrought with tragedy. The force behind this apex of energy blasted the wood partition around the playground, leaving nothing but a shadow to signify it ever existed.

Gojo lowers his hand and turns away from the wreckage.

“Don’t you think you went a bit overboard, Satoru?” Geto’s tone reminds you of the many scoldings Yaga has given the white-haired menace.

“Just wanted to ensure the threat was dealt with, so Kenji can sleep through the night without wetting himself,” Gojo replies, smirking. “Alrighty then, who wants to sightsee—”

“Naptime… naptime…” A garbled voice intones from the aftermath of Gojo’s attack.

The deformed curse lifts itself like a marionette fastened to invisible strings. It’s tall, with an emaciated build and haggard skin. Long clumps of thick hair emerge from its scalp, greasy and matted. Each feeble step it takes is accompanied by a snapping sound, as if its joints are begging for collapse. The humanoid shape disturbs you most of all. Cracked lips, bloodied eye sockets, chunks of deathly pale skin sloughing off brittle bones; this curse looks more like a corpse than anything else.

Most damning, however, is the sheer power it’s radiating.

“Do… they… slumber…?” It croaks.

Suguru assumes an offensive position, but Gojo puts an arm out, stopping him.

“Something’s off,” Gojo warns. If you thought he sounded serious before, that doesn’t compare to his timbre now. “Don’t attack it.”

The curse’s legs give out. That doesn’t stop it from crawling on. Lanky fingers claw at the rubble, searching desperately.

Geto summons a handful of curses in its radius. He keeps them on standby while the three of you track every movement, every ebb and flow of cursed energy. The curse grabs and cradles the sediment in its crooked hands, then rocks the amalgamation as if it were a baby.

“Did you hit it?” You whisper, knowing fully well the question is pointless. You don’t care. You need any semblance of control possible when confronted with the terrifying unknown.

“I did. The impact inflicted zero damage,” Gojo removes his sunglasses and tucks them away.

“A special condition, then?” Geto proposes. “One that makes it impervious to all harm until…”

You hear a sniffle.

Then a whimper.

And a gurgle.

“Hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush—”

The curse repeats this mantra with increasing aggravation until its shrill voice is all you can hear. The cursed energy that enveloped it seconds prior flows out in multiple directions, like a heart pumping blood to the rest of the body. The energy is absorbed. Not a meager trace remains, every drop was sucked dry by multiple sources.

All is still.

All is silent.

A bloodcurdling wail reverberates throughout the curtain.

Eighteen appendages propel out of the curse in the middle, puncturing it from the inside out as if the limp mass was a cocoon.

There’s no need for deliberation.

The three of you scatter in different directions.

“Cursed Technique: Ophanim.”

Two glowing, golden rings the size of wheels manifest by your side. The outside surface is adorned with closed eyes, each arranged individually on top of the other rather than in pairs. The two rings work in tandem to slice through the appendage barreling toward you. You recall them to your side, running at a breakneck speed to avoid the five fleshy appendages still seeking your demise.

Gojo and Geto are in a similar predicament. Running, leaping, and dodging the seismic attacks that leave massive craters in its wake. A single hit from that would crush your body in an instant. Then there’s the disorienting wailing, originating from multiple locations throughout the curtain’s interior. You can’t pinpoint where the sounds are coming from.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, oxygen rushes with each sharp inhale, and your muscles strain to keep up with the demands you make of them.

The sixth appendage, which your cursed technique cut through, lurches from above. Whole and better than ever. Unlike before, its momentum is lightning-fast. The change is so instantaneous that you have no time to respond accordingly. Death’s harbinger looms, engulfing your existence in its hungry shadow. Instead of slicing it off at the wrist, you propel your rings up, accelerating their spin at the cost of speed. Flesh and cartilage rips above you in the shape of a thin slit.

The appendage plummets down.

Through the ringing in your ears, you hear voices yelling out your name.

An unpleasant, viscous substance coats you from head to toe.

You grimace and wipe off what you can. Geto’s curses managed to cut the appendage off at the joint, preventing it from rising and trying to crush you again. Your rings barely managed to carve a hole big enough to span the width of your body. That doesn’t mean you’re safe just yet — the five remaining appendages that have you as their target are seconds away. Unlike the one you just faced, their speed is manageable.

The more damage inflicted, the faster they are after healing, you think. This must be why Gojo and Geto are dodging instead of going on the offense.

However, since you remained still to avoid getting crushed by what your rings hadn’t cut through, the other five appendages are inbound. They’ve fanned out, blocking any angle you’d use to dodge.

You dismiss your cursed technique.

What can be done here? This curse is easily a Grade One. The centermost part is invulnerable and the eighteen limbs growing off it speed up when damaged. Summoning more rings so you can escape this attack means the next will come swifter, building and building to unimaginable speeds. You know your limits. The second healed limb was a hair below the fastest you’ve ever run.

Gojo and Geto could handle the levels above that. Maybe there’s a limit to how many times the limbs can regenerate, reaching that could exorcise the curse. No curse is truly invincible, even if it seems like it in the moment. You must be the reason why they haven’t commenced a counterattack. They knew anything above a second regeneration would do you in.

Is that really the only way?

Something wet drips on your head.

You use what little time you have to glance up.

Suspended midair is a small outline, made visible by the viscera that spurted from your cursed technique’s earlier attack. Sluggishly, you blink, wiping the blood from your eyes to ensure you aren’t hallucinating. The outline’s edges wriggle and squirm. You realize that it’s doing so in time with the incessant wailing.

“What do you think you’re doing, spacing out in the middle of a fight?”

Gojo must’ve warped in front of you.

You recognize the hand motion he’s making, and cry out, “Don’t! That’ll only make it—”

“I know, I know,” Gojo launches a devastating blow that obliterates the five incoming appendages, reducing them to pitiful scraps. “I didn’t just run a marathon for you to give up and become a pancake.”

“I didn’t give up,” you snap back.

He glances over his shoulder and grins. “Good. Cause we need to hose you off as soon as possible.”

You let out a noise in between a laugh and a cry. How can he crack jokes under these dire circumstances?

“Gojo—”

“Ah ah ah,” The menace cuts you off, “Satoru. Call me anything else and I’m leaving you to handle this on your own.”

While speaking his untimely quips, he continuously forms and releases his Cursed Technique Lapse, Blue. This forces the broken appendages into a cycle of stitching themselves together only to get destroyed again. It stuns you, how he can casually hold a conversation while performing a technique that’d use all your cursed energy to execute once. Never mind countless times in rapid succession.

“Satoru,” you try again, to which he hums, “This… thing above me, do you think it’s…?”

“The weak spot for this Ju-On ripoff? Yeah. Just noticed that. Suguru’s curses are self-destructing near them, so their invisibility’s useless.”

The six appendages that tracked Satoru join the fray, granting Geto additional space to maneuver unhindered. Floating blobs covered in the innards of curses appear one by one like macabre lanterns in the night sky. You can’t stop yourself from admiring how effortless they make it look. It was all you could do to avoid the curses’ attacks, that required every ounce of your cognition. Meanwhile, they pieced together the curses’ gimmick and started countermeasures.

“Anything broken?” Satoru asks.

“Just a few sprains.”

“Great. Now, I’m about to ask for a lot, but it’s nothing I don’t think you can’t handle.”

You exhale shakily.

“There’s another application of your cursed technique, right?”

How does he know that?

You’ll worry about this oddity later.

“There is, but,” you stare down at your blood-soaked hands, “Why are you asking?”

Satoru takes a moment to consider his response. The gory splatters are reforming faster and faster, you’ve lost count of how many blasts he’s used to cut them down. It’s almost imperceptible, but you can tell he can’t keep this up forever. Each subsequent use of Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue requires more energy than the last. If he’s a sliver off in his calculations, then the appendages will heal instantaneously and skewer your body faster than death can claim you.

Geto leaps down from a hovering curse.

“There are seventeen sources, just like you said,” he huffs, wiping the perspiration trickling down his temple. “Each one is visible now.”

Seventeen sources?

“This eyesore’s a distraction. Those screaming curses — they’re the real target here,” Satoru says.

You consider the curse a few feet above your head. “So we should attack them, right?”

Geto shakes his head. “We tried that. They didn’t sustain any damage.”

“Seriously?”

“This is just a theory, but,” Satoru takes a deep breath, “Seventeen of the eighteen victims from this place had their life support pulled simultaneously, right?”

Huh. So he did read the briefing after all.

This conjecture prickles at your skin like tiny needles. The screaming, the small stature these curses have, every detail comes crashing down at once. Maggots writhing beneath your skin would be more pleasant.

It isn’t them, you tell yourself, because you have to. It’s an echo. The curse they left behind.

You steeple your fingers. Cursed energy thrums around and through you, reverberating in your bones, and crackling throughout your soul. Simultaneously. That’s the key here. These curses can pull off their various immunities by using conditions to their advantage.

The two warding off the original curses’ attacks before you are strong, yes, but this niche fits you well.

If you’re able to perform it properly, that is.

You accept every drop of cursed energy your body can handle. Once you’re filled to the brim, it’s expelled, rushing through the air like geysers.

“Cursed Technique: Null.”

Your ability is versatile if not simple.

You can call forth golden rings that perpetually spin clockwise. Their size, speed, and sharpness are determined by you. At this point in your training, you can maintain two of these rings without sacrificing speed or sharpness. Should you bring out any more, they will dull and slow down for each addition made. Two could slash through steel, four could cut the same slab halfway, six would make a sizable dent, eight would leave a scratch; so on and so forth.

There’s an additional application beyond this.

Cursed Technique: Null — the pinnacle of the innate ability you inherited, Ophanim.

The sorcerer creates three rings around any object or organism. One spins around the target horizontally. The other two slant left and right respectively, all spinning counterclockwise. The closed eyes adorning the ring’s outside fly open. Unblinking, hypervigilant. If what they’re enclosed around is significantly weaker than the sorcerer, it can halt the movements of whatever or whoever is within.

Your record is halting thirty mice for a total of two minutes and four seconds.

Afterward, you can either dispel the rings or pull them toward the epicenter. The rings then slash through the target like a fruit slicer.

You see the seventeen silhouettes emphasized with blood.

As you will it, three golden rings surround each one. The cursed energy swaddling them hisses and resists your designs. Their wailing crescendos, culminating at an ear-piercing pitch. The fussing stops abruptly as the eyes on each ring open wide. Seventeen different targets, fifty-one rings… it is draining cursed energy from you fast.

Four seconds. This is as long as you trust the halt to work.

That leaves the issue of cutting through them.

These aren’t the used soda cans you’ve practiced on. They are curses, Semi-Grade One if you were to guess. You’re a Grade Three sorcerer. The chasm here won’t be bridged by a miracle, you’ll have to risk catapulting across and plummeting to your demise. Satoru’s likely unaware of your technique’s specifics, as even you required trial and error to determine this much. You never found documentation on Ophanim. Every unraveled facet is owed to you.

These fifty-one rings are too dull. They won’t make so much as an indent.

What you need here is a binding vow. Your own strength isn’t enough. Risk, danger, and death breathing down your neck; these are the ingredients you require. There’s a chance it won’t work and you’re condemning yourself to an early grave. If you don’t try, though, you don’t know how long Satoru and Geto can keep those appendages down.

Time to leap across.

For every second I don’t exorcise these curses, ten of my bones will break, you think. Should I reach ten seconds, my heart will stop.

Cursed energy surges through you. It finds the prospect of your end tantalizing, but without providing itself, won’t have the opportunity to claim you.

One.

(The rings gain immeasurable speed).

Two.

(It hurts, but the curses will hurt too).

Three.

(Simultaneous incisions are made through seventeen curses).

The wailing stops.

…

So does your breathing.

August 15th, 2005. Grade One Curse ‘The Caretaker’ and Semi-Grade One Curses ‘Little Ones’ were exorcised at 9:34 p.m. in Kaizu.

Hospital rooms aren’t renowned for their interior design.

Flimsy pillows, scratchy gowns, thin blankets, bright yellow lights, ghostly white walls, it’s an affront to the eyes. You almost want to continue resting if that’s all you’ll get to look at. Considering how stiff your neck is and how your limbs feel heavier than a grand piano, you assume you’ve done enough sleeping.

You prop yourself up as much as you can. This slight shift makes your body complain, nice and loud.

Footsteps rush over to your bed. You hear your name spoken, intermixed with a relieved sigh.

“You don’t stay knocked down for long, do you?” Geto muses. His smile is gentle and his eyes crinkle in delight. “Welcome back. How do you feel?”

“Like I got run over by a train,” you rasp.

You’re in desperate need of some vocal warmups.

Geto grabs a water bottle from the windowsill and hands it over. While you gulp the heavenly elixir down, he continues speaking.

“You weren’t out for long — two days. Well, two and a half days. It’s noon now.”

You relax after hearing this. Geto knew how to assuage any worries you might have before you dared to voice them. Everyone has their own way of bringing kindness into the world, this happens to be his.

“Seriously? I was expecting you to say it’s the year 2010 or something. No flying cars yet?”

“None that I’ve seen,” Geto’s laugh sounds light and airy. “Shoko’s reversed cursed technique is truly a marvel. It accelerated your healing, but I imagine the pain will linger a while longer.”

You’ll have to cook Shoko one of her favorite dishes when you get back. You don’t want to think about how long it would’ve taken for you to heal naturally, much less if it’d heal right. Bones are finicky like that. You imagine yours weren’t happy at how you offered them up on a silver platter.

She spared your family so much pain. You’ll forever be indebted to her for that.

Glancing around, you notice three mismatched chairs surrounding your bed. Geto follows your line of sight.

“Shoko and I finally chased Satoru out about an hour ago. He’s lived in this room since you were admitted. Didn’t sleep a wink either,” Geto gives you an expression you can’t quite place. “Around the forty-two-hour mark, he started making strange suggestions.”

Heaviness seeps into the air, thick and palpable, like a noxious gas.

“What kind of suggestions?”

“Suggestions like killing the higher-ups, for starters.”

Your thudding heart leaps to your throat. “... Huh?”

“It’s not anything he hasn’t said in jest before. This time, however,” Geto fixates his attention on the intravenous line threaded into your arm. You can feel the weight of his stare. “He wasn’t joking.”

It feels like you’re in one of those dreams that mimics reality so well, the line separating the two becomes increasingly distorted. You entertain the theory briefly. A single sweep of the room dispels the illusion. The loose thread on Geto’s shoulder, the sounds of carts rolling down the long hospital corridors, the lemon-tinged scent from cleaning supplies; could a dream be this detailed?

You don’t think so.

Sensing your haziness, he clarifies, “I talked him out of it by speaking in your stead. I assumed you wouldn’t want that.”

“What… what do the higher-ups have to do with anything…?”

How do they factor into the two plus two equals four equation?

Geto pulls a chair over to your bedside, sits, and contemplates. Such a grave visage doesn’t belong on a fifteen-year-old’s face. It reminds you of a father preparing to explain why he and their mother are getting a divorce to their children.

He weighs his next words on a scale only he’s privy to.

