#Did we get better? Did we get worse? I feel like the 'bubbles' have a big role and it's not neccessarily a good one

[chevelleneech]

Are You Sure? - Ep8

Here are my thoughts now that I finally watched the episode (I was at work all day, anon, lol).

I honestly don’t have too too many, because my main takeaway was that they seemed to have truly needed these trips together. They knew by Jeju they’d be enlisting together, so I feel like any thoughts I had about the trips being a sort of last hurrah before potentially being separated go out the window.

They knew they’d be together, so barring them being romantically involved in some way… I kind of don’t get the point of the series.

Had this been a special involving other members, then it being work related would make sense. Had this been more like the Jeju episodes where they weren’t as laid back, I’d get it, but it wasn’t. Five out of eight episodes focused on them not doing much else other than simply spending time together. Sight seeing and going out to eat, with a sprinkle of activities. We saw them shopping for food and driving more than anything else, but for some reason they both still say the whole experience and filming of the series was the best thing they’ve gotten to do.

That to me, and I say this with full honesty, does not make sense to me, if they’re strictly platonic. I don’t know, episode eight sees them putting a certain level of importance on these trips that many antis wanted to rip away, and surely they knew that. They know what people think about them in their own fandom, both for the better and the worse, and they didn’t care. Which, good for them.

Moving away from my confusion in an attempt to find another explanation, I also think their joint melancholy about having to leave triggered the dropping of their guards a little bit. Add that to them drinking some, and their whole reaction moment felt almost intrusive to see, lol. They kept gravitating toward each other the entire time, only for the editors to skip to them sitting back up with more space between them. Nevermind the footsie and Jimin walking by the room they were shown going to bed in, when he said he was going to wake JK up.

So unless Jungkook was already up and in the shower or something, which they conveniently didn’t mention despite doing it every other time… they either didn’t sleep in the room with the camera or JK moved rooms. But again, given they gave us updates about every other sleeping arrangement or change, why would their last night be different if nothing happened? (By “nothing” I genuinely mean I think they moved to a different room without a camera, likely to talk or simply be closer. Not necessarily sex, because again, I don’t see them going there with a house full of staff.)

Pure speculation of course, lol, but yeah. Those moments made me feel a little like, okay, they did this with the intent of making memories. They may have wanted to cement who they are to each other in this moment, because no matter how optimistic they were that things wouldn’t change and their friendship would be solid, no one can predict the future.

Couple that with them both starting Ep1 saying they hadn’t seen each other and Jimin not being sure (no pun intended) the trip was a good idea in the first place, to them ending Ep8 saying they didn’t want it to be over and spent the last few days happy… it’s a big deal, I think. Especially with how many times they spent their last day in Sapporo taking about how romantic and pretty everything was.

Per the words from their own mouths, they created a small, romantic, nice, and happy bubble they didn’t want to leave, and I love that for them. They got to be happy and cared for by one another, and want to spend many more years to come doing the same thing. I hope they get that.

Oh and final thought… I want that house! Their final Sapporo house was beautiful, as was the town. It felt like a holiday special!

[toytulini]

it is baffling to me that ppl keep insisting "if its not sprite then what IS it tho?" and seemingly do not...retain the recipes that are being shared. like you dont have to memorize them its just repeatedly "is lemonade not sprite though? how is it not sprite?"

"its lemon juice, water, and sugar"

"is it not the same as sprite?" no we just told u. does that sound like sprite to you. does sprite give you the vibe of juicing some lemons on a hot summer day? the lemonade version closest to Sprite over here, in terms of Being Lemonade, is still Notably Different from sprite, or any other soda, is probably Minute Maid, a highly processed branded lemonade that you can occasionally get from soda fountains (DESPITE! NOT BEING CARBONATED! similar to how they somehow dispense iced or sweet tea from soda fountains) it sometimes comes in a can or 2L bottle similar to soda, in the soda isle. and its Not Soda. its not Carbonated. its Trying To Pretend So Hard To Be Real Lemonade. it tastes like lemonade thats a bit sad. it is far more lemonade than SPRITE will ever be. if yall were simply insisting that lemonade is carbonated, that it was like, fizzy minute maid, that would be less offensive than calling sprite lemonade. which is Insane. good god.

[inthecarpets]

The real reason why i feel like the media literacy gotten slightly up instead of declined is bc stuff like Dan Schneider.

Back in the day young people would watch his shows and simply think "Love it! That's fun!"

And idk, maybe i'm wrong but i got this feeling that nowadays young people watching his shows would rather more often be like: "Uhh. That's a lot of feet fetish out there for kids shows."

And i think of it because, after all, isn't reading the subtext part of media literacy?

[woso-dreamzzz]

Second Time's The Charm VIII

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: You have your baby

It all happened so quickly that Alexia didn't know what to do.

One moment, the cries of your new baby girl filled the room.

She was perfect, bright eyes and a little tuft of wispy hair.

Alexia was allowed to cut the chord.

"Hello, Elena," You said when Alexia presented her to you.

"You did so well, amor," Alexia said, eyes shining with unshed tears," I'm so proud of you."

"She's beautiful."

"Yes." A little bubble of laughter spilled out of Alexia's chest. "She is."

She'd turned away for a second. Only a second to give baby Elena to the nurse to weigh and check. It was just a second, not even that.

A hint of a second.

A bare moment of time when her eyes weren't on you.

A tiny amount of time in the grand scheme of things. Not even enough time to say a word.

You were pale, much paler than before and breathing heavily.

You were already panting through the birth but this was different. It was worse.

You were clammy and unfocused and Alexia reached for you.

Only to have her hand knocked away from you by a doctor hurrying forward.

He said words but either Alexia couldn't understand them or didn't hear them at all. His mouth moved but nothing computed.

Bags were hung up on your iv pole, something injected into you, something else put on a drip.

But you didn't look any better.

You didn't even look really present at all.

This was meant to be one of the best moments of your lives, on the top spot alongside adopting baby Maya and marrying your wife but something was wrong.

Something was so wrong.

"No," Alexia said, scrambling to force words out of her mouth," I...What's going on? No! Stop! Don't take her! Please!"

The doctors were already activating the wheels on your bed, already pulling up the guard rails.

One of the nurses caught Alexia's arms as a flurry of activity happened around her.

"Miss Putellas, y/n is haemorrhaging. Has she told you what that means?"

"Mrs," Alexia says faintly, staring down at the wedding band on her finger, hot like flames against her skin.

"What?"

She looked up at the nurse. "It's Mrs Putellas. We're married."

The nurse's features softened a fraction as she gently led Alexia to the seat by your bed.

"Y/n is bleeding. Heavily. We can keep her on a blood transfusion or we can take her to surgery but we need permission."

"S-Surgery?" Alexia's eyes widened in panic. "She's dying?! She's going to die?!"

"Miss-Mrs Putellas-"

"You need to save her," Alexia insisted, a prickling feeling in her stomach," Anything! Everything! You have to save her!"

"We'll try," The nurse promised," We're going to take her in now but, for you, do you want to wait here or down by delivery with your baby?"

"Elena."

"Huh?"

"Elena. The baby. Her name is Elena."

"That's a beautiful name."

"My wife chose it."

Alexia sat by delivery practically catatonic.

Elena was in the nursery with all the other babies, routinely checked upon but Alexia couldn't bring herself to move, mind swirling with thoughts of you and just how weak you looked in that hospital bed.

You had been smiling before she turned away. You had been happy, eager to have Elena in your arms.

The pitter patter of little footsteps was all Alexia could hear and her body turned automatically, drawing Maya closer to her.

"Mami!" Maya chirped," Abuela say our baby is here?"

"She is. Elena. Your baby sister."

At some point, Alexia had called Eli. She didn't know how. She didn't know when but Maya had been sent to Eli to babysit when you went into labour.

For her to be here now means that Alexia had called Eli.

Maya stood on her tiptoes to look into the nursey.

"Alexia-"

"Mami, they took her. She's in surgery. They're-They're-"

The sobs that had been forced down until now, sprung out full force and Alexia sobbed into her mother's shoulder.

"She's going to be okay, Alexia," Eli said," She's strong. She's going to fight."

"I want my wife, Mami," Alexia said," She didn't even get to hold Elena."

"Something wrong with Mama?"

