❝I respectfully decline, alphas. ❞
꧁━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━꧂
➽ 𝘞𝘏𝘌𝘙𝘌 you're a maid, trying to live your life in peace, but you end up catching the attention of the notorious alphas.
ᴊᴊᴋᴠᴀʀɪᴏᴜsﾒғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
↝ ℜ𝔶𝔬𝔪𝔢�...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝕮𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐗𝐗I Trip to the seamstress. ════✧ ⍣ ✧ ⍣ ✧ ⍣ ✧ ⍣ ✧═════
You beelined to the library, ducking into the first aisle you could find, hiding yourself among towering walls of ancient books.
Frazzled. Definitely not thinking about the way he said "good girl."
You slid down the nearest bookshelf and plopped onto the carpet with a quiet, pathetic whine.
"I need to reboot my entire existence." you muttered, burying your face in your hands.
You tried to distract yourself by flipping through a random old tome—something about agriculture in the northern provinces. Ugh. Even the word "fertile soil" made you twitch.
You were half-considering just moving into the library permanently when you heard footsteps.
It was Uraume.
They appeared around the corner. "There you are," they said. "I've been looking for you."
You peeked up from your book, with a pout on your face. "Whyyyyy?"
Uraume gave you a blank stare. "It's fitting day. For the hunt."
You blinked. "...Fitting?"
"Clothes," they clarified slowly, like you were an idiot. "You need hunting garments. Everyone does."
You groaned into your knees. "I don't wanna."
"You don't have a choice, as the prime omega you have to set an example."
Before you could dramatically melt into the floor, Uraume stepped forward, grabbed your wrist, and tugged you up with the strength of a seasoned server wrangling drunk nobles.
"Come on," they said, unbothered by your struggle. "The alphas are waiting. If you're late, they'll find an excuse to be annoying."
You allowed yourself to be dragged, limbs heavy with dread.
As you begrudgingly followed Uraume down the hall, approaching the lounge where the others were gathered, you could already hear the low murmur of voices.
Sukuna sprawled lazily across one of the velvet couches, legs wide, the picture of arrogant menace. He grinned when he saw you, sharp and smug.
Geto —smirking bastard—gave you a wink the second your eyes met his.
Toji stretched his arms over the back of his chair, lazy and loose, but there was something hungry in the way his eyes tracked you.
Gojo leaned against the fireplace, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable look.
And Nanami, blessedly, was seated properly, adjusting his sleaves like the responsible adult he was—except he, too, was now regarding you with something much heavier in his gaze than usual.