“Satoru had a gut feeling that there was more to the Kaizu mission. He must not have wanted you to have that in the back of your mind out on the field, since all it takes is one mistake to—”

He cuts himself off. His complexion takes a pallid shade.

You give him a gentle smile. Geto is more considerate than you initially gave him credit for. Ignoring the dull ache, you lean forward, placing your hand over his.

“It’s okay. You can keep going.”

The tips of his ears turn red.

He blinks rapidly, clears his throat, and then soldiers on. “R-Right. Well, you saw how he acted. With his Six Eyes, he spotted the remains of another sorcerer when he looked at the nursery. The briefing conveniently omitted the fact that Kenji wasn’t alone. This confirmed Satoru’s suspicions. He wanted to wrap things up fast to get you out of there, but… that curse proved challenging.”

“I’m getting this over with.”

Ah. So that’s why he came off that way, you think. Still… couldn’t there have been a better way? Why is blocking people out his go-to?

“We believe the Zenins — those in Kenji’s immediate circle, to be specific — hoped that you’d be… killed, to emphasize how formidable the threat he faced was. Since this job was assigned through the school, some of the higher-ups must’ve known and granted their blessing.”

“... Oh.”

The room’s air conditioning whirrs to life, billowing the beige curtains draped over the closed window. Outside, a cicada crawls over the glass pane. It pauses to recite its buzzing melody. Since it’s summer, you can expect to see and hear these insects until autumn’s chill sweeps away the heat.

You hope Satoru witnessed a similarly trivial scene while sitting in this room.

It’s important to remember just because you feel stuck, the world won’t stop spinning onward.

“Would it be okay if I called you Suguru?”

He nods without hesitation.

“Suguru, earlier you said that you changed Satoru’s mind by voicing my perspective since I couldn’t,” you start, your cadence gentle. You handpick each word with great care. “Does this mean that, personally, you agreed with him?”

His countenance is like that of a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. This look doesn’t overstay its welcome. Once he assesses you, from your open posture to your soft stare, he’s back to his usual self.

“Busted, huh? And here I thought you’d be too groggy to pick up on anything incriminating.”

“A corrupt official such as myself must remain vigilant,” you reply with a cheeky grin. Then, you reorient yourself to communicate what’s been gnawing at you properly. “There’s a lot I don’t know about these ‘higher-ups’ or ‘Zenins,’ that you keep referring to. What little I do know doesn’t paint them in a favorable light. For all I know, they could be irredeemable in every sense of the word. But…”

“... Even though this is a selfish wish, I’m making it anyway. Say they do have to go. That it’s 100% certain they’re just that bad. I don’t want you or Satoru to be the ones to carry it out. Intentionally killing someone… could there be anything worse than that? Doesn’t a part of yourself die with them?”

A lump grows in your throat. You force it down.

“So, thank you for stopping him and yourself. Sorcerers are meant to fight curses, right? Protect those who can’t protect themselves. That sort of stuff.”

Suguru squeezes your hand gently, as if you were made of porcelain.

It stops you from shattering.

After a few minutes, your erratic breathing settles. He whispers your name like he’s making a promise.

“You’re right,” he says, a newfound resolve built into the very fabric of those two words. “Protecting the weak is what matters most. Tossing everything into disarray would threaten that. It’s easier to fix what’s broken than to demolish and rebuild from scratch.”

… Is that what you meant?

Exhaustion clouds your senses. You must’ve burnt through your scarce reserves of energy. You can vaguely discern Suguru running the pad of his thumb over your hand, before detaching himself. He readjusts your pillow so it supports your head better. After murmuring your gratitude, you sink into sleep’s warm embrace.

Right as you’re traipsing the fine line between wakefulness and the unconscious, there’s a light sensation of something brushing your hair back.

This unknown doesn’t inspire fear or outrage.

Instead, it lulls you further into the recesses of peace.

You’re discharged from the hospital later that day.

An auxiliary manager from Tokyo Jujutsu High drives you back. You spend the car ride staring out the passenger side window, taking in the bustle of busy citizens and dazzling lights. It never fails to amaze you how people wordlessly maneuver around each other to maintain the flow of traffic. It’s a tempo that can’t be instructed, rather, one must adapt in real time without a conductor.

Can non-sorcerers truly be considered weak?

The description torments you as if it were a thorn in your side.

Your fingers drum over the dashboard.

What does it mean to be strong, anyway?

The next time you activate your cursed technique, you can summon and maintain four rings without sacrificing sharpness or speed.

For the past few days, you’ve been playing around with different formations. Four rings orbiting your body provide considerable defense from projectiles and close combat. Then, if you let two out, you gain the means to attack. Lastly, ditching defense to pour everything into offense is a viable option as well. Your biggest obstacle is how mentally taxing it is to track and manipulate four rings at once.

It requires great concentration. This isn’t an issue if you’re alone, but you doubt that curses will play nice and let you stand perfectly still.

You flip your My Melody notebook to the next page and scribble down,

Two rings uptime — twelve hours.Four rings uptime — one hour. Four rings uptime w/ distractions — ten minutes. Maximum distance — one hundred meters. Maximum rings at once — sixty. Uptime on maximum rings — five seconds.

Thinking back to The Caretaker, you twist your lips.

If you’d been sent on that mission by yourself, would this have been enough to win the fight? You’re alive because you were with Satoru and Suguru. There’s no denying the infallible truth. You can’t always rely on reports to accurately grade a curse. There’s also the chance once certain conditions are met, the curse can gain strength throughout the fight, and—

“Cute handwriting.”

“Eek!”

Hugging your notebook to your chest, you jump back, indignation rushing through you like molten magma. Who snuck up on you? How did they do it? You can ascertain the presence of others in your vicinity well. You know when Shoko’s sneaking out through her window at night, if Suguru’s about to enter the room, or when Utahime is seconds away from busting into the classroom to lecture Satoru about levitating her lunch onto the roof again.

Squinting, you assess the assailant. Pearly white hair, round sunglasses, a lean and towering figure…

“Satoru? You’re back?”

According to Shoko, Satoru was called to Kyoto for business relating to the Big Three not long after they returned from the hospital. It’d been two weeks since then. You’ve gotten so used to having him around, that his absence felt pronounced. Shoko mainly lamented that her ‘walking free meal ticket’ was gone whereas Utahime rejoiced. You’ve never seen your upperclassman so ecstatic.

Her hopes and dreams will be dashed come morning.

“Just got in, yeah. Why? Oh! I know! You must’ve missed me terribly. Here, here. It’s alright. C’mere and tell me all about it— oof!”

There is a barrier that separates Satoru from everyone and everything.

‘Infinity,’ he calls it. The ability to slow down encroaching mass to such a degree that it appears as if it stopped. He can keep it activated for long lengths of time. One day, he intends to reach a level where he’ll never have to turn it off. Anyone else who proposed a goal like that would either be conceited or delusional. The amount of cursed energy necessary to pull that off is immeasurable.

Satoru isn’t just anyone, though.

So when he sets an impossible goal, it enters the realm of feasibility.

His infinity is active once you leap toward him, lasting up until the very last millisecond. When you breach the threshold that denies access to anyone else, it recedes, rushing away to accommodate your presence. Infinity remains present, molding itself around your shape. The top of your head, the slope of your shoulders, down to your soles; for a fleeting moment in time, infinity chooses you over Satoru’s parameters.

Your cheek hits his chest. He has to steady you so you don’t go tumbling back. While he does this, you snake your arms around him, squeezing him tight. In doing so, yet another anomaly occurs.

You’ve rendered Gojo Satoru speechless.

When you pull back, you notice his sunglasses are crooked. You straighten them out for him and nod in approval. Smiling ear to ear, you chirp,

“Welcome home, Satoru!”

He scratches the back of his neck, uncharacteristically quiet.

“... Isn’t this a school, though?” He finally manages to get out.

“Pfft, I didn’t think you were the type to get hung up on details like that,” you laugh. “Home’s anywhere you want it to be. For me, that’s here.”

You gesture to the surrounding area. Tall trees sway per the wind’s wishes, their green leaves painted blue and silver by the night sky. The moon overhead serves as your silent witness. No matter where you are, it will find and pursue you to the ends of the earth. Crickets chirp, cicadas buzz, and frogs croak by ponds rippling with their young. The night air is damp, but the coolness granted by the sun’s absence makes it tolerable.

“Honestly, I don’t know what to make of you sometimes,” Satoru tries painting a veneer of nonchalance over his words, but you can see through the cracks. You’re getting better at doing that. “Suguru said you were as peppy as ever; I didn’t believe him. They checked for brain damage, right? How many fingers am I holding up?”

(He holds up two).

“Ten,” you reply without missing a beat.

“Funny girl.”

“I learned from the best.”

You both silently size one another up. Or, in Satoru’s case, down, because he’s freakishly tall. You’re the first to break the supposed standoff. Laughter rings through the air, just yours at first, but it’s soon joined by his. The two of you stand in the middle of a forest at midnight cackling like a bunch of witches before a sabbath.

You feel absurd and giddy in a way that only comes from being around Satoru.

Some point after the laughter dies off, you can feel Satoru’s eyes scanning over every dip and curve of your being.

After reaching some conclusion, his shoulders droop. The dopey grin on his face shifts into something more neutral, more reserved. His hands find their way into his pockets. He kicks a pebble into the woods, and you both listen to it tumbling downhill until the sound fades away. The thickets shift from wildlife’s constant antics, accommodating what little fauna lives inside Tengen’s barrier.

“I’m not going to take back what I said, because I meant it,” Satoru asserts. He doesn’t have to elaborate — you know what he’s referring to. “Had you… had that mission gone as they intended, I wouldn’t have hesitated.”

An owl hoots on a distant tree branch.

Chills nibble all over your skin like little bug bites. You hug yourself to stave the sensation off.

“Even if you knew that isn’t what I’d want?”

“Even then.”

“So, you’re admitting it’d be for your sake?”

“Most things are.”

“I don’t buy that,” you frown. “You’re kinder than you realize.”

His eyebrows pinch together and his rosy lips part. It takes him a moment to dislodge the words stuck in his throat.

“... Not many people would agree,” he smiles thinly.

“Fine, just me then, since that’s easier to prove,” you hold up a single finger and raise another for each subsequent point. “One, you always leave my favorite coffee cans where you know I’ll find them. Two, whenever we’re facing a curse, you step in front to guard me. Three, if I look all sad and homesick, you make stupid jokes to take my mind off things. And four, there’s what happened in Kaizu. You—”

“I told you to use a technique you weren’t ready for.”

You blink.

He tucks his sunglasses away, removing yet another barrier. His crystalline eyes shimmer beneath the moon’s glow.

“How much do you know about your mentor’s history?”

Ah, yes, your mentor — Ishimoto Akane.

She stands at 5’8, boasts piercing green eyes, short, tousled black hair, and a tattoo of a thorny rose that envelops her entire left arm. When it came to reading the room, no one could fail as spectacularly as her. She never minced words, found basic tasks boring, and doted over her iguana named Wormwood like he was the second coming of Christ. When she wasn’t pampering Wormwood, she could be found in her very disorganized garage, tinkering with cars or motorcycles. Her neighbors filed numerous sound complaints thanks to her speakers blasting disco at unholy hours. Somehow, she never got caught.

For lack of a better word, your jujutsu mentor is eccentric.

Most notably, she saved you and your parent’s lives from a curse when you were six. You’ve been joined by the hip ever since.

As for her history…

“Um, well, I know that she’s from Omachi. She moved out of Japan in her late teens because ‘jujutsu sorcerers are an absolute drag,’ or something like that.”

“That’s a start,” Gojo hums. “Let me fill in the blanks. The Ishimoto family goes back a ways. They might not be as influential as the Big Three, but their connections are nothing to scoff at. They’re like little leeches, sustaining themselves off others. Arranged marriages are their whole thing. Akane was set to marry some third son of a Zenin bigwig. She dipped on the day of the wedding.”

That sounds like your mentor alright.

“Personally, I find that hilarious. Her family and the Zenins aren’t of the same opinion. They essentially disowned her. Anyway! Fast forward a few years. Rumors spread that the infamous Akane is popping up in Tokyo every now and then, with some kid by her side. Ring any bells?”

You point to yourself and he nods.

She took you on training trips under the guise of an ‘exchange student program’ in the summer, which your parents considered to be an excellent opportunity. You felt bad for deceiving them, but explaining the whole ‘fighting invisible monster things with emotion magic’ would’ve made for a rough conversation.

“It wasn’t until a couple of months back that I ran into her. I came right out and asked what I’d been curious about — why did she come back? She just shrugged and said she was done being a teacher. That answer didn’t satisfy me. She’s stubborn, I’ll give her that. I’m far worse though,” he boasts, fully looking and sounding the part. “In return for picking up her tab at an izakaya, she fessed up the truth.”

He steeples his fingers together, pantomiming a hand motion you’re intimately familiar with.

“Cursed Technique: Null, the advanced application of Ophanim. Akane’s convinced an ability like that, at its full potential, would be crazy strong.”

She never said anything like that to me, you think.

You shake your head. This isn’t the most pressing matter now.

“Satoru, what are you getting at here?”

“That you shouldn’t think I’m kind. I wanted to judge your technique’s potential for myself, so I had you take on more than you could handle.”

“You wouldn’t have let me die, though.”

He chuckles mirthlessly. “And what a hero I am for that.”

You purse your lips. You’ve never seen Satoru be this hard on himself. His cadence is the same — lighthearted, easygoing — but there’s an underlying acrimony to it. His smile doesn’t reach his brilliant eyes. He comes across as a spirit mimicking another’s likeness. This should unnerve you, maybe it will upon further reflection.

Right now, however, you just want him to get across that you aren’t upset. What’s done is done.

“It’s—”

Satoru puts a hand up, stopping you prematurely. “Oh no you don’t. Don’t forgive me, not yet, anyway. You need to get better at looking out for yourself. You’re nice to a fault.”

You glare at him halfheartedly. “What’s so wrong with being nice?”

“Living in a world like this, where there are people like me.”

“A world full of Gojo Satoru’s… that is a terrifying thought,” you murmur. His lips twitch upward, but he catches himself. “Bleh, what is it with you people and rejecting basic human decency! Akane was the same way. I’m fed up with it!”

You storm toward him, your eyes narrow and jaw set tight.

“I’m going to be who I want to be and that’s that. Maybe I’m naïve—”

“—Oh, it isn’t a maybe, you definitely are—”

You hush him by placing your finger to his lips, much to his surprise, if his wide eyes are of any indication.

“—But you don’t get to tell me how to act or think or feel. That’s my business. I forgive you, alright? Now cut it out with the brooding. Let’s be real here. Doing that’s for you, not for me.”

There’s an intensity to his stare you’ve never experienced prior. It makes your head feel light and hazy. Remembering yourself, you pull your hand back, heat rushing to your face. You may have gotten carried away. He isn’t wrong about you exercising more vigilance, but something about him critiquing a core aspect of your identity stings. The description ‘oversensitive’ can join the same limbo your ‘nice to a fault’ and ‘naïve’ proclivities hang out in.