Maya stood in front of them, bored of staring at the babies and Alexia tried to clamp down on her tears, tried to explain but her words got stuck in her throat.

"Maya," Eli took over though," Your Mama just needs to be checked out a little more. Having your baby sister-"

"Elena," Maya interrupted," Name is Elena. Mama name her."

Alexia bit on the inside of her cheek to clamp down a heart-breaking sob.

"Having Elena has taken a lot out of your Mama so the doctors are checking her over."

Maya took a step closer. "Mama is doctor. Looks after hurt people. Mama hurt? Mami, Mama hurt?"

"Mama is going to be just fine," Alexia said, desperately wishing it into existence," She's going to be perfectly fine. She just needs a bit more rest."

Maya burst into tears.

Alexia cried harder.

The clock taunted them, the hands moving slowly but surely until it was hours past since you had first been taken away.

Maya kept crying.

Alexia cries some more.

Eli kept them hydrated and fed, making stops at the café to get them food.

"Mrs Putellas?"

Alexia was up like a shot, Maya already on her hip.

"Yes? That's me! How's my wife?!"

"She-"

"My Mama going to be okay?" Maya asked.

The doctor nodded. "She suffered a post-partum haemorrhage but we performed a laparotomy. It was successful and she's being taken back to her room. Should we bring the bab-"

"Elena," Maya said," My Mama name her."

"Should we bring Elena back too?"

Alexia nodded, wiping her tears. "That would be nice."

She was by your bedside when you woke up, Maya fast asleep on her lap and a little bassinet nearby.

"Hello, my love."

"Amor, how are you feeling?"

"Like I've just been cut open," You teased but Alexia's face fell," Too soon?"

She nodded. "A little bit."

"How are our babies?"

"Maya was worried. Elena is still perfect."

"Can I see them?"

Alexia gently transferred Maya onto the bed with you. The little girl automatically curled into you in her sleep as Alexia gently lifted Elena.

"Well, hello there, beautiful girl," You cooed as Elena was placed on your chest," It's nice to finally meet you."

She was asleep too, a nice weight on your chest with her scrunched-up little face and even smaller tuft of hair.

"My love," You said," Don't cry."

Tears rolled down Alexia's face as she joined you on the other side of the bed, burying her head into your shoulder as she sobbed.

"I thought I lost you," She choked out," Amor, I was so worried. I didn't understand what was going on."

"I'm okay, Ale," You assured her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head," I'm alright."

"But you weren't. They took you to surgery."

"And they saved me, Ale," You said," They saved me and I'm here, with you and our children and I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

[agent-cupcake]

Ulterior Motives

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f! student Reader

Synopsis: Gojo becomes a little bit infatuated with his bratty new student.

Warnings: Explicit smut, noncon, teacher/student relationship (reader is 18+), possessive behavior, manipulation

Tags: Spanking, panty gag, dacryphilia, dirty talk, vibrators, bondage, orgasm torture, bratty reader, humiliation

Word Count: 24.4k

Notes: This one is for ABanonymous, I hope you didn't mind the wait and I especially hope you enjoy the story. The title IS a reference and if you know, you know.

Next requested fic I will have out next Saturday, and that's a pinky promise.

“Is this seat taken?” 

Bored, a little tired, you turned your gaze up to the interloper with a rejection at the ready. You stopped at the cafe to warm up, you weren’t in the most social of moods.

But you didn’t say anything when you saw the speaker. Your lips were parted and ready, but the words puffed out as nothing more than air. There was something wrong about him. If you hadn’t been so utterly—perhaps even willfully—detached from your surroundings, you might have noticed sooner. 

It was a trick of yours. Good for interviews, social gatherings, and first impressions. Bad for relationships, communication, and your general interest in other people. The girl with long, straight hair ordering a brown sugar bubble tea was annoyed. The man behind her was texting someone, likely his paramour, because his bad mood was being soothed with excitement and lust. The female half of the couple behind you was excited, her male partner was bored. Those were things you knew. Things you sensed as intuitively as you interpreted sounds from vibrations and visuals from light. 

The tall, white-haired man standing above you wearing a dark uniform and white bandage over his eyes was a solid, unreadable wall. The energy surrounding him wasn’t emotional, it was manifested, strong bordering on physical and, most likely, very bad news. You looked around the cafe, searching for some further clues about this utterly bizarre stranger, but nobody else seemed especially interested beyond his odd appearance. You cleared your throat. 

“Excuse me, what?” you asked, composing yourself. 

“May I sit here?” he asked again, smiling.

This could be interesting. Or bad. You shrugged as if disinterested. “If you want to.” 

He took the seat across from you, his smile fixed in place. “Thank you, I can’t stand drinking alone.” 

“Of course.”

“I’m Satoru Gojo,” he said, undeterred by your unfriendly demeanor. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  

You introduced yourself in turn, smoothing your hair and hoping you didn’t look too terrible. Could he even see you? Somehow, you got the feeling he could, but it didn’t look like the bandage was mesh. 

“Did you hear about what happened at the City Central Library?” he asked, bracing his elbow on the table to cradle his head. “Nasty business.”

The words themselves were casual, but they left you with the same feeling as when you got caught sneaking out. That little pang of surprise, a stark interruption of suspense with panic and then a mental scramble as you tried to come up with a believable story that would get you out of trouble. 

Did he know? That made the most sense, otherwise it was odd that he’d ask. But if he did know, you had no idea how he could, and had no way to guess how much he knew.  

No response was worse than a bad one, so you fell back on the easiest and usually the most effective approach. “What happened?” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows with a vacuously concerned expression. The kind of look that made it seem as if any question was so hopelessly complex, like the slightest problem was simply impossible for a girl as empty-headed as you to grasp. 

“There was a gas leak of some kind,” Gojo said, his mouth set into a contemplative line. A second later, that solemn expression melted into a mischievous half-smile. “Rather, that’s what the news will report. We know better, don’t we?”

You frowned, your head tilting to the side and eyes curiously wide. “We do?” 

“A curse manifested itself there. Nobody died, but it was close.”

“A curse?” you repeated slowly. “Are you talking about ghosts or something?” 

“Something like that.” 

You laughed, the light and ditzy airheaded kind of laugh. “Oh, come on. You’re teasing me, aren’t you.” 

“When we interviewed the receptionist at the library,” Gojo said, his casual demeanor unaffected by your act, “she mentioned a young woman who stopped by and warned her that something bad was going to happen.” 

“Oh?” 

“Actually, I have three accounts of people saying that they were contacted before an incident involving a curse occurred. One of the tips was anonymous, but the third was at a construction site. The manager said that a pretty young woman approached him and warned that the conditions would be hazardous and he needed to be very careful. He’s in the hospital now.” 

“That’s terrible,” you said, frowning. It was more of a pout, really.

Gojo pulled his phone out of his pocket. He clicked a few things on the screen—so he could see from behind the bandage, how odd—before holding it out for you to look at. It was security footage, presumably from the library. Although the quality was terrible, it didn’t take a genius to recognize that it was you in the video.  

“This is from yesterday,” he said. “A curse was exorcized at this library earlier today.” He turned the screen to look at his phone, looking between you and the footage with theatrical scrutiny. “This does look a lot like you.” 

“I don’t know who that is, but it can’t be me,” you said, pouting more. “I don’t even have a library card.”

“To be clear, I’m not accusing you of causing these incidents. If I thought you were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Gojo told you. He put his phone in his pocket, picking up his drink to mess with the straw. “How long have you been able to see them?” 

“See what?”

“Curses. Evil spirits, whatever you like to call them.” 

You stared at him for a long moment, trying to decide if you wanted to continue playing dumb. He obviously didn’t believe it. Besides, you were starting to get very curious about this strange not-blind man and the disconcerting amount of information he had about things he shouldn’t.

“As long as I can remember,” you finally answered, dropping the act. 

“Do they scare you?” he asked, as unconcerned with your shift in demeanor as he had been with everything else.  

“They’re definitely ugly,” you said. Gojo snorted in amusement at that. You looked down to consider a real answer, pushing the chunks of ice at the bottom of your cup around with the straw. “I’m not scared of them. They’re dangerous, but more like how a wild animal is dangerous.”

“Is that why you warn people?” 

You shrugged.