Finding your current predicament too overwhelming, you break eye contact.

“Alright, alright, I get it, quit scowling. Remind me never to piss you off again, it’s scary,” he sounds more like himself, much to your relief. “I thought of a happy medium, just for you.”

Satoru compromising? Did you die during that fight after all? You never thought you’d see the day. Shoko isn’t going to believe you.

“And that happy medium is…?”

His dumb grin makes a triumphant return. He knows he’s got your attention, no matter how cool you try to play it.

“Keep being your sweet little self. If anyone tries taking advantage of that quality, and I mean anyone, come tell Suguru or myself. We’ll take care of it.”

What is he, a member of the mob?!

Whatever, it’s a step in the right direction. You think. Maybe.

“I’m not a snitch,” you huff.

“Fine, I’ll use my own discretion then.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re gonna have to get used to it.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “How do you figure?”

“Call it intuition,” he hums, smoothly sliding his sunglasses back into place. It makes you angry how cool he looks while doing so. “Or, better yet, love at first sight. Yeah. Let’s go with that, actually.”

Wait, what?

Your heart thunders against your ribcage and you gape at him like a fish.

“You…! Y-You can’t just say something like that!”

“But I did.”

“Ugh, I’ve had enough. I’m headed to bed. Go find somebody else to mess with.”

Satoru pauses, considering the words you’ve spoken without any real bite. Then he smiles. Not in the cocky, arrogant manner he’s infamous for either. The curvature is gentle. Almost sentimental. It takes you aback and makes you wonder if your eyes are malfunctioning.

“I can’t,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It has to be you.”

It has to be you, it has to be you, it has to be you…

These five damning words loop in your head like a mantra. Who gave him the right to sound so sincere?

“Sleep well. You get all grumpy if you don’t. Having one Utahime around is more than enough, I don’t need you getting on my case too.”

Satoru turns around, pulling one hand out from his pocket to wave halfheartedly. You observe his retreating figure before snapping out of your daze. He drops a cryptic line like that and dares to casually waltz away, whistling while he does so! The nerve! The audacity! The whistling is off-pitch too! Jujutsu Tech seriously needs to consider adding music theory to the curriculum.

You jog to catch up with him and his stupidly long legs.

“Hey, Satoru!” You call out.

He stops and looks at you from over his shoulder.

“If you’re gonna watch out for me, I plan to return the favor,” you say, your tone leaving no room to argue. “You hear me?”

He waits until he’s facing forward again to respond. For this reason, you can’t see his expression. All you can make out is the outline of him giving a thumbs up, the edges of his skin swathed in silvery moonlight.

“Mhm. Loud and clear.”

December 23rd, 2017.

8:02 p.m.

You assess the man in front of you.

Pearly white hair, bandages wrapped around his eyes, a lean and towering figure… it’s Satoru, alright. There’s no mistaking his remarkable cursed energy. You could sense it — sense him — even in your deepest sleep. Amongst those at Jujutsu Tech, you’re the only one who can tell when he’s about to warp out of thin air. It’s become a running joke of sorts. Gojo Satoru has the Six Eyes and you possess a sixth sense for him.

Or so you thought.

“Are you hearing yourself?”

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Loud and clear, yeah.”

“This isn’t funny, Satoru!”

“I’m not laughing, am I?”

“No, but,” you inhale shakily, wisely taking a second to tame your tongue. “You’re not taking this seriously— not taking me seriously.”

He frowns. You come close to regretting your words, falling just a few inches short. Arguments aren’t your forte. Determining when to surrender ground, bolster your defenses, or charge into enemy territory; this is a skill that requires practice. Especially when facing Satoru. You don’t want to consider him an opponent, but that’s what he feels like right now. An imposing wall blocking you from the road you have to take.

You regret turning up the duplex’s heat. Chilly as it is outside in the throes of winter, the air in this room has become scorching.

“Is that genuinely what you think?”

And there it is. He already knows the answer, as do you. He simply wants you to have your confession on record.

You grab the water bottle you left on the kitchen countertop, drinking enough to help ease the lump in your throat. This isn’t the time to cry. Not yet. Not before anything major occurs. The crisis hasn’t taken the stage, Christmas Eve holds that honor. Illogical as it may be, you don’t think you’ve earned the emotional release crying brings. That should remain a consolation prize to you in the future.

The you who will witness the horrors Geto Suguru plans to orchestrate.

The you who will learn how this decade-long saga ends.

Can the human heart endure anguish worse than this?

Tomorrow, this question will receive an answer, whether you want it or not.

“... It isn’t.”

“Good,” he says, somehow soft and firm. He opens up his arms. “C’mere.”

You’re sinking into him before he finishes the word. He secures you against his chest and the two of you tangle together like you’d unravel should you part. Satoru rests his chin on the crown of your head, mindlessly tracing patterns into your back. Or so you think, until you recognize the distinct grooves and curves of the characters which form Gojo.

He engraves it into you over and over again as if casting a spell.

This action must soothe him. You count each thump of his heart, noting how it settles into a steadier rhythm as the seconds tick by. The world’s strongest sorcerer is made of flesh and blood just like you are. It’s easy to forget that those you love and admire are mortal, regardless of how well they hide it. Those close to godhood must act the part, lest their audience murmur in suspicion.

“I don’t think I could do it, Toru.”

He doesn’t need to ask what you mean.

“Intentionally killing someone… could there be anything worse than that?”

No, you desperately scream to your younger self, as if there were any way to make her hear you. There really isn’t.

“I know.”

“... Could you?”

Satoru’s muscles stiffen. From this alone, you can glean his answer. From your lack of prodding, he must piece this together too. Talkative as you both are, it’s in these pockets of total silence that your communication shines best. Everything from the subtle hitching of breath to the twitch of one another’s lips reveals streams of information to sift through.

You can tell he doesn’t want to let you go, but you manage to wriggle out of his vice-like grip, creating a few inches of distance.

Reaching up, you undo the bandages around his eyes. He leans down to aid you in your task. Once the last strip comes off, you fold the linen neatly and put it aside. Satoru’s pretty eyes follow your every movement. When your attention returns to him, it’s impossible to overlook how hard he’s straining to fight back a smile.

He quickly abandons the farce.

Large hands seek out yours. Subconsciously, you meet him halfway, automatically drawn to him as if you were both different ends of a magnet. His slender fingers interlace with yours. His countenance radiates such fondness, such unfiltered reverence, that you find yourself getting embarrassed.

“W-What?” You choke out.

“Just thinking about how I’m the luckiest guy alive, is all,” he hums. His grin widens at how his unabashed compliments fluster you. Shame isn’t in his lexicon. “You went from looking like you wanted to bite my head off to doting on me.”

You roll your eyes yet chuckle nonetheless. He visibly perks up at the sound. He must’ve made you laugh thousands of times over the years, but he still treats each instance as if he’d experienced the most delightful composition.

He whispers your name.

“You trust me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then do this for me, baby.”

“But…” you trail off, unable and perhaps unwilling to reinforce your argument, “Everyone is going to be risking their lives. Nanamin, Ijichi, ours and Iori’s students; even Shoko’s going out on the field. How am I supposed to sit still knowing that?”

“You don’t have to sit still, my little energizer bunny.”

The deadpan look he receives has him (wisely) reconsidering his word choice.

“I’m not asking because I don’t trust you, I’m asking because there’s no one I trust more,” Satoru tries again. You bite your lower lip. It’s unfair how much his rare glimpses of sincerity move you.

“And this is all based on a hunch?”

“Mhm.”

Satoru lifts your left hand. He caresses your skin, his smile softening into something tender. An expression that’s exclusively for you.

“Historically, my hunches are rather reliable.”

You can’t argue with the truth.

Suguru appears to have some unknown design for Okkotsu Yuta, who is to remain at Jujutsu Tech during the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons. The special-grade curse Orimoto Rika poses too many risks for him to be on the battlefield alongside allies. Since everyone down to the Ainu society is being called upon to deal with this threat, you’ve been awaiting your assignment. There’s no way they wouldn’t utilize every resource available.

Satoru ruined this assumption.

He personally requested that you remain on standby at the school.

He didn’t even tell you this himself. You found out from Maki of all people, who earlier asked why you were stuck ‘babysitting the exchange student.’ You were confused. This made her confused. Then you both remembered the menace that is Gojo Satoru and everything started adding up.

His explanation upon answering the phone?

“Oh, I was just getting around to telling you about that!”

Needless to say, you didn’t share his enthusiasm.

“Alright,” you sigh. “I’ll keep an eye on Yuta until everything is finished.”

Content, he squeezes your hand. As he does so, the gemstone on your ring finger catches the light, mesmerizing you both.

You close your eyes and smile.

‘Call it intuition,’ huh?

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #golden girl #my stuff

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arlerts-angel · 4 months

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❝HOW CAN YOU KNOW HOW TO LOVE IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND AGAIN?❞

this one's for those with fuckboy tendencies! you're their favorite game to play.

a/n: some of these may be out of character, don't worry — it's just for the fic! i really like how this came out regardless 😌 18+ MDNI

cw: various characters x afab!reader, mean!dom characters, porn with no plot, overstim (f), dacryphilia, penetrative sex (piv)

he knows you're sitting by your phone waiting for him to text.

he gets off on making you wait... it keeps you on your toes. it's a sick mindgame and he's the only one having fun.

he strings you along, leaving you on read for hours until his cock starts to ache. his hand won't satisfy him, though. he needs his oblivious little cocksleeve.

even he doesn't know why you let him fuck with your head like you do. maybe you're just as twisted as him for enjoying the way he toys with your mind (and body).

it's just that when he's good, he's just so good. he eats your pussy like it's his last meal. the way he swirls his tongue on your clit and fucks his fingers into you is criminal. the way he fucks you like you're nothing, too. there's not a drop of care for you when his cock bullies against your cervix, nor your overstimulated clit from your fourth orgasm.

the only thing he loves more than your cum on his sheets are your tears. he loves making you cry. "fuckin' crybaby. you can take it. 'm almost there." he groans. "too much–! 's too much... please–!" you cry. he grins devilishly at your whines before his face contorts. "fuck–!" he hisses and pulls out to cum on your ass.

he's terrible at aftercare, but he's kind enough to let you stay the night. "you know where the towels are if you wanna shower. try not to wake me up." he grumbles and gets into bed.

the next morning when you get home, he's already texting you.

"you left and didn't say bye?"

aw. maybe he does care.

tetta kisaki, light yagami, eren jaeger, hanma shuji, nishio nishiki, ayato kirishima, zeke jaeger, bertholdt hoover, connie springer, jean kirstein, suguru geto, toji fushiguro

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reidsaurora · 1 year

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"Overnight" ~ S. Reid

Summary: When Spencer offers to clear out a drawer for Y/N in his dresser, it has him explaining some things he'd been hiding from her.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader (i think? i don't remember using pronouns in this lol)

Word Count: 814 why is she so short

Content Warning: allusions to sex but nothing in detail, mild mentions of nudity i guess, this whole fic is basically aftercare lol, lmk if i missed anything!

Genre: Fluff, what else did you expect out of me?

Extra Notes: i truly meant for this to be posted on time, i'm so sorry guys

Based On the Prompt: "The Things In That Drawer" from this year's @domaystic prompts

Originally Written: 05/08/2023

Beta Read By: @dungeons-are-too-cold (i love you literally so much)

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

Nothing could get Spencer Reid in a sappy mood like a night of slow, passionate sex. Something about moments like these—the way he showered you in kisses, the sweet compliments he'd give you, the love he'd show you—just felt right. Like his embrace was exactly where you needed to be.

Spencer's hand settled on the soft skin of your hip, drawing various shapes with his fingertips. Your head rested against his chest, your hand moving up to his tummy. He placed a soft kiss on your hair, the scruff of his five-o'clock shadow scratching against your forehead lightly. "I love nights like this," he told you.

You craned your head to face him, kissing his cheek. "I do too. I just hate that it always ends so quickly," you said, thinking about the work nights where you had to head home early, not quite ready for the night to end but knowing that you needed to go home for a change of clothes.

"You know," he said, pausing to flip the two of you over, his body hovering over you, "I could always clear a couple drawers out for you."

Your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. You'd been hinting at the idea for a while, lamenting about needing fresh panties or complaining about missing your skincare regimen. But Spencer hadn't seemed quite ready to take that step yet, so you didn't pressure him.

"Wait, are you serious?"

He nodded, bending down to kiss you on the lips this time. "I'll even let you pick out which one you want."

You practically pushed him into the floor as you jumped up. Spencer chuckled as you ran over to the dresser, pulling his boxers back on.

You pulled out the second drawer, where you knew his tee shirts were, grabbed one of his giant ones and tossed it on. "Any of them?"

"Mhm," he hummed, walking over and settling his hands on your waist. "Whichever one you want."

You considered it, eventually deciding on the bottom drawer. "What about-"

"Wait, Y/N, don't-" he shouted, reaching out to stop your hand.

He was too late, though. You pulled open the drawer, revealing an entire drawer of nerdy memorabilia. The lightsaber was the first thing that caught your eye, followed by a sonic screwdriver, and a couple geeky Pop Figures, among other things.

"You have a lightsaber," you examined.

Spencer scratched awkwardly at his neck. "Yeah, I guess I do."

You grabbed the lightsaber from the drawer, your face lighting up as you turned it on. "You have a lightsaber!"

He chuckled as you poked him in the ribs with the lightsaber. "You're having too much fun with this."

You set the lightsaber down on top of the dresser, turning back to the drawer. Next, you pulled out the infamous Jason Voorhees mask, holding it in front of your face. "Please tell me you've scared your coworkers with this."

Spencer let out another chuckle, taking the mask from your hands. "I got Morgan with it one time. He nearly choked on his coffee."

You continued snooping through the drawers, sifting through Polaroids of Spencer and his friend Penelope at various conventions, some D.C. comics, and a couple signed posters. Your heart nearly flipped when you spotted a picture of him dressed as the Joker. "Who did your face paint?"

"You're loving this, aren't you?"

A squeal escaped your lips as you threw your arms over his shoulders. "Spence, this is adorable! Why would you hide this from me?"

He sighed, somewhere between relieved and exasperated. "I didn't want you to think I was weird. I mean, I'm a grown man and I have a collection of legos and Batman comics?"

"Spencer, I think it's cute that you have something you love so much. You don't have to be afraid to show how much you love and support it."

He bent forward to kiss you again, pulling your body flush against his. "You really mean that?"

"I mean, any man that has the balls to wear makeup like that in public is sexy in my book," you kidded.

Spencer diverted your attention back to the drawer, pointing his chin toward the dresser. "Is that really the drawer you want?"

"Does it come with all the nerdy memorabilia?" you teased, poking his chest.

"In your dreams. I spent good money on those things." He rolled his eyes, leading you to the bathroom. His hands were warm and big on your bare skin, the feeling absolutely heavenly. He placed a trail of kisses along your shoulder up to your head before hooking his chin over your shoulder.

You lifted your head to face him, kissing his jaw. "Hey, does this mean we can go as the Joker and Harley Quinn for Halloween?"

"You know what? I think that might just be something out of my dreams."

-> taglist: @lowsodiumfreaks67 @drayshadow @alexxavicry @nomajdetective @kbakery @leigh70 @darkloverfox @sammyrenae68 @cherrycandle @asgardprincess97 @gh0stgurl @esposadomd @randomwriter1021 @eddieharrington @lunar-affection @givemeth @lavhoes @rhyanishere @cat-lockwood @danielle143 @marsmallow433 @handsupforamiracle @topguncultleader @mente-sindescanso @reverieofmgg @spencer-reids-adventures @ah-blossom @encyclo-reid-ia @reidselle @thevisionthedream @dungeons-are-too-cold @wwwonzeee @louderfortheback @reidsbookclub @annahalstead5021 @cwritesforfun @soapiebear @maelartasch @buckyyyismahhlife @cynbx @hellooitsrose

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r-is-typing · 2 months

Note

hi there! welcome back to tumblr!

could I please request a spencer reid x reader where the reader is the newest member of the bau but gets kidnapped on a case? thank you!

p.s. extra points if the reader loves puzzles and books!

decipher | s.r

summary: in which the newest member of the bau gets taken request: hi there! welcome back to tumblr! could I please request a spencer reid x reader where the reader is the newest member of the bau but gets kidnapped on a case? thank you! p.s. extra points if the reader loves puzzles and books! pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst with a happy ending content warnings: mentions of violence, kidnapping, really anything mentioned in criminal minds word count: 1.6k+ send in your requests here!

Y/N groaned, walking into the small room that the BAU was using in Delaware's local police station while they were there for a case. "What's wrong, pretty girl?" Derek raised a curious brow.

Y/N looked at the evidence board. "I just don't see what we're missing! It's been four days now, and we're no closer than when we got here to solving this."

Spencer looked up from his reading. "I've been reading for a while and can't decipher these puzzles." The tall man stood up, walking to a board they had with various puzzles tacked onto it. The Unsub had left pieces of paper at every crime scene with different variations of codes that seemed like coordinates of some kind. "43 11 51 15 44 23 15 32" "31 15 44 43 35 31 11 54" "23 15 31 35 32 15" Y/N stared intensely at the numbers, trying to get anything to tell her what they meant. "Okay, maybe we need to go over the profile again. What's the deal with this guy?" JJ started to speak. "Well, the guy's a narcissist first, but.. he could be devolving. He was skilled the first few kills, but this last one... we found mistakes, he slipped up. So, does that mean his clues will too?" Spencer stood next to Y/N. "It very well could, but until we figure out the code..." Hotch finished his sentence. "There's nothing we can do. The best thing to do right now is go back to the hotel and rest, we can come back tomorrow with fresh minds. That's an order." Y/N told the team she'd catch up, she was just going to go to the restroom, so they left and headed to the hotel. She watched them leave and as soon as they left her eye sight, she ran back into the boardroom. She needed to figure out this code. People's lives depended on it. Y/N began looking everywhere online possible to lead her to what kind of code this was. "Agent L/N?" An officer stuck their head into the room, making Y/N look up. "We've just received another note... There seems to have been one we missed in our initial sweep." Y/N jumped up quick taking the note from the officer. "Thank you."

Y/N opened the note and was met with something she wasn't expecting. Another code but at the bottom, it said "Tap tap tap". Y/N widened her eyes. Why didn't she think of tap code? It was brilliant. Y/N spent the next fifteen minutes solving each of the puzzles she got. She went to the board writing next to each decipher.

"43 11 51 15 44 23 15 32" -> "save them" "31 15 44 43 35 31 11 54" -> "let's play" "23 15 31 35 32 15" -> "help me" and then the newest cipher:

"11 12 11 33 14 34 33 15 14 23 34 45 43 15 31 24 12 42 11 42 54" -> "abandoned house library" Y/N gasped, running out of the police station and hopping into the vehicle the team left for her, heading to this abandoned house that they had thought they cleared the day before. "I knew it.." Y/N mumbled to herself, pulling in front of the house. Y/N quickly ran into the house, gun pointing in front of her. She swung to the right, hearing a noise but ultimately nothing. "I just knew you'd fall for my trap. The last note was just for you, Agent. Those girls aren't here, but you however..." A voice from behind her spoke, hitting her over the head with a chunk of wood before she could turn and shoot him. Y/N fell to the floor, knocking unconscious . The Unsub smirked, picking her up over his shoulder and carrying her out to his truck, driving away quickly before anyone would be able to find them.

The next day, the team arrived to the station early. "Anyone hear from Y/N? I didn't see her at the hotel this morning." Emily asked, looking around. This made the team share a look of confusion. "Excuse me? What time did Agent L/N leave last night?" JJ asked one of the officers. "Well, shortly after I gave her a note that was delivered here, she ran out of here quicker than I could even see with my own eyes. I figured she was just sick or somethin'." The officer told the team. "Guys..." Spencer looked at the board with the ciphers, noting a new one pinned, along with their deciphers right next to them. "I think the Unsub knew Y/N was here alone and lured her.. She was able to figure out the cipher. It's tap code."

Hotch looked at Reid. "Who would be smart enough to understand tap code?" Reid scrambled to get his phone out of his pocket. "Garcia," He started as she picked up the phone. "Out of the list of possible suspects we had, cross match those with anyone who recently got out of prison." Typing could be heard on the other end of the phone. "Uh, there's two. Robert Smart and Henry David. Henry got out just two weeks ago, and Robert got out two days ago."

Hotch begins to speak, but was interrupted by Penelope. "Sending Henry's address and work now to your cells. Her majesty out." A click was heard and Penelope's voice was gone.

The team ran out of the station, half of the team splitting up. "Well, he wouldn't take her to his work..." Derek called Garcia again, asking about any abandoned buildings, or anything in that area that would be the perfect spot to keep someone.

"It seems like his parents had owned a storage unit but the storage company itself went bankrupt last year, so there's just a whole bunch of abandoned storage units. His..." Penelope pauses, typing more. "is number 378."

Derek does a quick u-turn, speeding towards the storage unit. "Why would she go off without us?" Spencer looked at Derek and then Rossi. "Kid, she probably wasn't expecting this. I mean, it seemed perfect that we had just talked about him devolving and then he gives a precise location." Rossi puts a comforting hand on Reid's shoulder, comforting him as much as he could.

The three jumped out of the SUV as they arrived at the abandoned area. Spencer rushed ahead of them, his gun held steady, in case of any surprises as they walked slowly.

367, 371, 375 Finally, they found Unit 378 and looked at each other, nodding before lifting the storage and finding Henry and Y/N. Henry held a gun to her head as she stared directly at the three men ahead of her. "You take one more step, and she's dead!" Henry screams. Spencer tensed. "You don't want to do that, Henry." He raised his hands, putting his gun back in his holster. "We know what your mom did to you, okay? You shouldn't have had to go through that."

Henry's eyes flashed with anger as he cried. "She left me! Abandoned me as if I was nothing!" Y/N kept eye contact with Spencer. "Henry, it's alright, we're going to get you help. Just put down the gun, okay?" Spencer slowly took a step, seeing Henry's guard starting to come down. "If you put the gun down, we can help you. We can tell the judge you cooperated with us." Y/N spoke, not breaking eye contact with Spencer who stared at Henry.

Henry's hand dropped the gun as he dropped to the ground and cried. Derek ran over, cuffing him. "Henry David, you're being arrested for the murder of three women, kidnapping, and the assault of an FBI agent. You have the right to remain silent-" Morgan's voice cut off as he walked out of the storage, Rossi in tow.

Spencer rushed over to Y/N, untying her and helping her to her feet. Y/N was quick to hug him as she cried. "I'm so sorry. I really thought.." Spencer shushed her, walking her out of the storage unit where JJ, Hotch, and Emily stood waiting for her. "You're okay!" JJ ran over and embraced the girl.

"Hotch, I-"

Hotch shook his head. "As much as what you did was careless, you were smart with your actions. If it wasn't for your smart thinking and logic, we wouldn't have been able to decipher the code."

Y/N nodded to Hotch, then looked up at Spencer. "I didn't mean to worry everyone.." The girl pouted. Spencer just rubbed her shoulder. "I know, but you're okay now, that's what matters."

Y/N looked up at him. "I knew you guys would come for me once you saw the cipher, but I honestly thought I was going to die in there... which got me thinking."

Spencer looked at her in confusion. "Do you wanna do something when we get back to Quantico?" Y/N asked, a tint of red painted across her face.

"Like a..?"

"Yes, genius. Like a date. I've got to repay my knight in shining blue vest somehow as a token of my appreciation for saving me."

Spencer nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'd, uh, I"d like that." Y/N smiled. "Perfect." She quickly walked to JJ and Emily after. Spencer looked over to Derek who had clearly witnessed the exchange, a large smirk sprawled across his face.

"Shut up." Spencer mumbled to him, shuffling past him quickly. He then stopped, realizing what she had said. "Knight in shining blue vest?"

r is typing... thank you so much for the request and the warm welcome back! i hoep you enjoy, i loved writing this! :) r is signing off...

#requests open #reqs open #request #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #r-is-typing #spencer reid angst

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lillylvjy · 4 months

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Be my (be my baby)

notes; hey! So this is long over due- was supposed to be part of Halloween but never got to it. Also this fic is a bit fucked up but, recently I’ve been doing research over horror movies and how they’re created and written. I’ve also done some analyzation over serial killers and criminals in college so I used all my knowledge to write this and- I hope you like it! And I know there is some plot holes and details missed, if people like this I’ll do another fic like this, it was super fun to write and yeah! Yes this is very inspired by Carrie and scream. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!!!! If it’s not for you, don’t read it.

warnings; DEAD DOVE: do not eat!, murder, massacre?, blood, bleeding out, choking on blood, insanity, feeling good about killing someone, Simpbur low key manipulates reader a bit, someone tied up, reader stabs someone but doesn’t kill anyone, simp kills a shit ton of people, simp and you go insane at the end ngl, kissing, cheating?, bets, trying to sleep with someone, suggestive, and if I missed anything please tell me! This fic is already fucked up as it is so please tell me!

ALSO!!! I suggest 16+ for this! But I don’t control what you guys read so read with caution. And please for god sake, READ THE WARNINGS!

wc; 2.5k

who; Simpbur x reader

edited: yes. (As much as I could)

It all happened in a blur. One second you were laughing and dancing, and the next you were screaming and crying as random people started dropping to the floor, blood slowly seeping out of them.

Soon random people became almost the whole student body that attended. People scurrying to get out, none made it, the doors were locked.

Quickly running to the next close exit, you tried to push it open. And again. And one more time.

Locked.

You quickly looked around to see more people on the floor, gasping for air as the blood painted the gym floor, walls, bleachers. Looking across the gym from you, another exit, leading to the hallways. You quickly took off your shoes and ran like hell.

‘Why didn’t they come after you yet? What was this for?!’ Your mind screamed over the loud music still playing on the speakers. Of course the dance had to be Oldies but Goodies themed, with various fifty and sixty love and dance songs playing.

Running at the door with full impact, taking notice that you were the only one left really alive, busting the door open and looking both ways, one leading to the cafeteria and one leading to the back of the school. You took your chances.

You took a right to the back of the school, thinking it’d be an easier way out and hiding from whoever the fuck was doing this. As you ran, the music transferred to the speakers all over the school.

Be my baby by The Ronettes blasted as you heard an ear piercing scream be cut short by gasping and gurgling a couple feet away. Halting your run, panting but being as silent as you can, you slowly turn around and see a girl lying limp on the ground, blood pooling all around her as she stared blankly at the ceiling , life seeping out of her every second.

You placed a hand over your mouth to hold back sobs as you lean down and closed her eyelids, not wanting to look into the plain eyes anymore. The music felt like it got louder as your head pounded at everything going on. Where were the teachers? Where was all the trusted adults you were supposed to have? Or did they-

No. You needed to stop thinking and start running and finding an exit. Quickly getting up you, turned around and started jogging before turning right again and running into something, or someone.

You screamed as you hide yourself, getting ready for the sharp impact of a knife or something.

“Y/n? Oh my god-“ you heard the person say and arms engulf you into a hug. You quickly opened your eyes and pushed the person away so you could see them.

Wilbur.

Pulling him back into you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and hid your face in his neck, wanting to hide from whatever the fuck was happening.

Wil has been your best friend since you were babies, both of your moms being best friends as well and wanting to have you both grow up with each other. That worked out as to see you both were inseparable since day 1, him being a couple months older than you. Now you didn’t know whether this would be your last time holding him or not.

“Wil, what’s happening?” You asked the tall man in front of you as he cupped your face.

“I don’t know but we better start going if we want to get out alive, I have a place we can go and hide, trust me?” Wil held his hand out for you to take as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“Always.” You placed your hand in his as he nodded and started to run with you, side by side, desperately trying to get out of any situation that’d lead to be face to face with the person doing this.

As you ran, you saw each teacher attending the dance in their classroom, lying limp on their desk or sitting in their desk chairs with blood soaking their clothes and eyes still open. A shiver tan down your spine as you placed a hand over your mouth, holding back a sob.

Wilbur took a quick left turn up the stairs and dragged you to the last classroom in the hallway. The science lab.

As he turned and got into the classroom, he quickly stopped. You followed in shortly looking at him questionably.

“Wil what- oh my god, Luke!” You quickly rushed over once you saw him in the chair, a rag towel in his mouth and rope binding him to the chair. Luke was the guy you were going out with as to recent and the lead quarterback of the football team. Nothing romantic yet just some dates here and there to get to know each other more. He was your date to homecoming that you thought ditched you for some cheerleader but apparently he’d been kidnapped by god knows who.

You quickly pulled the towel out of his mouth and cupped his cheek as he slowly came too. “Luke? Luke, hey can you hear me? Wil I need help! Luke who did this to you?” You asked as he slowly opened his eyes and looked relieved to see you.

“I don’t know, I think I blacked out.” He said, his voice hoarse and gone. You quickly sighed as you examined the ties in the rope.

“Ok, Wil can I please get som- Wil?” Your voice lowered as you saw Wil looking at the two of you, eyes full of dread, anger and revenge. You quickly stood up as you slowly walked towards him but stopped once he slowly started laughing and a smile appeared on his once blank face.

Wilbur reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a knife, one that was still ridden with blood. He looked at it before point it at you. “You know, this all happened because of you darling. You did this. You decided to ignore all my affections and admirations for this prick who doesn’t even care about you! I care! Not him! I did this for you.” Wil got close enough to you that you could feel his breath against your face. He brought the knife closer to your face and gently ran it down your cheek one as you stood there stone faced. “And you’re going to finish it, isn’t that right darling?”

Your cold, unfazed face quickly turned into one of excitement and joy as a smile adorned your face and you bit your bottom lip to contain it. You quickly grabbed his tie and pulled him down to your level and pushed your lips onto his, not minding the gasp they both heard from the unwanted guest.

You quickly reached into Wil’s jacket and pulled out the extra knife you placed in there earlier that night as you tugged him closer to you, one arm around your waist and one hand around your neck.