“Hmm,” he hummed, stroking his chin thoughtfully, staring at you through the bandage. It really was a creepy feeling. “Something still isn’t adding up. Sorcerers are more likely to come into contact with curses, but you’re not reacting to cursed activity; you’re predicting it. Moreover, the places who reported your warnings have no other connection. It’s unlikely that you were coincidentally nearby to feel the cursed energy.”

“Sorcerers?” you asked, continuing to push your straw around your cup idly, the ice crackling. 

“People who can see curses and manipulate cursed energy. You could also call them curse users. Of course, I don’t think you’re either. At least, not yet.” He gestured to you with his drink. “You’re avoiding the question.” 

“You didn’t ask me a question.”

“Didn’t I?” he asked with a frown. “Ah, whatever,” he waved it off dismissively. “How are you finding and predicting curses?” 

“I use a map,” you told him, like it was obvious. It was obvious to you, at least. 

“A map,” he repeated bluntly. Without any aura to read, you wished you could see his eyes at least.

“That’s usually how you find things, isn’t it?” 

“You’re saying that you have a map that tells you where curses will manifest?” 

“You’re asking a lot of questions,” you said. “I don’t think I should be talking so openly to a strange and mysterious man.”

“Mysterious? I told you, I’m Satoru Gojo,” he said, placing a hand on his chest. “I’m a jujutsu sorcerer and a teacher at Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School. If anything, you’re the strange one for going around cryptically warning people about evil spirits. ”

You narrowed your eyes at him, pursing your lips. The logical part of your mind rejected everything he was saying outright, it sounded made up. Then again, you knew there was some truth to what he was saying, even if the words he used were different than your own. The fact was, it seemed like he had more information than you. You didn’t like that. 

“You warn people about these curses in an attempt to protect them,” Gojo said, his tone softening a little as he tried to level with you, “but they never believe you, and so they get hurt anyway. Doesn’t that bother you?” 

You shrugged. “It does sound pretty ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Gojo said. “Nobody believes you see the things you see, or that you have a very special gift, but I do. If you tell me how you predict these curses, I’ll teach you how to take care of the problem yourself. More than that, I can teach you how to use your cursed energy to do things nobody else can.”

He had you on the line with that one, and he knew it. You didn’t have to be able to read his aura or look in his eyes to understand that smug grin. 

“I read once that mediums could perform a sort of dowsing technique with maps,” you said, giving in. “I’ve always had a knack for divination, so I tried it out. Even with my eyes closed and using different maps, I could reliably find and mark the same spot. It didn’t really turn out how I wanted it to though.” 

“How so?” 

“You’ve seen TV shows and videos about hauntings where ghost hunters dig up all kinds of scary and interesting stories, right? I was hoping it’d be like that. You know, exciting. Instead I marked a lot of schools and hospitals and that sort of thing.” 

“That makes sense,” Gojo said. “Curses tend to congregate in places like that.” 

“Well, I was disappointed. But then I started hearing news stories about people getting hurt in places that I marked on my map. I don’t know, I guess I didn’t want it on my conscience.” 

Gojo nodded thoughtfully. “This… dowsing ability, can you do it on purpose, or does it happen randomly?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“If I got you a map right now, could you mark places where a curse will manifest?”

“It depends on if there’s a place on the map where a curse will manifest,” you said.

Rather than get offended by your cheeky response, Gojo carried on. “Are there any locations you’re watching out for at the moment? Other than the library, I mean.” 

You considered that question. “I’ll tell you, but if this is for a TV show, I don’t consent to being on camera,” you said. “Not wearing this, at least.” 

He laughed. “This is not for a TV show,” Gojo said. “Although, if it was, I don’t know why you would need to change your clothes. You’re cute, the messy look is endearing.” 

“Ah, I guess you are blind after all,” you said imperiously, pulling out your phone to find the website of the other place you had marked. “There’s an antique shop. I don’t think anything has happened there yet. I tried calling, but the guy got angry. I guess lots of people try to claim things there are haunted to get a discount or something.” 

“Do you have the address?” 

“Yep, right… here-” You flipped the screen towards him. He peered at it for a second before smiling again.

“Oh, lucky! I know somebody who should be just nearby.” He pulled out his own phone, dialing a number.

“You said you exorcized the curse at the library,” you said, “will you do it there too?”

“If there’s a curse there, yes.” Gojo pressed call and put his phone to his ear. After a few rings, you heard a voice on the other end. The exchange was short, he gave the address and some words of encouragement. You couldn’t hear specifics, but it didn’t sound like the person was too pleased. 

“I don’t know for sure that something is there,” you said after he lowered his phone. 

“Have you ever been wrong?” 

“I haven’t followed through on every lead,” you said. “There are potentially dozens of times that I’ve been wrong.” 

“But all of the ones you’ve tracked have been correct, yes?” 

You smiled. “Yes.”

“What an interesting ability,” he cooed. “And you possess a respectable amount of cursed energy. I knew it. You should come to study to be a jujutsu sorcerer.”

“What?” 

“I told you that I could teach you how to use your abilities, didn’t I? You’re a bit old to be scouted, but everybody starts somewhere. I think you have the potential to be a great sorcerer.”

“You’re joking.” 

“Not at all.” 

“You said you teach high school, didn’t you?” you asked, raising your eyebrows. “I’m almost through my third year. It would be strange to transfer so late, I wouldn’t want to do anything to risk my graduation.”

“Do you have plans for after you graduate? Work? University?” 

“I’m going to study business.” 

“Really? You don’t strike me as the business type.”

You gave him a very flat look. “You don’t strike me as the teacher type.” 

Gojo laughed. “You got me there. I’m only saying that you go to university so you can get a job, right? If you study at Jujutsu Tech, you will have a guaranteed job upon graduation.”

“What kind of job?” 

“Exorcizing curses, saving the world, that kind of thing,” he said, waving his hand casually. “It’s not something many people can do, you know. You have to be a special mixture of brave and crazy to face curses knowing you could get hurt—knowing that others could get hurt if you fail. It’s tiresome, scary, and you very rarely see much of a reward.”

“You’re not exactly selling this.” 

“Really?” Gojo asked. “You look plenty interested to me. You don’t want to live the rest of your life being normal and bored, do you? You’re too special for that.”

You blew out a big breath, trying to think independently of this whole bizarre situation and the fact that his flattery was more effective than it should have been. 

“I’m still not sure I believe you,” you said. “Isn’t there some sort of saying that you should never trust somebody who hides their face? An innocent young girl like me could get hurt trusting scary men like you.” 

“Scary?” Gojo repeated. 

“You are, aren’t you? I can feel it.”

“You mean that you can sense my cursed energy?”

“Is that like an aura?” you asked. “Because I can’t read yours. That hardly ever happens.” 

“Aura?” 

You narrowed your eyes. “You know, spiritual energy and emotion and that sort of thing.”

“Ah, this might be a difference in terminology. This is cursed energy,” Gojo said, raising his hand and curling his fingers as if holding something. The intimidating energy that surrounded him pooled there, a dark shroud around his hand. All of the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, the discomfort prickling like thousands of little needles poking against your skin. “Is this what you mean?” 

“No, that’s… Bleh,” you said, exaggerating your shudder. “I’m talking about aura. People’s emotions, their mental state. I think your cursed energy is stifling yours, I don’t know. Or maybe you’re not human.” 

“Maybe,” he agreed, lowering his hand, the dark energy flowing back into him. “I think you have the potential to be a wonderful sorcerer.” 

“Really?” 

“I’ll teach you. I’m the best, you know. Aren’t you tired of knowing that there’s a problem you can’t fix? Do you think you can live a life of ignorance now that you know there are answers?” 

Before you could respond, his phone rang. 

“Yes?” Gojo asked, taking the call. Whatever the person on the other end said made him smile. “Sure, sure. You can’t leave it there, I’ll transfer you the money… Yes, of course.” 

He hung up and leaned forward, dropping the phone and cradling his cheek in his hand. 

“There was a cursed object there,” he told you. “It would have been a while before the seal unraveled enough to be noticeable, but it was only a matter of time before it began attracting curses.”

“If you take it away, that means the place will be safe?” 

“We’ll keep an eye on it to be sure, but, generally, yes. You saved innocent people from being harmed by an unseen evil. They will be allowed to continue on living their boring, mundane lives. That’s what a jujutsu sorcerer does.”

You nodded thoughtfully. It was the smartest choice to simply reject him and leave and move on with your life. 

Most likely. 

Absolutely. 

But when you mentally followed that course of action to its completion, you knew that a part of you would always exist in this little cafe sitting across from the strangest man you had ever met considering an offer that scared and excited you. You would always wonder about the answers he promised, every day you would wonder if there was something more. 

“If everything you’re saying is true-” you began.

“It is.”   

“-then I’ll consider it.” 

Gojo smiled. “I’ll have Ijichi get your transfer paperwork pushed through. We’ll have to move fast, you have a lot of missed time to make up for. You don’t mind, do you?” 

“I said that I’ll consider it,” you told him, taken aback by his presumptuousness. 

“Sure, sure,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll be in contact soon, okay? Be ready.” 

Despite your attempt to retain a certain amount of resistance and control over the situation, things moved exactly as fast as Gojo said they would. He was telling the truth about all of it. There was such a place as Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School, and he was a teacher, and although being such a late transfer was weird, it was all legitimate.  

The explanations were easier than you thought too. Mom was utterly charmed by Satoru Gojo. He came to your house wearing expensive clothes and a pair of sunglasses with his white hair flipped boyishly over his brow and explained the situation with a big, charming smile and the most disarmingly blue eyes you had ever seen and she was putty in his hands. She didn’t always believe you about spirits—curses, as Gojo called them—but she believed it from him, enthusing about how she’d always known you were special, and that you could do things nobody else could. It was moments like sitting in the room seeing Mom’s aura flash and sparkle with attraction and desire that made you wish you didn’t have the ability to see them. 

Not even two weeks after the cafe conversation with Satoru Gojo, you were packing up and moving to live on the Tokyo Jujutsu High campus grounds. As you packed, you thought a lot about the first time you saw an evil spirit. You screamed and screamed. It wasn’t until your grandmother came and comforted you that you calmed down. She had that effect on people. Making them comfortable, making them feel safe. 

Throughout your life, you flirted with divination and spirits and dark energy mostly for your own gain and amusement, but she was a real deal spiritual woman. If she were alive, she wouldn’t have liked who you were. That had been true for a while. You wondered what she would think of you going to study to exorcize curses, if that would have met with her approval. You wondered what dad would think. It had always been his plan that you should go to university. He wanted you to be educated before you got married. Funny, because he abandoned his university educated career-driven wife for some ditzy young thing he met at a bar.

It was kind of funny to think that, in the end, you wouldn’t go to university and you wouldn’t get married. Spite wasn’t a good primary reason to do something, but you couldn’t deny the frantic heat of its inspiration.

“I don’t know,” Haruka said, her voice distorted through your phone’s speaker as you unpacked your things. The room you were given on the Jujutsu Tech campus was larger than you thought it would be, although it didn’t look nearly so big with your stuff strewn everywhere. Mom laughed at your materialism, but you didn’t want to be underprepared. “I like him, but I don’t think he likes me back.”

You slipped a shirt onto its hanger, rolling your eyes at her dramatics. “The only way you’ll know is if you ask him.” 

“It’s weird for him, I think. ‘Cause I’m still in school. I mean, there’s barely a year difference between us, but… I don’t know. Maybe it is weird. If my mom knew I was dating Ikki, she’d flip out.” 

“Then don’t ask him out.”  

Haruka sighed. “I wish she was like your mom. She lets you do basically whatever you want.”

That stung, although you weren’t entirely sure she meant it to. “The way I see it,” you said, sidestepping that comment, “it won’t be weird after you’re out of school. Wait a few months, it’s not like you’re going to have time with exams going on.” 

“I wish you were here. Now when I make bad decisions I don’t have anyone to blame them on.” 

You laughed. “I was thinking the same thing. I can’t copy your homework anymore, why even bother being friends?” 

“Because,” Haruka said, clearly taking offense, “I am-”

“Knock knock,” somebody called through the open door, startling you. You turned to watch Gojo come in, looking around your room while Haruka rattled off all of the many reasons she was an invaluable friend to you. Well, you assumed he was looking around your room. He had returned to the bandages covering half his face, hiding his impossibly beautiful eyes. 

“One second, Haruka… Can I help you?” you asked him, raising an eyebrow to hide the flicker of excitement you felt seeing him. 

“Oh, are you talking to someone?” Gojo asked. “I can come back later.”

“Ah, no, that’s fine,” you told him, very easily deciding that you would rather talk to him than listen to Haruka’s boy troubles. “Haru, I’ve gotta go,” you said, picking up your phone. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Is that a man’s voice?” she asked. “Why is he in your room, what kind of school is that? Is-” 

You ended the call, cutting her off. “Do you need something?” you asked. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” 

“You didn’t,” you said, returning to hanging up your clothes. “Although she’s probably going to tell everyone this whole transfer thing was an elaborate lie to cover for the fact that I got knocked up and ran away with some guy. I’m not sure why, but nobody believes I’ve dedicated myself to a strict religious lifestyle.” 

“How much do they know about your abilities?” Gojo asked, walking over to your bed and sitting down, grabbing one of the stray magazines off the floor. He flicked through the glossy pages of fashion advice and gossip with a distinct lack of interest. 

You snorted, hanging up one of your last few dresses. “You’re kidding, right?” 

“Not at all,” Gojo said, dropping the magazine to flip through another. “It can be very isolating to keep such a big secret from the people closest to you.” 

“It would be such a drag to explain,” you said. “Besides, nobody wants to know that things like curses exist. They just want to live their normal lives where things make sense.” 

Gojo hummed in amusement. “Is that really the only reason?” 

The tone of his voice set you on edge. It sounded like he was implying something. “What do you mean?” 

“It would make things more difficult for you if anybody knew you could read their mind, wouldn’t it?” 

You frowned at him, although he didn’t seem to be paying attention. “First of all,” you said, putting a hand on your hip, “I can’t read minds. Second of all, it’s not like I’m actively trying to spy on people. I can’t help it.”

“Calm down,” he said with a smile, tossing the magazine aside. “I wasn’t making any comment on your character. It was an observation.” 

“Right,” you said, forcing yourself to let it go. “By the way, where is everyone else? The rooms around me all look empty.” 

Gojo waved his hand nonchalantly, standing up. “There aren’t any other third year girls.” 

“Did something happen?” 

“No, it’s not abnormal. Jujutsu sorcerers are extremely rare.” Gojo walked towards the wall you had half covered with various posters and decorations. “I heard your admission interview went well.” 

“Of course it did,” you said, smiling.  He didn’t see it, too focused on the map. You had it set up on your wall like you had at home, ready in case the mood struck.

“That’s the library,” Gojo said, tapping a finger against the marked spot. His fingers were long. Considering his abnormal height, it was hardly surprising. It was attractive though. You shut that thought down fast. You could acknowledge it as a fact, but he was your teacher now. Besides, he probably had women throwing themselves at him from all angles, you’d rather be celebate than be reduced to one of the many.

“And right there,” you said, coming up behind him to point at another mark, “is the-”

“Antique shop,” he shot you a smile over his shoulder. “What an interesting ability.” 

“Isn’t this sort of thing normal for, um, jujutsu sorcerers?” you asked, the term coming out a little awkwardly. 

“Not at all. Sorcerers are highly individualistic. There are inherited techniques, but many of them are unique to the sorcerer. They’re innate, carved into your frontal lobe.” He tapped his forehead, turning towards you.

“But you can do the same thing,” you said. “Reading people’s auras and all of that.” You grinned, raising your eyebrows playfully. “You’ve got a third eye.” 

“Six Eyes, actually,” Gojo said. “Although it does seem like you have a related form of extrasensory perception.” He threw an arm around your shoulders, swaying you back and forth. “You’re a little mini me! Isn’t that exciting?” 

The sudden touch made you stiffen up, too surprised to react immediately. The only coherent thought you had was that he smelled really good. You shook that out of your head, pushing at his arm in a half-hearted attempt to get some space.

“What can you do then?” you asked. “Can you teach me?” 