Wil pushed you away slightly. “Hmm not now, we still have business to take care of love.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to do this in front of him? Make him suffer even more?” You asked the man in front of you as you fixed his tie. Wilbur smirked as he looked down at you, amused at your sudden demeanor change. He loved it.

“Yes I did, but let’s do it after we deal with this fucking cunt.” Wil whispered in your ear as he pecked your neck and turned you around. “Now darling, what do we do with people who think they can just come in here and expect us to just forget all the shit they’ve put us through with their charm?” Wil asked as he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder.

You pretended to think as you brought the knife up to your lips and tapped lightly. “Um… oh! You make their life a living hell.”

“Exactly, good job darling! So, wanna do the honors?” Wil asked as he placed his hands on your hips and stepped away from you.

“Can I say something to him quickly?” You asked your partner as he hummed, agreeing with what you wanted. He let go of your waist as you started walking forward.

“Don’t you dare come near me.” Luke hissed out as you walked up to him. You smiled at him as you meant down, face to face with him as you tapped his cheek with the blunt side of the knife.

“Oh but I thought you wanted me near you all the time? That’s why you started going on dates with me yeah?” Luke looked away from your eyes as you brought the knife to his forehead and moves pieces of his hair back. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I heard what you did. Made a little bet with your friends to see if you could get in my pants? Think I’m worth it now? After everything you did to me and called me? Think I would just accept something like that from you so quickly?!” You started to tear up as thoughts ran through your head. Frustration and sadness ran through your whole body. He didn’t understand that what he did still had an effect on you. It will always have an effect on you. He humiliated you throughout he school years and thinks he can just come in here and get some? Hell no.

Wil came up with this plan after you came to him crying about the whole situation. You knew the second he asked you out something was up, and your suspicions were right when you over heard the stupid cheerleaders making a fuzz about it in the back of class. Making fun of how small you were and how you were “easier”.

Wil was just as, maybe even more, angry than you were. That was when Wil told you he liked you and begged you not to say yes. You weren’t going to in the first place and after all that happened, you definitely weren’t. After that Wil came up with the idea for you to go out with him, play with him and drag it out as much as you could. Wil didn’t like hearing you shared a kiss with the bastard once or twice on the dates, but he let it slide when he saw you after and rid of the scent of his nasty cologne and disgusting kiss on your lips.

But after Wil over heard Luke in class with his gang of idiot, taking in the information, he was fuming. Texting you immediately after, telling you to meet him at his car immediately. He told you all of it. Luke’s plan to finally get some and leave you after. It disgusted him knowing that he wanted to do that to you. His darling. He told you to avoid all forms of contact at all cost, not to let him to close but close enough not to be suspicious.

The plan was working. Get him to tired so he leaves you alone. But Wil wanted more, something else.

Revenge. For all of it. So he sat you down and told you the plan he had, and to say that you were terrified at first was an understatement. You were scared of Wilbur. But after you continued hearing things and going on dates and hearing all the stupid lies coming out of his mouth, you started to understand the plan. The reason behind it. So after Luke asked you to go with him to homecoming, you immediately went to Wil after a couple days of no contact or conversation and told him you were in. And to say that he was happy was an understatement. He was ecstatic. He had his partner in crime back.

Which leads you here, in this moment on the verge of seeing red and snapping this mans neck.

“You ruined my years in school since I was a kid because you convinced everyone that I should be a loner and i deserved it, since my dad never loved me and my moms a drunk. I was the weird kid yeah? Remember those words? I do. They’re engraved in my fucking mind because of you!” You screamed in his face as he flinch back. You quickly stood up and looked down at him with a flat expression. “And I believed it. Until I met Wil. He actually cared enough to get to know me. He cared enough to be my friend. And that’s more than I could ask for. But you, you can’t get enough of seeing me suffer yeah? Seeing me crumple into a little ball and ruining my life. Well buddy boy-“ you lightly pat his face as Wilbur comes behind you and smiles at the boy. “That’s exactly what we’re going to be doing to you but in a more… painful way.”

You finished off as you plunged your knife into his stomach, feeling a rush adrenaline run through you. You didn’t want to do this, but he deserved it, for all the pain he put you through. And you guys already did enough damages so why not a little more.

You took the knife out as you heard him gasp and hiss in pain and uncomfortable.

“You’re fucking crazy.” Luke said as curled in on himself, trying to stop the pain at any cost.

Wil scoffed as he pulled the man’s head back by his hair and leant down close to him. “Go to hell.” He hissed in his face as he shoved the knife into the blondes chest and stepped back as he yelled and the gasping started.

The scene wasn’t pretty. The boy had blood running out of his mouth and down his tux, not that it wasn’t already ruined by the wounds he sported. Yet the adrenaline kept rushing through you like a wave that never stopped. It almost brought you joy to see him like this . To see him slowly dying as all the tension and heartache from the past years slowly drain out of you.

You didn’t know you were crying until Wil cupped your face and cooed at you, wiping your tears away as he put your head in his chest, running his hands through your hair.

“We did the right thing love. These people were not kind to us. They deserved it. You’ll realize that soon, I promise. But now we have to leave, ok? We can get food and crash at my house and talk about this all. Ok? Trust me?” Wil told you as the music over the speakers continued but you weren’t focused on them. Only on the man in front of you and what he was saying. You trusted him with your whole life and if you had to do whatever he said, you would. Always.

You took his hands and pulled him out of the room, making sure everything that you guys brought and used was in hand. “Always. Now where are we eating?”

Wil smiled as tightened his grip on your hand and walked in line with you. “What about burgers?”

“Yeah, I could go for a burger.” You said with a smile on your face.

A smile that had nothing but pure joy and insanity as you tucked the knife away in Wil’s coat.

lowkey forgot who was on my taglist; if you wanna be added feel free to ask or dm me!

#lilly writes #wilbur soot x reader #simpbur #simpbur x reader #wilbur soot #c!wilbur #dead dove do not eat #dark fic #please read warnings!!!!!#wilbur x reader

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bwabys-scenarios · 6 months

Text

7 Minutes in Heaven

Various!HXH x Reader

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

taglist: @desiray562 @lovelyxkazuha

if you would like to be added to the NSFW taglist, comment a ❤️!! make sure you have your AGE in your bio, and that you’re able to be tagged/mentioned!

It was late October, and after meeting up with your friend Kurapika and Leorio for some fun fall activities, you came home to see a letter in your mailbox.

“Dear (Name),

You have been cordially invited to this years Costume Party. Please come wearing a costume, and be aware that there may be some people there that you do not like. Guests are required to hide their identity with their costumes, and fighting is prohibited.

Regards,

Pariston”

You frowned, seeing that there was another letter attached that had the address and time it would be taking place. Fortunately(or unfortunately really), you didn’t have anything planned for that day, so you didn’t see why you shouldn’t go.

All you would need is a costume.

“You got an invitation too, (Name)? Both Leorio and I received one the day we parted ways.”

You blinked, looking between the two. “Oh yeesh, I hope that it hasn’t been handed out to every hunter in existence. I will actually pee my pants if Hisoka is there.”

Kurapika grimaced and Leorio started laughing. “Shit, don’t do that he might like it!”

Now both you and Kurapika were grimacing. “(Name), don’t worry. If he shows up, just stick by our sides and we’ll protect you.”

You nodded, giving your friends a quick hug and peck on the cheek. “Aww, thanks guys!”

You turned just in time to miss their blushing faces. “Let’s buy our costumes together, so we can recognize each other at the party!”

“Oh, that actually sounds like a good idea!” Kurapika said after recovering from the kiss. Leorio nodded, following after the two as they headed towards a costume store.

——————

You look down at your costume, a black dress, a masquerade mask, and witch hat. It was a little plain, but followed the rules of hiding your identity. The only people that would know who you are would be Kurapika and Leorio.

You walked towards the address, stopping in front of a large mansion. “Did he seriously rent out a mansion just for a party? Figures…”

Before you could even knock, the door swung open and you were pulled in by Pariston, the only person not wearing a costume. “Welcome, you’re just in time! Everyone else is here, and ready to party!”

He was right, the entire first floor was full of people, some easily recognizable, and some not. You were hoping that the man lingering in the corner of the room was not the leader of the phantom troupe, Chrollo, because that would mean a battle to the death between him and Kurapika.

“Pariston, I don’t know what you have planned, but-“

Pariston smiled down at you. “Shh, just have fun. Everything will be fine. Probably.”

You pout, but join the crowd of people, drinking a little and dancing. You spotted a short dark haired man nearby, sitting with a taller, blonde haired one.

“Come on, Fei. It’s not often we get invited to things. Phinks is already dancing, look!”

You blink, glancing to where the blonde was pointing to see a man swaying on the dance floor, sipping from his drink. They spot you looking, the shorter man giving you a look that sends you running in the opposite direction. “Hey, don’t mind him!” the blonde yells after you.

You sigh, bumping into someone as you turn. “Oh sorry I-“

A man towers over you, his hair dark and long. His eyes peer down at you through his skeleton mask, and you can’t help but feel tiny compared to him. Thankfully, he just pushes past you, patting your shoulder almost reassuringly.

“(Name)!”

Kurapika and Leorio spot you, sighing in relief.

“Geez, woman. You should have texted us when you got here! There’s a lot of creeps here.” Leorio said, patting your head.

Kurapika scowls. “Yeah, creeps and criminals. Does Pariston think we’re stupid? I can sense the phantom troupe is here. I swear I’ll-“

You grab his sleeve. “Hey, no violence, remember? Try to be calm, just for tonight. You recognize them, but they don’t recognize you. You could get some information out of them once they get drunk enough.”

He sighs and nods slowly. “You’re right… I need to be calm.”

Kurapika smiles appreciatively. “Thanks, (Name). You’re always a voice of reason.”

As the three relax and drink, planning, Pariston comes forward. “Alright gang, I’ve got a game planned for you all!”

You all turn to see Pariston holding a hat. “Drop an item of yours into the hat!”

Everyone grumbles, not a single person wanting to listen to the annoying blonde. To get it over with, you’re the first person to walk forward, placing your strawberry scented chapstick in the hat. “There.”

Others come forward, the entire party placing items in it. A few have to be dragged up to the hat, others grumbling and growling as they’re nudged forward.

“Alright, that’s everyone! Now…”

He looks to you, grinning.

“We’re playing 7 minutes in Heaven. Come pick an item, (Name).”

You blink. “Are you serious? What are you, a horny 15 year old?”

Pariston laughs. “No, but I am curious.”

You roll your eyes as some people start to murmur and ask what 7 minutes in heaven is.

“For those unaware, 7 minutes in heaven is a game where two people are locked in a closet for seven minutes! You can do whatever you want, and I really mean whatever.”

Your two friend begin to protest. “Hey, she’s the only woman here, this is sexual harassment!” Kurapika yells.

“Meh.”

Pariston offers the hat to you, and you groan. “Oh whatever. I’ll take a stupid item.”

You rustled through the hat… what do you pull out?

Options:

-a needle

-a bookmark

-a scalpel

-a cellphone

-an earring

-a piece of candy

-a roll of gauze

POLL FOR WHAT COMES FIRST!!

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asphalt-cocktail · 2 months

Text

Lead Us to Temptation- Chapter 2

Chapter 2- Good Old Fashioned Catholic Guilt

Summary: In the small town of Eden Ridge, you knew several things to be true: church happened every Sunday, the saloon served free lunch with the purchase of a drink on Thursdays, coal miners left work at 7PM sharp, and Bucky Barnes was a man sent from the depths of hell dangling the threat of temptation and sin right in front of your face. All you need to do is reach out and grab it.

Pairing: Outlaw!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Nicknames, heavy religious themes in this chapter, mentions of threatening with a gun and criminal activity, thunder storms, smut, oral f receiving, virginity kink (sorry but also I’m not), arguing, talk of marriage, good old fashioned catholic guilt

Word Count: 4.2k

Masterlist

Read me on AO3

Chapter 1- Precious Lord Take my Hand

Dinner with Bucky in Thunder Creek was… well it could have been better. The dinner itself was lovely, the part that soured it was the big gray storm clouds that created a contrasting line against the bright blue sky. You could feel the humidity weighing the air in the restaurant and feel the sudden drop of pressure along with the cold breeze that blew in with the storm.

April showers did in fact bring May flowers.

They also forced you to bed down for the night in the local hotel. There was no way you’d be able to make the two hour ride back home and avoid ending up soaked to the bone or having a tree fall on you from the violent winds that whipped. You’d catch your death if you stayed out in this type of weather too long.

The spring thunderstorm promised the renewal of life to the brown and yellow earth, it brought both anticipation and fear. Fat raindrops fell from the sky, once a bright cloudless shade of green is now a tempest of charcoal gray as heavy storm clouds cover it. The heavy drops of rain were swallowed up by the thirsty ground turning the streets into muddy rivers.

Bucky licked his lips, deep in thought and looked down the street to the hotel. It was only a matter of time before the last rooms were taken by the other visitors in town. He handed you his jacket for you to cover yourself and wrapped an arm around you, sprinting at a leisurely but rushed pace to salvation. Mud splattered up the back of your boots, sticking to your tights and soiling the bottom of your dress. The creaky wooden floor boards just outside the hotel sag and groan under the weight of water as you step into the hotel, wet and shivering like a stray dog.

You didn't know how, but he’d managed to finesse the last hotel room in town. It was something close to a miracle you thought. Bucky would never tell you that he pressed the barrel of his six shooter deep into the side of the clerk and demanded a room while you looked at the various taxidermied game that hung like trophies on the wall.

After a nice warm bath your clothes were dry enough for you to pick the dried chunks of mud off the hem of your skirt and brush it off your boots. Since it was night time, you didn't even bother changing back into your petticoat, bodice, and dress. Instead you hid behind the changing screen, mind consumed with the fact that you and Bucky would have to share a bed tonight.

The rain swelled to a great deluge that is enough to drown out the conversations in the hotel lobby, people angry that there are no more rooms left and arguing with the clerk. Outside the trees bend and sway, the weaker branches snapping loudly and falling to the ground. There was no way you’d be able to make it home, not in a storm like this.

Thunder rumbled, low and menacing as you played with the little tie on the front of your chemise. You were scared, scared of what your father would say when you returned in the morning, scared of what Father Liska would say during your confessional. You didn't have to worry about what the women would say at their bible study groups. They already loved to talk about you out of both sides of their mouth.

You felt exposed in the thin white fabric, it did very little to hide your womanly figure. You’d never been in such a state of undress in front of someone before, not in your entire adult life at least. Nerves flipped in your gut as lightning struck outside, flashing and illuminating the low lit room followed by the low rumble of thunder.

The changing screen did very little to help you feel less exposed, knowing that all that stood between you and Bucky were a few tall wooden panels. You poked your head around the corner of the screen and saw Bucky’s back to you. He had already stripped down to his cotton drawers and was shedding his shirt.