Gojo stopped swaying you around. “Weren’t you listening to anything I said? Jujutsu techniques are-” 

“-innate and unique,” you finished for him. “But you can teach me how to get better at my own techniques if they’re like yours, right?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Gojo said, stepping away. “If you try to run before you learn to walk, you’ll fall on your face. You’re getting a late start, so you’re going to have to work hard.” He raised his pointer finger to lecture you. “You’ll start by getting control over your cursed energy.” 

“Okay,” you said, nodding. “How do I do that?” 

“First! You clean your room,” he said. “It’s a mess in here. Then come to the classroom. I’ll have to find Oyama.” 

“Who’s Oyama?” 

“The other third year. He’ll be able to help you when I’m not here.” 

“You’re leaving?” 

“Are you disappointed?” Gojo cooed, leaning forward to put himself on your level, pursing his lips in a mocking display of pity. “As much as I would love to teach my cute little student personally, I have obligations to fulfill as a sorcerer. I hope you don’t miss me too much in the meantime.”

You gave him a flat look, hiding your genuine disappointment behind your irritation at the mockery. “I’m sure I’ll live.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Gojo said, patting your head. “Okay!” He stood up straight, turning away. “Don’t take too long,” he called as he left, “I hate having to wait.” 

“I’m sure this will only take me four or five hours,” you said. “Maybe six. I hope you don’t miss me too much in the meantime.” 

Gojo didn’t respond to your taunt, shooting you a final smile over his shoulder, one that was all blinding white teeth. The covered eyes made it more menacing than playful. 

“I hate it when you ignore my calls,” Mom said. “It’s been over a week since you gave me any sort of update. There’s only so much time I have to talk to you, so when you don’t answer, I have no idea what to think.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you said in as apologetic a voice as you could fake, holding your phone between your ear and shoulder as you did your nails. It was a futile effort, there was no way you could keep your hands manicured. All you could do was fight back your cuticles and paint your nails knowing they would be chipped the next day. “I spend all my time training, studying, or exhausted from training and studying. Do you remember Gojo talking about how being a late transfer meant a lot of extra work? I want to succeed here, so I have to put in the work.”

As you hoped, the apology and mention of Gojo quelled some of her fire. “Oh, well, I still expect you to keep me informed.” 

“I know,” you said. “Really, there’s not much to say.” Other than going out on a mission with Oyama for the first time and helping him exorcize a nasty curse that you helped to find with your unique ability, but you weren’t going to tell her that. You were saving that for when Gojo came back from whatever mission he was off doing. Instead, you painted a lick of red onto your pinky nail, carefully working the color into the edges. “How are you?” you asked her. “You mentioned you were seeing that guy from the lab?” 

“Didn’t I tell you? I had to end things with him,” Mom said. “He was a real piece of work.” 

“Oh, no you didn’t. I’m sorry,” you apologized, capping the nail polish bottle and appraising your hands. Serviceable, under the circumstances. 

“You know how men are. You think they’re fine, but they turn out to be completely crazy.” She huffed, you could imagine the way she would shake her head. “Actually, I’ve been spending some time with a man from the second floor. It’s going really well.”

“Oh, that’s exciting!” you exclaimed with enthusiasm, rolling your eyes. She was almost as bad as Haruka with the boy drama. You wanted her to be happy, of course you did, but having to hear about her messy romantic life got tiresome. 

“When you get back, maybe the four of us can go out for dinner.”

“Four?” 

“He has a daughter. She’s a little younger than you, I’m sure the two of you would get along really well.” 

“Yeah, that sounds fun,” you said, really scooping deep to manage an enthusiastic tone. “I’m just not sure when I’ll be able to get some time away. Like I said, I’m very busy.” 

“It’s been two months, surely you can ask Gojo for one weekend home.” 

“I’ll ask him,” you told her, making sure she could hear your doubt. Hopefully this fling wouldn’t last long, you really couldn’t stomach the thought of feigning interest in some stranger’s daughter. 

Content that your nails were dry, you peeled your phone away from your ear. 

“But I’ve gotta go for now,” you told her. “I promised Oyama I’d study with him. You know, final exams.” 

Another lie, although one you didn’t feel as bad about. In reality, final exams at Jujutsu Tech weren’t at all like at a normal school. You would still be graduating, but not through lengthy tests. It felt a little cheap to have all of your studying go to waste, but you weren’t about to complain.

“Yes, of course,” Mom replied. “Don’t forget to keep me informed, alright?” 

“Got it,” you said. “I’ll talk to you later. Love you, bye.” 

“Love you.” 

You hung up, tossed your phone to the side, and uncapped the bottle to paint your toenails. 

Gojo returned a few days later with kitschy souvenirs from some small village you had never heard of and a big smile, eager to hear how you were progressing. For that matter, you were eager to share it with him. He hadn’t been gone too long, but you were working harder than you ever had before, and getting better accordingly. 

“Okay!” Gojo said, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Tell me everything I’ve missed. How is your training?” 

“I’m getting a lot better at controlling my cursed energy,” you said. “You can tell, can’t you?”

“I can,” Gojo said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a little smile. “What about your hand-to-hand training?” 

You frowned at how quickly he brushed over your impressive accomplishment. Even Oyama was a little impressed by how quickly you adapted to the natural movement of cursed energy. Once again, you tried to get a read on Gojo’s state of mind to know what he was thinking, but it was as impossible as before.

“I got punched in the face for the first time,” you said. 

The comment didn’t have the intended effect of eliciting amusement or confusion. Instead: “Did you deserve it?” 

“What?” you asked, indignant. “No, not like that. I was sparring with Oyama and I realized that I’d never been punched in the face, so I asked him to. It seems like the sort of thing I needed to experience.”

“And what did you learn?” 

“That Oyama enjoyed it way too much, and I needed to buy waterproof mascara. It made my eyes water like crazy.” 

Gojo laughed, but didn’t give you anything else to work with. 

“I’ve also learned that I’m really not into fistfighting,” you said, finally being serious. “I’ll definitely want to use weapons.”

“Your cursed technique is more effective the closer you are to the opponent, isn’t it?” Gojo asked. “So you’ll want something that can work at very close range.”

“But first I’ll have to learn how to reliably close the distance. I’m not fast enough. Yet.”

Gojo nodded thoughtfully. “Speed is important, but reading your opponent is more valuable in that situation,” he said. “If you ask nicely, I may be able to help.” 

“I have to ask?” 

He sighed dramatically. “My time is in high demand.”

“Some teacher you are,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes in as exaggerated of a way as possible. 

“Watch your tone,” Gojo told you, wagging a finger. “You don’t want detention, do you?” 

“I’m so sorry, sensei,” you said, batting your eyelashes. “I didn’t mean to disrespect you.” 

He didn’t immediately respond to the taunt which, when you couldn’t get a read on his mood anyway, was oddly unsettling. 

“You’re lucky I’m such a kind, patient man,” he finally said, his voice softer than before. “That cheeky tone could get you in trouble.” 

“I’ve heard that you’re way worse,” you said. “I’ve heard that all of the higher-ups think you’re a nuisance. I’m only trying to be more like you, sensei.”

“You might find you don’t enjoy where that gets you,” he said. The tenor of his voice was playful, but the tension beneath wasn’t.

“You wouldn’t do anything,” you said, hoping to laugh it off.

He smiled, but didn’t laugh. 

“I heard what happened in Shinjuku,” Gojo said before things got too awkward. “You were able to identify the type and motivation of the curses and warn Oyama. That’s impressive.” 

“Oh… Yeah, thank you,” you said. “It wasn’t that difficult once I understood what type of place it was. Officially, it was a club, but that was only a front for their prostitution scheme. Of course the curses would hate men.” 

“You know, I’ve been thinking, with proper honing, you might reach a point where you can perceive the nature of a technique before it can be used against you.” 

“Really?” you asked, excited by the idea. It sounded like an impressive trick.

“It’s possible, certainly. But,” he pointed at you, “you’re a long way off from developing a skill that complex. Don’t get distracted from working on the basics.”

“I know, I know,” you said, trying not to seem too petulant. “I know I have to practice with my cursed energy, but sensing things about people and curses, that’s intuitive.” 

“It’s hard on you, isn’t it?” Gojo asked, although it wasn’t much of a question. “Your ability is empathetic, not sympathetic. To understand what you’re facing, you have to let it in. That can be very dangerous. You have to carefully control it.”

“It’s not comfortable,” you allowed. “But I can do it.” 

“To know the nature of the curse is to be confronted with the absolute worst of humanity, and it very well could end with you cursing them in turn.”

“I won’t let it get to me.” 

“Not to mention how dangerous it is, I’ve known sorcerers who are rendered entirely catatonic just through proximity to especially strong curses, and that’s with their defenses up.” 

“I can handle it,” you insisted, frowning. 

Gojo paused, considering you with his head tilted curiously to the side. 

“You said you asked Oyama to punch you in the face,” he said. “You might be a bit of a masochist, but I assume you were looking for that experience in a controlled environment.” 

“Yeah, something like that,” you said, too caught off guard by the change of topic to properly react to the masochist comment.

“That’s smart, actually,” Gojo said. “Come here, I want to show you something.”

“Show me what?” you asked, frowning. 

“The danger of special grade cursed energy. Come here, I don’t want to cast too wide a net and catch anyone else. This is for educational purposes only, alright?” 

“Okay,” you said, hopping off your desk and approaching him.

“What do you feel?” Gojo asked, pushing away from the big desk to stand up straight. His height continuously took you by surprise. Maybe you’d find loafers with more of a heel, it was annoying to have to look up at him like this. 

“Not much. You’re as mysterious as ever,” you said, an unmistakable note of bitterness in your tone.

“Okay then. Are you ready?” Gojo asked. 

“Go ahead,” you said, bracing yourself. You knew cursed energy, you had felt it both from sorcerers and actual curses. You thought you were prepared.

You were not prepared. 

Cursed energy flared out around him in an oppressive wave, capturing you in its field. The only thing you could think was that you were going to die. There was nothing you could think to compare it to. Fear flooded your system, it was all that existed. Not the fear of pain or death or any human threat, but complete and total destruction. Cellular annihilation, the ruination of the thing that was ‘you’ until not one part remained. You couldn’t move. His cursed energy snuffed that out, squishing down everything that wasn’t animalistic terror. When your legs gave out, you barely felt it, only the weakness of your body caving in. Gojo caught you before you fell, holding you up against him. 

“The way you feel right now,” Gojo muttered, his voice soft and low, “this is what it is to be truly helpless. This is what you’re ultimately up against. Unless you’re prepared to endure the depths of hell, your arrogant curiosity will destroy you.” 

Just like that, it was over. 

You sobbed, hiding your face against his chest. It was pathetic, but you couldn’t control the entirely bodily reaction now that you were arrested with blind fear. Your body was practically vibrating from how violently you were shaking. Never in your life had you experienced such horrific, visceral fear. It was worse than you would have thought, even though you were never actually in any danger. 

“Ah, maybe that was too much,” Gojo said regretfully, patting your back. 

“Wha-aa-as that-t yo—uor te-eh-chnique?” you asked, your stammered words muffled against his chest. How embarrassing. 

“That? No. If I had used my technique, your brain would be mush right now.” Gojo ran his hand over your hair, almost affectionately stroking it. “Do you need me to carry you to your room? I wouldn’t mind.”

Your hands tightened in the front of his uniform, although you couldn’t recall when you began holding onto him. Gojo hummed, petting your hair again, his hand idly lowering to your back, and then your waist, and your hip. 

It was only a flicker, a fraction of a second, but you felt the barest whisper of glee. Lust. For blood or otherwise, you didn’t have the capacity to tell, but the impression was in such stark opposition to your own tumultuous feelings that it startled you.

You gasped, stumbling away from Gojo like he’d shocked you. Luckily, you managed to catch yourself on the edge of one of the desks rather than fall. He was, as ever, completely inscrutable. Whatever you thought you felt, it was gone as fast as it struck. 

Unable to read anything else from the man, you decided that it was your imagination, a subsequent reaction born from a panicked brain. It was difficult to hold onto the feeling of primal terror now that it wasn’t actively battering down your defenses. Without any actual danger, your brain couldn’t generate the same intensity. With shaking hands, you wiped beneath your eyes, keeping them averted. 

“That was embarrassing, I’m sorry,” you said.

“This isn’t too bad of a reaction. It’s kind of cute, actually.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” you agreed with breathless sarcasm, trying very hard to compose yourself. “For the record, I preferred being punched in the face.” 

“I’m sure,” Gojo said with a little laugh. “Well,” he clapped his hands together, effectively ending the report, “you look like you could use a break, let’s go see what’s for lunch.” 

“It’s so stupid,” Haruka said, her sniffling voice crinkling through your phone's speaker. 

You laid on your back while listening to her cry, staring at your dorm’s plain ceiling. Things with Ikki hadn’t gone well. Normally you could at least pretend to care about her love life, but your thoughts were elsewhere. 

“I knew he didn’t like me, I just thought since he was so nice and-” 

It pissed you off to be so consumed by thoughts of one man, but it felt like there was a whirlpool in your head. You could fight it for a while, but all too soon your thoughts would return to your enigmatic teacher. Back and forth, back and forth, you bounced between trying to convince yourself to be realistic about yourself and the creeping paranoia that there was something going on.

Gojo was a very physical sort of person. It was conceited to think he’d be interested in you when he was attractive enough to get any woman he reasonably wanted. He was only helping you. It wasn’t intimate. Even if it felt a little strange, that was normal for combat training, wasn’t it?  

He was interested in you. He was taking advantage of his role as your teacher, teasing you for his own amusement. That flash of lust was real, and it warned you of danger. The awkward nerves you felt around him were rational. 

Back and forth and back and forth and-

“Hello?” Haruka snapped.

“Ah, um, yeah, I’m really sorry, Haru,” you said, realizing after a beat of silence that you had missed your cue. 

“Whatever. I know you don’t get it.” She sniffed and then cleared her throat, composing herself. “I don’t suppose you know any hot guys, do you?”

“No dice,” you told her, although your thoughts went in a different direction. Gojo was hot, but he was also older than you and your teacher and there was no way. You rubbed your temple as if you could physically drive out the intrusive thoughts. It was pure ego. 

In any other situation, you would be able to check for sure, but not with him. That was it. You didn’t know, and so you were making assumptions. Everything was normal, you were the one acting like a fool, self-obsessed enough to think you were getting the attention of an attractive older man.  

“When you visit, we’ll have to go out looking for guys,” Haruka said. “I want to do something crazy before classes start.” 

“I’m sure I can find a way to sneak out,” you joked. Mostly joking. You weren’t confined on campus, it was a little hard to find time. 

That weekend, Gojo was gone, Oyama was busy, and you had the day to yourself. Rather than wasting it on campus, you hopped on a bus to the Tokyo station and took the train to Yokohama. You thought you would feel different returning to familiar stomping grounds after being away so long, but you didn’t. Nothing ever really changed.

That thought struck you especially when you spotted a pretty girl in a red sundress lackadaisically scrolling on her phone on a bench at the station. Haruka Inaba consistently scored top marks in every class, volunteered at hospitals in her free time, and reigned over the school’s tennis club throughout her second and third year of high school. She was the type of girl other girls wished they were.

A cursory look over your social media timeline would present picture after picture of the two of you having fun together, and she was the only person you had ever told about your dad leaving your mom for a younger woman. In short, she was your best friend.

Although, it might have been more accurate to say you had entered into an alliance. Everybody had a face they preferred other people didn’t see, when you were honest with someone that made you close, but didn’t necessarily foster a lot of affection. 

“I hope you didn’t wait too long,” you said, greeting her with a smile. 

“It was no big deal,” she told you. “The station’s on the way to the mall anyway.” 

“Well then, shall we?” you asked. 

“Of course,” Haruka said, getting to her feet and tossing her hair back to expose her perfectly smooth neck and shoulder, a very practiced gesture. “I’m surprised your mom didn’t come. You haven’t seen her since you left, have you?”

Internally, you rolled your eyes at how obvious the question was. Testing pressure points, or just looking for gossip. 

“She’s a busy woman, I wouldn’t ask her to spend her day off with me,” you lied as you shuffled into the crowd of foot traffic flowing out of the station and onto the street. Mom didn’t even know you were in town. “Besides, I hate shopping with her.”

“That’s fair. What are you looking for today?”

“Athletic wear that isn’t hideous.”

“Do you do a lot of exercise at that new school of yours?” she asked, saying ‘school’ like it was a joke. 