Your eyes were drawn to a scar on his shoulder, it emerged from his skin like the smudge of a brush stroke, edges jagged and uneven, the skin taut. The pink hue stood out against Bucky’s tanned skin, starting at his shoulder and tracing the contours and muscle of his arm before it tapered off at the elbow. You could only imagine the terrible memories that came along with it.

You forced yourself to look away, now distracted by broad planes of his back, built from decades of intensive labor and living off the lam. The muscles rippled with Bucky’s movement tempting you to touch him.The sight made you a bit light headed and your stomach throbbed with an unfamiliar feeling. Stiffly, you stepped out from behind the changing screen.

The creak of the floor boards under your feet alerted him. He turned, it felt like Bucky’s eyes were going to burn your clothes right off with how hard he was staring. You didn't want to look up and meet his hungry gaze, but you could picture exactly what he looked like as he devoured you.

“Please stop staring.” You tried to sound biting, but it came out weak. Nervous even. You crossed your arms over your chest to try and allow yourself some modesty.

In one large step Bucky was in front of you. His hands lightly grasped your arms, and gave them a light tug. You rested them against the firm planes of his pectorals, “I'm just thinking about all the fun we can have tonight.” He dipped his head, kissing the corner of your mouth, “Just me and you.”

You gasped, breath stolen by his suggestive words. They made your gut twist with nerves. Every God-fearing part of your brain was burned away with a hellfire that warmed your body. You swallowed thick and exhaled through your nose, “I’ve… I’ve never…” you trailed off almost too embarrassed to let the words come out.

Bucky let go of you, hands jumping away like he just touched hot iron. The sudden distance between you both had you feeling exposed, vulnerable even.

Was it something you said? Did he not want you now?

“Bucky?” Your voice was meek.

You were a virgin?

Jesus Christ of course you were a virgin how could he be so stupid. So inconsiderate!

He wanted to skip all of the prose, all the ceremony of courtship and just take you here in this hotel room. He was thinking with his dick and not his brain. You must have been horrified at his advances.

He sat down on the edge of bed lost in his own head.

“Are you mad at me?” You didn’t know what else to ask. You pull him from the deep recesses of his brain and shattered his heart with the nerve in your voice.

“God sweetheart,” he huffed and grabbed your arms pulling you close and looked up at you, “Of course not.” His arms wrapped around your waist comfortingly.

If things were going to continue as they were he had to lay out all his secrets, even the ugly ones. He let out a soft exhale and looked away from you, “Look, if you’re going to be my woman there’s some things I need to tell you first.”

Well if that was supposed to comfort you it didn’t. It made you more afraid. What was he going to say? He had a secret family in Pennsylvania? He was wanted by the Pinkertons? He was a Protestant? That would truly be the worst out of all three of the options.

You wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself if you were bedded by a Protestant.

He swallowed hard. Bucky desperately wanted to keep you hidden from his alternative lifestyle “I’m a wanted man babydoll.” His information served as a warning for what you would get yourself into should you continue seeing him.

His low, gravely tone sent a shiver down your spine and made the hair on your arms stand on end, “What do you mean?” You spoke in a hushed tone. You knew what it meant.

Well at least he wasn’t a Protestant. A criminal you could handle, something that could be forgiven.

“I’m not a good man.” He cleared his throat, his tone was almost pleading, “I’ve done…I do bad things.” He killed people, lied, stole, all without mercy. Bucky was not a nice man, he was mean and callous, calculating and manipulative. “But, Jesus, woman, I'd walk the line for you if it meant I could have you.” But for you, he’d get on his knees and beg for your love.

It should have made you push him away, seek the closest stagecoach, alert the town sheriff, run for the hills and call the Pinkertons, but hell it made you want him more. The air of danger around Bucky Barnes pulled you, like a moth to a flame, “You don’t have to walk any lines to have me.” You didn't care about his rambling ways. You wanted all of him, all his sins and imperfections. Your head spun with an intoxicating mixture of nerves and excitement, “I’m your woman now?”

“I don’t sit through Sunday mass for just anyone.” He reminded you. It was true, he’d manage to attend mass with you every Sunday and even stomached the post service lunch your family always had.

The heavens opened up and rain continued to fall from the sky, spraying the windows in waves. But you didn’t have half a mind to pay any attention to that now. Not when Bucky’s hand was sliding up and gripping the meat of your thigh so close to your butt, “Come on, sweetheart.” Bucky cooed and pressed his face between your breasts and kissed the valley.

Not when he was doing things like that.

“Lemme take care of you.” He coaxed your fear of damnation away with a few simple words. You moved, kneeling on either side of him and sitting on his lap, “That’s my girl.” He said softly, resting his hands on your thighs.

He kissed you softly, his beard scratching against your skin. You shyly opened for him, allowing his tongue to move and caress your own. You expected a rugged man like him to be a lot less gentle with you, but he was letting you set the pace tonight.

You could taste the sweat in his lip and the lingering tobacco from the cigarette he smoked an hour earlier. You relaxed into his touch as his hand slid up and snaked around you deepening the kiss.

Bucky’s hands roamed up your body, feeling the soft curve of your hips before grabbing your tits. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, noses barely touching, breathing in each other's labored breaths. His thumb brushed over a hardened nipple and you gasped at the foreign sensation, back arching slightly.

He wanted to watch you, see how your body reacted, see how your brain broke from the pleasure he gave you. His fingers kneaded the flesh of your heavy breasts and he pinched and twisted your nipples until they were sensitive and peaked.

Your cheeks reddened from embarrassment as he untied the front closure of your shift and pulled open the small split in the front, he kissed your neck then your chest before he pulled the thin white fabric down where it shelved beneath your breasts. You felt indecent. Exposed.

The cool air chilled you to the bone and made you shiver. Bucky mouthed at the sides of your tits licking and sucking on one and then the other until your back arched and you whined beneath him.

God if this was how you reacted to him playing with your tits, he couldn’t wait to hear how you sounded when he fucked you. But that wasn’t going to happen tonight, he was a gentleman after all. He couldn’t go having dessert twice in one night now could he? It was a bit too self indulgent for him and maybe too much of a shock for your poor catholic conscience.

But he was still planning on eating tonight. He was going to absolutely devour you. “Lay down.” You followed his command and moved, laying flat against the lumpy mattress and watched Bucky lay on his stomach and settle between your legs.

You sat up on your elbows, shuddering as you felt him kiss your thighs, getting dangerously close to your dripping cunt, “What are you going to do?” Your breathing quickened when you saw Bucky lick his lips and draw his lip between his teeth. He nuzzled the apex of your thigh, inhaling the natural heady scent of your arousal. The scent was so distinctly feminine, it made him ravenous.

“Bucky!” You squeaked, shocked at his behavior.

“Oh sugar, we haven’t even gotten started.” He said and kissed the top of your mound. In that moment you were certain Bucky Barnes was the serpent in the garden of Eden, beckoning you towards a life filled with sin and temptation, and by god you were going to take his hand and let him lead you there.

You gasped loudly, feeling the broad flatness of his tongue lick a stripe up your cunt, then back down again and shuttered at the foreign sensation. You flopped back onto the bed and hand immediately knotted itself into his dark hair gripping a fist full of it, hanging on for dear life, “Oh my god.” You huffed in disbelief. His mouth was really down there, licking you, and he was enjoying every moment of it.

His tongue traced little circles around your clit before he let out a groan and sucked on it, his actions hedonistic and greedy as he continued to indulge. The wet noises that came from between your legs mixed with the overwhelming pleasure that warmed your body and made you feel dizzy.

Just as you thought you couldn’t take any more, a thick finger traced around your entrance before he stuffed it inside you. His finger penetrated your cunt, stuffing itself deeper inside you until the knuckle of his hand rested against your slippery skin. He pulled back and quickly added a second, stuffing them back in and curling them against your sinfully wet walls. You felt stuffed to the absolute brim, full with a delicious burn that made your fists clench the cotton sheets of the hotel mattress.

When you finally gained half a brain cell of consciousness you opened your eyes looking down and seeing his face coated in wetness.

Your wetness.

It coated his chin and cheeks, your thighs, drenched his hand as he fucked you with it. It was like the floodgates of heaven opened up from the Great Deep and the tide swallowed him whole.

The flat of his tongue found its way back to your clit, rubbing down and making you whine with pleasure. You dug your nails into Bucky’s scalp pulling a satisfied deep groan from your lover's mouth as he continued to devour you.

Bucky’s thumb replaced his mouth and he licked a spot of wetness from your thigh, “I can’t wait to fuck this tight little pussy.” He mumbled and pulled his fingers out, lightly slapping your sensitive, swollen clit. You hissed at the feeling and at his lascivious words before he stuffed you full once more and pressed his thumb against your clit rubbing it in a circle, “You want that?” He asked and you nod your head, “Want me to fuck this tight virgin cunt of yours?”

God he wanted to split you open, carve a hole for himself deep inside your untouched hole and fuck you stupid.

“Oh god yes,” you could feel your pussy throb as he continued to beat his fingers into you at a brutal pace and suck hard on your clit, pulling you closer and closer to the edge.

You clenched a fist full of his hair, grinding down onto his face, sloppily trying to meet the rhythm of his hand. The only sober part of your brain was thankful for the thunderous rain that continued to hammer the windows and covered the sounds coming from your hotel room.

Finally, your back is arching off the mattress, cunt pulsating and squeezing his fingers as he digs them further inside you, rubbing them against your walls and pulling more pleasure from you. Your body trembled, spasming around his fingers, flooding his face.

Bucky watched you in awe, your body writhing and twisting against the sheets, hair haloed around your head, lips kiss swollen and body flush with arousal. You were absolutely gorgeous. Responsive and gorgeous. He couldn’t let a girl like you go.

He was going to marry you if it killed him.

Bucky’s hands slowed and he licked your wetness off the soft skin of your thighs and stomach not wanting to waste a single drop of it before he pulled his fingers from you and sucked on those too groaning like he’d just had a tasty meal.

Watching him only fed sugar into the fire. You leaned up, pulling him towards you and sloppily kissed him, all tongue and teeth as you pushed down his drawers. Bucky smiled against your mouth and pushed your hands away, pushing you back onto the mattress, “Patience, sweetheart.” He scolded, and then laid next to you sighing with content.

“Aren’t we going to… well you know.” He stared at your confused expression and looked amused, “Have sex?” You finally said it out loud and it felt dirty. It felt like someone had dropped an anvil through the ceiling and it fell on your chest.

“Not tonight.” He answered, “We’ll work our way there, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But I thought you said I was your woman” you didn’t know if it was because Bucky gave you an earth shattering orgasm, or what but you were just plain confused now.

“You are my woman.” He said and pulled you into his side, “One thing at a time love.” He wedged a leg between yours, tangling them together.

The following morning when you returned to town, braving the mud and fallen tree branches, the doors to the church seemed almost intimidating. You already knew how your father was going to react to your absence from the family home last night. Your brain was wrought with an overwhelming sense of guilt as Bucky took your hands and opened the tall wooden doors.

Father Liska’s homily only further propelled you into a cavern of guilty unholiness. It was like God himself told the father of what happened last night, of the wanton sin you committed. Laying with a man before marriage? How could you be so foolish?

“God does permit us to be tempted” Father Liska stood at the pulpit, usually his words of wisdom helped comfort you, “Not so that we fall, but so we grow in holiness,” No, this just made you feel worse, “Temptation forces us to rise up and make a choice for God or to succumb to the devil's temptation.”

You were going to be sick.

During the Rite of Peace you couldn’t bear to look at your father as he shook Bucky’s hand, death grip, jaw clenched, a bitter “Christ’s peace be with you.”

Bucky shook your fathers hand back firmly a smarmy smirk plastered across his face, “Christ’s peace be with you too sir.”

Then Bucky hugged your mom and kissed her cheek with a smooth “Christ’s peace be with you ma’am” which pissed your dad off too. Everything about Bucky pissed him off.

Once you were in the privacy of your family home, seated at the dinner table, Bucky next to you, parents on either end of the table, brother and sister-in-law across from the you, you father took it upon himself bring some good old fashioned shame to the table, “You didn’t return home last night.” He said loudly, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Your mother said his name in a scolding tone, “No I didn’t. I’d have caught my death in that storm.” You sat up a bit straighter. It was true. Traveling two hours back home in the rain in wet clothes would have signed your death warrant.

“What were your sleeping accommodations like?” He probed further, trying to figure out a way to make you feel even guiltier than you already did. Remind you of the devil's presence in your life and how you succumbed to his temptations.

“Bucky paid for me to stay at the local inn. Is that what you want to hear from me?” You shot back sharply, “I don’t understand why you’re making such a big mess over it.” You threw your cloth napkin onto the table and pushed your seat back and stood up to leave.

“Sit down!” Your father snapped, “I’ll not have that disrespectful tone under my roof,” your father spoke sternly and then turned towards Bucky and pointed at him, “And you,” he said dramatically, “Are going to bring nothing but trouble for her and you know it.”

Bucky rubbed his hands in his trousers and leaned back in his seat, his casual posture contrasting your fathers intensity, “What makes you say that sir?” He was genuinely curious. There was no way your father would have known of his criminal history. Not when they were so far from the last town they’d committed a crime in and even then their faces had been covered. Bucky struck a match and lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply and waiting for the answer.

If he wanted to sit through someone pissing and moaning about how he lived his life he’d go talk to his own father, God rest his soul.

“You have no steady work, no land, no history outside of the few months you’ve been here. You parade around with a troupe of delinquents and bring good young women like my daughter down into the cesspit of a life you live. “

Bucky licked his lower lip, “With all due respect sir, it isn’t like your lifestyle is any better.” When your father scoffed loudly, throwing his hands up in disbelief, Bucky continued speaking before he could interrupt, “Wrath and greed might serve you well now, but you can’t buy your place in heaven.”

Your father was greedy, he was like a dragon who sat upon a hoard of black coal and iron, pillaging the Earth, taking what he wanted, and draining the life force of his workers. There was no way your father didn’t have as many, if not more lives than Bucky. His hands were undoubtedly stained red.

God spoke out, let there be light and your father damned his employees to a life beneath the ground. He probably didn’t even know their names, just the numbers crudely written on their mining helmets that correspond to his payroll ledger.

“Keep on digging, boy, that’s why you were born.” Born to serve the company, born to keep your fathers pockets fat and their own empty. It was a cruel, greedy joke that had been said too often.

Bucky took one more drag of his cigarette before he stubbed it out. You frowned, ultimately this was your mother’s fault, she was the one who had Bucky come by for after service lunch. Now here your father and Bucky were, making a scene in front of God and all his followers, “Now sir, I plan on marrying your daughter sooner or later, so I suggest you get all your acrimony out now because we will be seeing a lot of each other in the future.”

Your father opened his mouth to speak back and quickly your mother spoke up, “Not another word.” She hissed at him when he opened his mouth to speak back to Bucky, “James, dear, we’re extremely grateful you took care of our daughter. Aren’t we, darling?”

Your father didn’t answer her question, instead he stared, eyes narrowed at your lover. He didn't want Bucky to marry you. He wanted you to marry a rich, god fearing catholic man from town. Perhaps the son of the livery stable owner and farrier, maybe even the son of the Union Pacific RailRoad representative in town. Not some drifter with a silver tongue.

“It was truly my pleasure ma’am.” Bucky smiled sweetly at your mom.

Despite Bucky’s statement about taking your hand in marriage at lunch earlier you still couldn't help the internal barrage of guilt your brain waged against your heart. If Bucky was planning to marry you then it wasn't bad, right? You wondered if God could hear your pleas and if he would answer your prayers for clarity. You looked at the walls of your room, dimly lit by lamplight, the crucifix you’d gotten at your communion watching your internal struggle.

Your revelation was a self confession from the heart-To experience love and be loved was a gift, to sin was to be human. Perhaps love was the holiest form of rebellion, something that burned away dogma leaving something raw and utterly human, something to be forgiven with merciful grace.

Chapter 3- Hell Hath No Fury

#marvel #mcu #marvel mcu #bucky barnes #marvel cinimatic universe #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #LUT

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the-scarlet-witch-22 · 3 months

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Love and Liabilities: Chapter Three (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Upon starting your last year of law school, imagine your surprise when the woman from your one night stand turns out to be your professor.

Word Count: 6.1k

Tags: 18+ Minors Do Not Engage!! Light sexual situations (very light)

A/N: Hello! I got a bit carried away with this chapter, but I’m battling a head cold so I’m just posting all of it. I’d like to warn that I am: 1) not a lawyer & 2) not a law student (yet 🤧)… so I did some brief research on things, but I am not an expert!! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and feel free to let me know what you think. Thank you for reading!

Tag-List: @aggieslittleslut @gilmorelivie @harknessshi @neverfindmegone @ris-ris-mind @sabstance-blog @tr333sus

There was a special moment in every person’s life that made them reconsider all of their past choices. For you, that moment happened while sitting in the middle of a lecture hall, wondering how the hell the woman from your first one night stand turned out to be your professor. If this was the universe’s way of being funny you were seriously missing the joke.

Agnes, no, Agatha, you mentally corrected yourself, was passing around a seating chart, and you were fixated on her every move around the lecture hall. There was something so hypnotizing about her, but you couldn’t pinpoint what it was. The most obvious answer, of course, was that she had just fucked your brains out a few days ago, and the hormones were clouding your judgement. Flashes of her body pressing yours into the mattress as she whispered pure filth in your ear, driving you to an orgasmic high had you shifting uncomfortably in your seat. As if she could read your thoughts, you noticed her inquisitive eyes meet yours. But as quickly as she graced you with her attention, she looked away.

“Now, I know most of your professors use syllabus week as an excuse to put off lecturing, but we’re going to be diving right into the corrupt, filthy world of criminal defense law.” Agatha’s voice rang out through the lecture hall, and you saw a few of your classmates' shoulders slump at her words. “The purpose of this class is to make you question your morals; to rethink any existing ethical values you currently hold.”

Agnes-Agatha, was so well-spoken, and you found yourself hanging onto her every word. Her perfectly painted red lips were mesmerizing to watch as they twisted to form various syllables, and you were having a rather difficult time focusing on her lecture.

Standing in the center of the hall, Agatha held her hands by her side, and you watched her fingers slipping inside her pants pockets. “I want you to take every preconceived notion you have regarding criminal defense and erase it. When you’re a criminal defense attorney, it doesn’t matter if your client is innocent or guilty. It doesn’t matter if they are on trial for petty theft, or for first degree murder.”

She turned her attention to the PowerPoint being displayed on the huge screen, and you, alongside your very disgruntled classmates, pulled out your laptops to take notes. “The biggest mistake you can make in the courtroom is taking the time to care if your client actually committed the crime. That doesn’t matter. I don’t care what any professor or prosecutor will tell you; ignore them. We don’t care if someone is a criminal, but we do care about the motive. Why would someone commit a crime of that nature? What would lead them to have to behave that way?”

A few of your classmates appeared surprised at the professor’s words, but Agatha continued on. “To win over a judge or jury you need to not only be able to rationalize, but clearly justify why the motives lead to the actions of the accused. Nothing in life is ever black and white, there’s always an obscene amount of gray mixed in.”

Leaning back against her desk, Agatha clicked through the slide show. “Now, I don’t typically begin this until a few weeks into the semester, but you’re all 3L’s, yes? You should be up for a challenge on the first day.”

Not waiting for verbal confirmation, she pushed herself off the desk, pointing to someone sitting in the front row. “I see my seating chart is still floating around somewhere so, you, what’s your name?”

A petite girl with sleek blonde hair pulled back in a braid apprehensively looked at Agatha. “Blair Lange, Professor Harkness.”

“Well Miss Lange, you’re going to be my prosecutor.” Agatha gave her a rather menacing smirk. “If you’d join me, please.”

Looking around the room, she spotted the seating chart and went to retrieve it. Her eyes scanned the page, and you were captivated with the sight of her long index finger tracing along the various rows filled with names. “Hmmm, let’s see.” Agatha drawled out, voice sickly sweet like honey. “Who’s going to be my next victim?”

It seemed the universe was keen on laughing at you today, as you heard her call your name, slowly drawing out each syllable. Lovely. Rising from your chair, you felt dozens of pairs of eyes on you as you descended the stairs, but there was only one set that you were focused on. Agatha was observing you with an indecipherable expression on her face, and you felt your cheeks deepen in color at the prolonged eye contact.

“So class, we have our prosecution, and our defense,” She motioned to you, signaling for you to come closer to her, and she handed you each a packet. “I’m going to be the judge. I want you both to look at the following slides I have printed detailing the case and determine how you would have handled this.”

Blair’s face paled at that, and you couldn’t blame her. Cold calling was intimidating enough, but a mock trial on the first day was not exactly how you imagined starting your morning. There were a lot of misconceptions regarding law school; a lot of law students, yourself included, had no interest being in a courtroom. Corporate law dealt with complex contracts and deals for major companies, something you preferred working with. This was nowhere near what you wanted to practice, but it seemed Agatha simply didn’t care.

Agatha strolled back to her desk, leaving you both to read the information provided to you. Flipping through the pages, you noted how the case involved a woman being charged with attempted grand theft and attempted assault of the business owner.

From a first glance, there didn’t seem to be much for you to even argue. The defendant was a former employee of the aforementioned business, and had been fired mere hours before the incident. But, there were a few interesting details. The defendant had no priors, and, from what you were reading, multiple eyewitnesses reported the business owner pulling a gun on them. Your eyes were locked on one particular paragraph, and you remembered what Agatha had just said, about obscene amounts of gray.

Blair, for her part, looked fairly uncertain, and kept casting nervous glances towards the professor. Agatha ignored her, and after a few moments she clapped her hands together. “Alright, let’s begin. Now, all I want from the two of you is to have a lively debate on how you would take the information given to argue your side. You don’t have to use the argument given on the page, you can choose a different route if you have sufficient evidence to support. Miss Lange, why don’t you get us started.”

Clearing her throat, Blair looked down at the papers, and you noted how her hands were so unsteady they were shaking. “Right. Well I would argue that the prosecution proceeds with both attempted grand theft and assault against the defendant.”

Rolling her eyes, Agatha let out a deep sigh. “Miss Lange, I’m not asking you to read verbatim what is on the sheet in front of you. When looking at court documents, it is essential to not only be able to read what is given but to be able to put it in your own words.”

Blair kept her eyes glued to the page and Agatha shook her head in disapproval. “Fine, I’ll let it slide for now. If the defense could keep us going, let’s keep it snappy.”

Taking a deep breath, you looked up at Agatha. “The defense is pleading not guilty to attempted assault and grand theft.”

You noticed Blair looked up in surprise at your statement, as that was not printed in the court documents, while Agatha merely raised her eyebrows, turning her attention towards you. “Not guilty? Why?”

“The plaintiff stated in their testimony that both the attempted assault and grand theft were unprovoked, but the defense is arguing that both of these allegations have mitigating circumstances that I’d argue are grounds for immediate dismissal.”

Blair shuffled the papers around, and she appeared uncomfortable. “Professor Harkness, that’s not listed anywhere in here.”

Agatha held up a hand, signaling for Blair to stop talking. “Defense, if you could proceed.”

You could feel butterflies begin to flutter in your stomach as you realized you were taking a rather large leap in judgment. “On behalf of my client, I’m looking to not only have these charges dropped, but to formally charge the plaintiff with wrongful termination.”

“Does the prosecution have anything to add?” Agatha questioned, folding her arms across her chest.

“I’m not sure where to even begin, Professor.” Blair admitted, and you felt a quick twinge of pity for her, briefly wondering if perhaps you should dial it back.

Agatha frowned, and you could immediately tell she was displeased with that answer. “You don’t know where to begin? That’s the answer you’re going with?”

Blair remained silent, and Agatha took a deep breath. “My, my, you’ve completed two years of law school and you don’t know where to begin. Is there anything constructive you can add to this debate, Miss Lange?”

Stammering, Blair shook her head, looking anywhere but at your professor. “No, I don’t.”

“Disappointing.” Agatha admitted, and her eyes narrowed, pointing to the door. “Get out.”

Your classmate’s eyes widened, and you felt that twinge of pity grow even larger.

“Professor Harkness, please. I didn’t-” Blair stammers.

“Get out of my class. Now.” Agatha repeated, her tone growing more agitated with each word. “And don’t come back until you’re adequately prepared.”

The hall was dead quiet, and you were too shocked to know how to react, or if you even should. Nearly all of your classmates were dumbfounded as well, this wasn't a normal occurrence in classes. A lot of your former law professors were strict and had extremely high expectations of their students; endless hours of case studies and readings, roasting students who froze during cold calls, you name it. However, you had never witnessed one of them kick a student out of class, least of all during syllabus week.

To her credit, Blair left with a lot more grace than you could have mustered in her shoes. She swiftly grabbed her belongings and hurried out of the lecture hall, the sound of the doors slamming shut reverberated across the walls.

Agatha paid no mind to the noise, her focus was entirely on you, deep blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “There is no direct evidence suggesting that the plaintiff is guilty of wrongful termination, is there?”

Your eyes flickered between the papers in your hands and the alluring woman in front of you. “Not in those exact words, no.”

Agatha let out a low hum, taking a small step closer to you. “So you’re basing your argument off of what exactly? Intuition?”

A few of your classmates snickered, but you ignored them.

Shaking your head, you tried to muster any remaining confidence you could find. “No. I’m basing it off the written testimonials by four different employees, stating that the defendant showed up late on the day of the incident because they were at a previously scheduled doctor’s appointment.”

“But there’s nothing to support that the defendant was fired because they were late. Much less, that they were wrongfully terminated for it.” Agatha skillfully argued, poking holes in your theory with ease. “How do we know that they didn’t have a history of showing up late to work? Having an incomplete argument guarantees the prosecution will tear you to shreds, you need something more absolute.”

“That’s true.” You admitted, and took a pause before adding, “I think the defendant being pregnant makes things a bit more absolute though, doesn’t it?”

Agatha’s face remained expressionless as she slowly raised her left arm up, index finger tapping against her cheek. “Is that a question or your statement?”

Without hesitating you replied, “My statement.”

“And how do you plan on proving that the defendant was not only fired due to their pregnancy, but that both counts of attempted grand theft and assault should be dropped?” Agatha questioned, and it looked as if she was actively trying to restrain herself from stepping closer to you, but surely you were imagining that.

“The defendant had absolutely no priors, and they don’t have a history of being fired from previous employers.” You pointed out, setting your papers down on Agatha’s desk. “They had previously cleared coming in late in order to go to a scheduled doctor’s appointment, and it was stated that when they showed up to work that the plaintiff fired them. Written testimonials from multiple employees stated the plaintiff said it was unacceptable for the defendant to show up late, despite them approving the time off.”

Agatha’s lips pursed as she processed what you were saying. “You’re making an awful lot of assumptions. What of the attempted grand theft and assault?”

“Grand theft in the state of New York starts at $1,000. The defendant showed up at the business after they had been wrongfully terminated to request their pay from previous days worked, which would come out to around that amount.” You explained, hoping you had the right number. “As for the quoted attempted assault, no eyewitnesses noted the defendant raising even a finger to threaten the plaintiff. The latter, however, was seen pulling out a gun on the defendant, completely unprovoked.”

“And if the plaintiff claims it was self defense?” Agatha fired back with so much zest that you wondered how much she was enjoying this debate.

Tilting your head, you pondered her words. “Self defense against an unarmed pregnant woman? That won’t hold up well with the jury.”

“You’re certain this is the argument you want to back?” Agatha tested you again, her index finger moving from her cheek to lightly stroke her bottom lip, and you found yourself hypnotized by the motion. As if she could sense your distraction, her ever red lips tilted up to form a slight smirk.

“I’m certain.”

Her eyes bore into yours, searching for any hesitation or uncertainty. You held your own as much as you could, ignoring the flip flop of your nerves. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, she gave you a single nod, turning her attention back to the rest of the class.

“Not bad.” Agatha offered, and you immediately let out the breath you had been holding in. “A few of your arguments would have been thrown out, but you certainly appear to have the stamina for the courtroom.”

She gave you a subtle raised eyebrow at the last part of the sentence as you lightly blushed, confirming your suspicions she had most likely selected you on purpose. Heading back to your seat, you listened to her drone on to the rest of the class that everyone would eventually end up in the hot seat before the semester’s end.

“And it appears we are all out of time for the day.” Agatha announced, and nearly everyone let out a sigh of relief at that. “Come prepared to debate the best way to prepare an opening statement.”

Everyone eagerly filed out of the hall, but you lingered, slowly putting away your belongings. A few of your classmates congratulated you on surviving Agatha’s ruthless interrogations, and you merely offered them a brief thanks. Agatha also appeared to be in no hurry, as she leisurely shut down her laptop. You debated on if you should talk to her, if you should address the elephant in the room that you were both dancing around. Walking down the steps of the aisles, you were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you tripped on the last step and went flying forward.

Before you tumbled to the floor, swift hands wrapped around your waist and shoulder, helping steady you to the ground. As you went to thank your savior, you were surprised to find Agatha standing in front of you, bag dropped at her side.

“You’re always this clumsy, hm?” Agatha lightly quipped as she examined you. If you didn’t know any better you would say she was concerned. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” You assured her, thankful she had been there to catch you. “Could I talk to you?” Looking around the room you noticed most of your classmates had left but you carefully added, “About the discussion in class?”

Agatha hesitated, and you wondered if you pushed too far, but after a moment she nodded. “I have some time now, my office?” She walked away before you could reply, swinging the doors open. “Try to keep up, and be careful not to trip.”

It didn’t take long for you to realize Agatha Harkness was quite feared in the law school. You lost track of the number of students who averted their gaze and scurried away as soon as they noticed her rounding the corner. It was almost amusing, at least Agatha seemed to think so, as she looked quite smug on the walk to her office. You made the trek in silence, and it eerily reminded you of a similar encounter you had shared with her only a few days prior. Upon reaching the office, Agatha quickly unlocked it, ushering you inside.