You shrugged. So far, you had been vague about Jujutsu Tech. It was impossible to be specific without sounding insane. Besides, Haruka only wanted to know more so she could dismiss the idea that you were special enough to be scouted for an incredibly upscale and mysterious school and she wasn’t.  

“A bit,” you said. “What time are we meeting Fumiko and Kaoru?”

“The movie starts at four-fifteen,” Haruka told you.

“Oh, Ikki’s coming too,” you said. “I hope you don’t mind, Kaoru invited him before I could ask him not to.” 

Haruka smiled tightly, her aura flashing aggressively. “Why would I mind?” 

You let that one go, knowing better than to rub it in.

After that, you and Haruka relaxed into a far more superficial, casual dynamic. Clothes were a great unifier, and she had great taste. 

The world was set right. No curses, no fighting, no second guessing people’s feelings. The other three showed up around lunch. There was still some strain with Haruka and the ever-oblivious Ikki, but you pretended you didn’t notice. The movie was boring, the dinner conversation even more-so, but you were rewarded with a milkshake out in the open air plaza.

Haruka and Fumiko were arguing with Kaoru about action versus drama movies. You wondered what type of movie Gojo preferred, if either. He was capable of stunts cooler than any action hero, but you weren’t sure he’d buy into drama either.

Was that some sort of mystical divination, your errant thoughts predicting the future? Probably not, although it was concerning that your thoughts would stray to him so easily. 

You realized someone was behind you a fraction of a second before their big hands were covering your eyes. “Guess who,” he said. He, as in, one of the few people who could easily sneak up on you, who could make you nearly jump out of your skin, your cursed energy flaring and heart racing.  

You grabbed Gojo’s wrists, pulling his hands away from your eyes and turning to face him. He wore a casual button-up, a pair of retro round lensed sunglasses, and a huge grin. 

“Who are you?” Ikki asked, his body tensed and halfway out of his seat. 

“It’s alright,” you said, putting a hand on his arm. “This is…” you said, looking at Gojo as you tried to think of an answer.

“I’m her teacher, Satoru Gojo,” he finished for you with a megawatt smile, waving to your friends. Haruka looked impressed, her eyes dragging over him without even an attempt at subtlety. The other three looked at him with a range from mild interest to outright hostility. 

“I thought you were on a mi—a business trip,” you said. 

“I finished early,” Gojo said, wedging himself between you and Ikki to wrap an arm around your shoulder. The stool was high enough that he didn’t have to lean down very much, but he still almost pulled you out of the seat. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” His face was right next to yours. You couldn’t look at him, not when he was peering over the top of his sunglasses, giving you the full weight of his beautiful eyes.

You cleared your throat, irritated that he would go out of his way to embarrass you. “This is Ikki, Haruka, Fumiko, and Kaoru,” you told him, gesturing to them in turn.  

“You’re more than welcome to join us, Gojo,” Haruka said, leaning forward with her eyes fixed directly on Gojo. “She’s spoken very highly of you.” 

“She didn’t say you were so young,” Ikki said, clearly disgruntled by the way Gojo had pushed him aside. “Are you really a teacher?”

“Ah, you flatter me!” Gojo said, laughing a little louder than appropriate. “Well, as much as I would love to stick around to hear embarrassing stories about my cute little student, it’s time for us to get going.” He released you, standing up straight. “It was nice meeting you all.”   

He couldn’t be serious. 

“Us?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes. There’s something we need to do before going back to campus. It’s time sensitive, we have to hurry.” 

“I’m kind of in the middle of something,” you said. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” 

“No, it can’t. Come on.”

You played out the scenario where you continued to argue, but all of them ended with the same eventuality. He was, no matter what else, your teacher. Sighing dramatically, you slung your bags over your arm and stood up. 

“I guess I have to go,” you said. “It was fun, I’ll see you later.” Fumiko and Kaoru smiled back, but Haruka was fixated on Gojo. You could practically see the hearts swirling in her aura. Ikki was unamused on the edge of hostile, glaring at Gojo who had put his hands in his pockets, unconcerned.

“Okay,” you said, turning away from your friends. “Lead the way.”

Gojo smiled. “Don’t worry,” he told you, taking off with his long-legged strides, “it’s not far.” 

“Is there a job?” you asked, trotting behind him to catch up. The plaza was congested with the late afternoon crowd, it was a bit of a battle to make your way out until you reached the equally crowded sidewalk. 

“It’s something very important,” Gojo told you. “Time is of the essence. Can’t you walk any faster?” 

“In these shoes?” you asked incredulously, coming to a stop beside him as you waited for the crosswalk light to turn. 

“I’ve never understood that,” Gojo said, looking at your feet. “Why wear something that you can’t move around in? I’d hate that.” 

“Because these shoes are adorable and they make my legs look great,” you said, once again rushing to keep up with him as he crossed the road. 

“Oho?” Gojo asked, slowing his stride to look at you with a smile. “Are you trying to impress somebody?” 

“I want to impress everyone,” you said.   

“It was that guy you were sitting next to, wasn’t it?” he asked knowingly. “Are you dating?”

“Ikki?” you asked. Your nose scrunched up at the idea, you could only imagine Haruka’s reaction. “No, we’re not.” 

“Really? He was very protective of you.”

You shrugged, not really interested in that particular topic. 

“How was your trip?” you asked, prompting him to tell you about England. When you thought about the city of London, you imagined big stone castles crawling with translucent ghosts in huge gowns, but he said it was just a regular city with regular boring curses.  

You weren’t as disappointed by that as you might have been otherwise, too busy trying to keep up. Apparently, not far meant something completely different to Gojo than to you, although part of that was that he refused to slow down for your sake. It was almost like he was amused by forcing you to scramble behind him, but you didn’t want to think he would be that rude just for his own entertainment.

It was a huge relief when he stopped in front of a collection of businesses. “Wait here,” Gojo said, grabbing your shoulders and pressing down as if to plant you in place. 

“Yes, sir.” 

He went into the store and you waited dutifully, looking around at the people passing by. You felt out the area curiously, but there wasn’t much. People’s auras that projected regular, boring emotions and some vague, stale residuals, the tumultuous swirl of rotten energy that swarmed the city like a foul stench. Nothing out of the ordinary.

It was difficult not to replay his questions in your head, it really only added to the confusing mess of nerves and doubt you felt when you thought about Gojo. Why would it matter if you were dating Ikki or not? It wasn’t his business whatsoever. But really, not that you would ever openly acknowledge it, the idea that Satoru Gojo would give you attention in that way was thrilling. Not good, not bad, just thrilling. It was because of who he was, you knew that rationally, and you knew that was a weird and childish way to think. There was no way he had any inappropriate sentiments towards you, no more than you did him. 

When you thought about it like that, you just got irritated. With him and with yourself. 

“Okay!” Gojo called, easily catching your attention as he left the store and came to stand by you. He held a little box from the bakery, although you couldn’t see what was in it. “Close your eyes and say ‘ahh’.”

“What?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowing. 

“Come on, do it,” he insisted. 

You did as he said, making no attempts to hide your exasperation. Gojo pushed a pastry puff into your mouth, leaving a smear of cream over your bottom lip. 

Chewing the pastry, you opened your eyes to Gojo’s eager smile. “Well? Delicious, right?” he asked, licking off the extra cream from the fingers that had just been in your mouth. 

You nodded as you swallowed, more distracted by the way his tongue ran along his long fingers than the flavor. Which was ridiculous. “Are we waiting for someone?” you asked, forcing yourself to focus on that instead.

“No, we’re going back to campus. These are the best profiteroles I’ve ever tasted. We had to hurry—they make a fresh batch for the evening crowd.”

“So… there’s no job?” you asked. 

“I never said it was,” he told you, popping another pastry in his mouth. 

“This was the thing that was so important that I couldn’t spend time with my friends that I never see?” you pushed. “You’re not serious.”

“Are you mad?” Gojo asked. “I got some just for you.”

“I haven’t seen them in a long time,” you said. “And you were acting weird.” 

“You are mad,” Gojo said, frowning. “I only wanted to share something nice with you. After all, you’ve been working so hard. I’m proud of you.” 

“Is that it?” you asked. “Really?” 

“What else?” he asked. 