Agatha’s office was relatively spacious for a law professor, with high vaulted ceilings and large windows that allowed plenty of light in. The walls were adorned with large bookcases, filled to the brim with various titles ranging from Greek classics to biographies of different Supreme Court justices. She had a plethora of plants scattered around, and you learned from spending enough time in Maria’s office that Agatha knew how to properly water them. There was a large desk situated near the windows, with a high backed mahogany chair at the head.

Agatha took a seat, and pointed to two smaller seats on the other side of the desk. “Sit, please.”

You did as she instructed, taking note of the rather expensive looking whiskey near the corner of the desk as well as a few books the professor appeared to be reading. When you looked at her, you were unsurprised to find her curiously gazing at you.

“I assume you don’t actually want to discuss today’s class?” Agatha guessed, amusement evident in her tone.

“Not exactly.” You admitted, feeling another rush of nerves course through your system at finally being alone with her.

“Oh? Whatever did you want to talk about then?” Agatha bantered, leaning forward across her desk as she gave you an expectant look.

“Agatha…” Trailing off, you cleared your throat. “I mean, Professor Harkness.”

Frowning, Agatha reached her hand across the desk to brush against yours, chuckling as you jumped at the contact. “Just Agatha when we’re alone, dear.”

Nearly ripping your hand from hers, you folded them across your lap. “Professor Harkness, I really don’t feel comfortable calling you by your first name under these circumstances.”

Raising her eyebrows, Agatha leaned back in her chair. “Under what circumstances? After I just fucked you a few days ago and you just found out I was your professor?”

“Don’t say that!” You hissed, looking over your shoulder as if someone could have heard, despite the door being firmly shut.

“Honestly, dear, you aren’t the first girl to have slept with her professor, and you certainly won’t be the last.” Agatha stood up, walking over to an electric tea kettle she had on a bar cart. “Tea?”

Stunned by her casual response, you were at a loss for words. “You’re seriously asking me if I want tea?”

“Well I would ask if you would like some whiskey but I know drinking this early in the day is typically frowned upon.” Agatha jested, but upon noticing how upset you appeared she backed off. “Honestly, you didn’t know I was going to be your professor, I had no idea you would be walking in late to my lecture hall. No harm, no foul. No one has to know what happened.”

Her words made enough sense, and you reluctantly nodded. “I guess not.”

“It was just a one night stand, it didn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things.” Agatha added, turning on her tea kettle, fingers raking over various mugs. “We can just forget it ever happened.”

You knew she was right, but you were surprised to find how much her words stung. “Right, well I’m glad we were able to clear that up.” Standing up, you grabbed your bag. “I shouldn’t take up anymore of your time. Thank you again, Professor Harkness, and I’ll see you in class.”

If Agatha was surprised by your abrupt exit, she didn’t show it. She nodded, pouring herself some tea. “It was my pleasure, dear.”

Leaving her office, you told yourself that you could relax and that Agatha was right, you could just forget that it ever happened.

Only it turned out the more you tried to forget something, the harder it was to put it out of your brain. The rest of your day was spent zoning out in the library. While you had wanted to get a head start on your hours of readings, instead you kept remembering the feel of Agatha’s body against yours, the taste of her tongue in your mouth. The feel of her long fingers tracing patterns on your inner thigh, her hot breath in your ear telling you how good you were for her. It was embarrassing, really.

Agatha made it quite clear in her office that it was a one night stand, and that it didn’t have to mean anything in the long run. But she continued to invade your every thought, until you inevitably lost track of time. The hours ticked by, and you knew studying in your apartment wouldn’t be any better. You normally had no trouble shutting out the rest of the world to focus on your class work, but there was something so magnetic about Agatha Harkness. This was wrong, and crazy, and you knew it. You had only spent one night with this woman, you barely knew her. But she was addictive, and she had somehow managed to rot your brain in the process.

Just as you finally started to get into your reading, you heard your phone ding. Letting out a disgruntled sigh, you shut your books for the evening and grabbed your phone, deciding it would be best to just try again in the morning. Scrolling through your notifications as you got ready to leave, you almost dropped your phone as you read the newest email in your inbox.

Not sure if you’re still on campus, but if you are, feel free to drop by my office. A few things I wanted to discuss from today’s class. -A

It was nearly dusk, and you watched the sun slowly begin to set over the Manhattan skyline, filling the sky with colorful hues of oranges, pinks, and purples. There were still plenty of people in the library, as a number of students had night classes, and you were frozen. Did Agatha know you were upset when you left? Was she going to ask you to drop her class?

As if you were in a trance, you mindlessly walked to the professor’s office, keeping your head low. You could feel your heartbeat, pounding so loud you feared it might explode through your chest as you reached her closed door.

Knocking twice, you waited for her captivating voice to tell you to enter. Upon doing so you found the woman who had taken over your every waking thought leaning against the windowsill of her office, sipping on a glass of what you presumed to be whiskey.

“Shut the door.” Agatha immediately requested, not offering you any other sort of greeting.

Gently closing the door as you entered, you lingered, unsure where to go or what you should do.

Agatha finally looked at you, and motioned to the whiskey on her desk. “Would you like a glass?”

“It’s probably best if I don’t.” You declined, once again remembering the last time you were drinking around her. “Thank you though.”

“You were upset by what I said earlier.” Agatha stated, setting her whiskey on the windowsill. She said it calmly and so matter of fact you almost wondered why she bothered saying it at all.

“I wasn’t upset.” You disagreed, but she gave you a pointed look in return as if to say bullshit.

“You were upset by what I said earlier.” Agatha repeated, stepping away from the windowsill. “Why?”

“I…I don’t know.” You replied, the lie burning like acid on your tongue, causing you to wince.

“You don’t know?” Agatha mimicked your words, and she seemed agitated as she began to walk towards you, closing the distance little by little. “You don’t know why you were upset?”

“Professor Harkness, I really don’t see why we have to go over all of this again-” You started to say until you were rudely cut off by a loud cackle.

“For an aspiring lawyer, you have an absolute shit poker face.” Agatha informed you, swarming in; you shivered as you were suddenly standing so close together that you were nearly face to face. “Why were you upset?”

Your face grew red from her scrutinizing gaze, and that only egged her on. “I think we both know why, don’t we, darling?” Leaning in until she was close enough to your ear, she leaned in to whisper, “You wanted me to fuck you again, didn’t you?”

“Professor Harkness, I…” You breathed out, feeling yourself grow dizzy, and you couldn’t remember anything but her name.

“I thought I told you to call me Agatha.” The professor gently reprimanded you, as her hand came up to cup the back of your neck, and you could smell the whiskey in her breath. “Just Agatha.”

As her tongue parted her luscious red lips, you lost any remaining functioning brain cells and closed the distance between you, frantically kissing her. Agatha tangled her fingers in your hair, tugging you impossibly closer. The professor was kissing you with fervor, and you slowly found yourself melting with every passionate movement of her lips. Her tongue slowly, teasingly, sought entrance to your mouth, which you granted without a second thought. You let out a series of quiet moans as her hands moved lower to cup your ass, greedily groping, and she chuckled at your reaction.

“So easy for me.” Agatha softly murmured against your lips, pulling back just enough to lead you to lean back against her desk.

You wanted to argue that no, you weren’t easy for her, but you both knew that was a lie. Her hands moved to remove the scarf you had been forced to wear as a result of the multitude of hickeys she had adorned your body with, and you watched her eyes darken at the sight.

“Well you certainly bruise easily.” Agatha teased, tracing every mark with her fingers, the overwhelming sensation causing you to whine. “And still so responsive. Fascinating.”

Thousands of thoughts were circulating in your brain, and every touch from Agatha made it harder for you to focus. Her lips attached to the side of your neck, immediately alternating between sucking and biting, lightly kissing each new mark she left. At this rate you were going to have to ask your roommates if they had any scarves you could borrow. Just as Agatha went to unbutton your pants, there was a loud thumping noise from the hallway, and you both leapt apart.

Panting, you felt a spike in your anxiety at the thought of being caught like this, even though rationally speaking you knew no one could possibly know what you were doing in here.

Agatha seemed to be having similar thoughts, as she straightened her jacket, clearing her throat. “Perhaps this isn’t the best place to continue this. Could I invite you for a night cap?”

In an attempt to get your breathing under control, you shook your head. “No, I think that would be a mistake.”

Shooting you a perplexed look, Agatha strolled over to the windowsill to pick up her whiskey. “A mistake? If I correctly recall you just kissed me, did you not?”

“You came on to me first!” You argued, and your brain appeared to be regaining consciousness as you remembered why this was such a bad idea. “I can’t risk this ruining things.”

“Someone certainly thinks highly of themselves.” Agatha dryly retorted, finishing off her whiskey and pouring herself another. “And what pray tell do you think this,” she motioned to you before continuing, “will ruin?”

“I have a job offer for next year.” You explained, and mentally cursed yourself for your lapse of judgment. “They never said fucking my professor would cause me to lose it, but I don’t think it would help my case.”

Agatha’s eyes shifted at that comment, and she let out a sigh. “And you’re worried about what, exactly? That we’ll give ourselves away and this unimportant firm will care so much about your deviousness that they’ll drop you?”

“It’s Stark & Strange.” You bluntly corrected her, not caring if you were being rude. “And I can’t really afford to fuck that up.”

You didn’t mention how literally you couldn’t afford to mess this up. Law school was expensive, and while you were granted a few scholarships to cover tuition, you still had to take out hundreds of thousands of dollars of loans. Plus not to mention the extra thousands you would have to spend in order to prepare for the bar. You were thankful your summer associate position paid so well, as you were able to pay for the majority of your rent for the year, but you weren’t exactly flush with cash. Working in corporate law would practically guarantee you opportunities you could never dream of having otherwise.

“Tony Stark is a dick, and I know for a fact he’s committed sins far worse than sleeping with his professor.” Agatha unhelpfully offered, but she appeared to sense how upset you were as she finally walked back over to you, setting her glass down on her desk before rubbing your shoulders. “No one is going to find out, dear. There’s really nothing to fret over.”

It was surreal, how one touch from her practically set your body ablaze with want. It was clear you were unable to control yourself when you were around the older woman. The thought of having to sit in that large lecture hall three times a week, watching her and obsessing over her every little move felt almost unbearable.

Hesitating for a brief moment, you moved your eyes to look at anything but her. “I think I need to drop your class.”

“Absolutely not.”

Frowning, you looked back to find her staring at you as if you said something incredibly stupid. “Why not? You have plenty of other students.”

“They’re morons.” Agatha insisted, rolling her eyes as if it was obvious.

Snorting, you shook your head at how dramatic she was. “Today was only the first day, how could you possibly know that?”

Agatha’s right hand gripped the desk, while her left absentmindedly played with your hair, gently stroking it. “I can just tell, I’m rather gifted that way.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “And apparently very humble as well.”

Blue eyes sparkling, Agatha continued to twirl strands of your hair. “You have a lot of potential as a defense attorney. I saw it today during class. There’s a lot of fight in you, and passion. That’s not something that can be taught.”

Blushing at the compliment, you shook your head. “Thank you, but I really have no interest in being in a courtroom.”

Shrugging, Agatha dropped your hair, taking another small sip of her whiskey. “It never hurts to keep your options open.”

“I just don’t think this is a good idea.” You continued, keeping yourself grounded to reality. “I can’t…control myself around you.”

“But that’s half the fun, darling.” Agatha taunted, but showed you mercy as she went back to sit in her chair. “It’s ultimately up to you, but I think it would be a mistake to drop the class.”

Following her lead, you sat across from her, fidgeting your hands on your lap. “So what, then? We just avoid each other outside of class?”

Agatha shook her head in disagreement. “Too juvenile. Besides, that would just make it easier for us to give into temptation.”

She put a special emphasis on the last word, giving you a salacious grin, and you wiggled uncomfortably in your seat before you eventually responded. “I’m not seeing any other solutions besides me dropping your class and trying to get in another.”

“It’s far too late for you to get a spot in anything half decent.” Agatha insisted, and you knew she was right. At this point you’d have to take an extra class in the spring, and pay more money than you could currently afford. “Besides, I already have a solution.”

You looked at her, surprised at how quickly she had come up with something. “You do?”

“We’ll make a contract.” Agatha simply stated, and you stared blankly at her.

“A…contract?”

The professor deeply sighed, running her fingers back to unpin her hair, the dark curls messily framing her face. “Honestly, dear. Didn’t you spend the summer fawning over those big bad attorneys at Stark & Strange? Yes, a contract. We’ll each put our terms in and come up with an appropriate way to navigate this until the semester’s end in thirteen weeks.”

A contract. Hm. It was a bit cliche, sure, but you couldn’t think of anything better.

But still, you were curious to what extent Agatha intended to try and make this work. “What exactly would we be putting in the contract?”

Agatha shrugged. “This and that. No sex, obviously.” She gave you an inquisitive glance. “Unless you feel differently?”

Flashes of her fingers curling and twisting inside you had you squirming again. “No, I think that’s definitely necessary.”

Grinning like a cat that ate the canary, Agatha smugly replied with, “I thought so. Given your particular lack of self control, perhaps we could eliminate anything…carnal, hm?”

Glaring at her, you wondered where she got the audacity. “I don’t think it’s just me that’s lacking control, but that’s probably wise.” Another thought crossed your mind, and you quickly added, “Then again, we never did discuss the Agnes of it all, did we? Do you really think you’re important enough to need to give people a fake name?”

“You’re quite cheeky for someone who was practically begging me to fuck her in my office.” Agatha shot back, and shook her head. “Do you not give yourself an alias when you talk to strangers?”

Enjoying the banter, you gave a thoughtful expression before eventually saying, “No, I don’t think most people do that.”

Agatha narrowed her eyes, and she seemed unamused. “Safety, dear. For all I knew, you could have been a serial killer.”

You gave her a wide, innocent smile. “No, I just turned out to be your student.”

“You're not supposed to make jokes.” Agatha informed you, swirling the remaining whiskey in her glass. “Most lawyers aren’t funny.”

Ignoring her, you changed the subject. “And what is going to happen at the end of the semester?” You curiously eyed her, unsure what her response would be, or even what you wanted it to be.

“We’ll reevaluate of course.” Agatha explained, before adding with a smirk. “That is, if you pass my class.”

“Of course.”

“So do we have a deal?” Holding her hand out, you quickly realized she wanted you to shake it.

You reached out to firmly grab her hand, and her fingers intertwined with yours, blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

“We have a deal.”

Releasing your hand, she pulled out a post-it note, messily scribbling something down before sliding it over to you. “That’s my cell and personal email. Send me your terms by tomorrow night and we’ll put something together.”

Taking the post-it, your eyes scanned the writing before carefully pocketing it. “Right, thanks. I guess I should be going?”

Nodding, Agatha stood up to walk you to the door. Meeting you halfway, she carefully wrapped the scarf back around your next, tugging on it slightly and grinning at the shiver you let out. “I look forward to doing business with you, dear. See you in class.”

Exiting her office, your fingers fumbled through the pockets of your jeans until they felt the post-it note, and you wondered what the hell you just got yourself into.

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