“Hello?” you asked after picking up the call. You were waiting for your laundry, half-heartedly leafing through a book about historical cursed objects. 

“Did you make it back alright?” Haruka asked from the other end. 

“I did,” you said. “I’m sorry about earlier. Gojo is a little… eccentric.” 

“He’s gorgeous,” Haruka said. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me your teacher was so hot.” 

“He’s my teacher,” you said, surprised by the flare of irritation you felt at having her point it out. Of course he was hot, but you couldn’t acknowledge that. You wouldn’t want to anyway, not when you were still feeling so conflicted. 

“Yeah but he’s young. What do you think, twenty-five? Twenty-six?” 

“He’s my teacher,” you repeated.

“He’s not my teacher. Do you think he’s single? I didn’t see a ring.” 

“No,” you said bluntly, closing the book with a snap. 

“No, he’s not single?” 

“I mean no, I’m not having this conversation with you,” you said. “It’s weird and disrespectful.” 

“You’re kidding,” Haruka asked. “Since when do you care about that?”

That caught you off guard; you didn’t have an answer. Any response you could think of led to increasingly disquieting explanations. “I don’t think Gojo’s the dating type,” you told her, deciding to side-step that question completely. “He’s out of the city about as often as he’s here, so I doubt he’s got much time for that sort of thing.” 

She hummed. “Maybe I can come visit you on campus. It’s just outside of Tokyo, right?” 

“It’s a religious school,” you told her. “No visitors on campus.” 

“That’s so lame. You should give me his number then.”  

“Why would I do that?” 

“For me,” Haruka said. “To mend my broken heart.” 

“You can’t date my teacher.” 

“I’m not looking to date him,”  Haruka said. “Come on, you owe me. Please?” 

“Look, Haru-” you began, ready to try to explain to her why it was a bad idea that wouldn’t go anywhere, but she cut you off. 

“Unless you really are saving him for yourself,” Haruka said. “I guess I wouldn’t put it past you.” 

You closed your mouth, swallowing your warning. For that, she could deal with another rejection. “Okay, I’ll ask.”

“Thank you!” Haruka said. “Okay, I gotta hurry to take a shower, text me. Don’t forget, okay?”

“I won’t,” you said, truly meaning it. “Goodnight.”  

The next day, the sun was high and hot as you dropped down to sit next to Gojo on the field-side benches. 

“Your form is looking much better,” Gojo said. “I like that outfit too. Is it new?” 

You smiled, preening a little bit at the compliment. “Thank you, it is,” you said, smoothing your hair back. “You know, men don’t usually notice clothes.” 

“I notice everything you do,” he said. “It’s the best way to keep track of your progress.” 

“Right,” you said, smiling and accepting that with a nod, aggressively rejecting the fluttery nerves the comment inspired. “Sensei, may I ask you something personal?”

“Oh? What is it?

“Are you seeing anyone? Romantically, I mean.” 

“That’s hardly an appropriate question to ask your teacher.” 

“You asked me if I was dating someone,” you pointed out. “I’m only asking for a—a friend.” 

“A friend?” Gojo repeated dubiously. “Well, you can tell your friend that I’m not seeing anyone. Not exclusively, at least.”

That confirmed that, at least. “And you’re okay with younger women?” you asked, acting more flustered than you felt. “My age, I mean. Or, you know, around my age. Not me, obviously.”

“It depends on the woman,” he said slowly, leaning forward with a little smile curling his lips. “What’s she like?”

“I guess you could say she’s kind of like me,” you said. “Some people think she’s difficult, but maybe you don’t mind that?”  

“Is she secretly very shy?” he asked. “Perhaps because she’s afraid of her true feelings?” 

“She is a little shy,” you allowed. “You’re intimidating sometimes, sensei. And it’s scandalous because you’re my teacher.” 

“I won’t be your teacher forever.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“But I would hate for anyone to think I’m playing favorites.” 

“It’s not like I’m asking for special treatment.”

“Aren’t you?”  

“Not at all. I’d rather you keep the entire thing between you two,” you said, your tone reverting to its normal timbre.

“What?” Gojo asked, his voice flat with confusion. 

“My friend Haruka. You met her yesterday. She asked me to give her your number and see if you were interested,” you said. “It’s the only way to make up for having to bail out on the plans we had last night. That’s okay, right? It was your fault.”  

“Are you still mad at me for that?” Gojo asked.

“I’m not mad,” you pretended to consider his nonplussed expression for a moment. “You seemed interested before.”

“You were misleading me on purpose, weren’t you? How cruel. I thought you were a nice girl.” 

“Misleading you? I don’t know what you mean, sensei. I told you I was asking for a friend.” 

If you could see his eyes, you had a feeling they would be narrowed. “In that case, I’m  afraid I’ll have to pass.”

You shrugged. “Your loss.” Taking a drink, you pumped yourself up and got to your feet. “Okay! I’m gonna win this next match for sure.” 

You jumped off the benches. You did not win the next match. You did, however, feel as if you had scored some sort of petty victory with Gojo’s obvious confusion. You wondered if he truly thought you were making a pass at him and was willing to play along, or if it was just as much a game to him as you. If you could read him, you’d know. And it wouldn’t be a source of many late nights spent looking up at your ceiling wondering if you were reading too far into innocuous interactions. 

But you couldn’t.

You shouldn’t have played into it. That was the conclusion you quickly drew as March rolled out into April and your training reached a feverish intensity. The more you trained, the stronger your Divination became, the more you realized how utterly outmatched you were, how unprepared. Not only with Jujutsu sorcery, but with your enigmatic teacher.

The interactions seemed so banal at face value, but they became the only thing you could think about. It was always something. 

“Oh, look at you!” Gojo said, startling you as you were leaving campus one Saturday morning. “That’s very cute. Did you get all dressed up just for me? I’m flattered.” 

“No, I was going to go out.”

“It’s for a boy, then. I see.” 

You rolled your eyes impatiently. “If I was dressing up for you, I’d be dressing up for a guy. But I'm not.”

“Oh, but I just remembered,” Gojo said, snapping his fingers. “I’m taking you along on a job. You need more experience, don’t you?”   

And he was always so close. Maddeningly close, finding any excuse to touch you.

“Oop, there’s an eyelash on your cheek,” Gojo said, leaning in close with his lips pursed as he pinched it off. “Okay! Make a wish!” 

You resisted the urge to shrink back, looking at the bandage covering his eyes as impassively as you could. “I wish-”

“No, don’t tell me!” he said, waving his hands. “Otherwise it won’t come true.”

The two of you would be walking somewhere and he’d grabbed your hand. “No, no, we’re going this way,” he'd say, acting like it was the most casual thing in the world to entwine his fingers with your own to guide you. 

And the other things, a friendly arm thrown over your shoulder, his hands physically adjusting your stance when practicing fighting, his relentless proximity, it added up. Added up to what? You didn’t know. Whenever you expressed discomfort, Gojo seemed so confused. 

You thought that at least when he was away on missions, you would have space to breathe, but even then you felt his domineering influence. 

“Where are you going?” Oyama asked.

“It’s not your business.” 

“Is it an emergency?” 

“No. I’m-”

“Then you need to be training, your hand to hand is still way too sloppy.” 

And then it was:

“You marked a spot on your map, we should go check it out.” 

“And it can only be done today,” you said flatly. “On the day I had off. When I specifically mentioned I wanted to go out.” 

Oyama shrugged as if helpless. And, honestly, he probably was. You had a feeling you knew exactly where the orders were coming from.

When Gojo came back and you asked him about it, demanding some explanation, he looked utterly baffled by your confrontational tone. 

“You need to focus,” Gojo said, frowning with concern, his aura as impenetrable as ever. “You’re still so far behind your fellow sorcerers.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders to comfort you, his voice lowering intimately. “I know it’s difficult right now, but when you’re strong, you can do whatever you want.”

The string of cancellations as well as the thing with Gojo not working out was the breaking point for Haruka. She stopped inviting you places. More than once, you considered telling her the truth, coming clean about everything regarding Gojo’s strange behavior, but you didn’t. 

Even if you told her the truth, that you weren’t necessarily trying to invite Gojo’s attention, it would validate the thing she first assumed when asking you to get his number for her. That was an old wound, an uncomfortable situation in high school with the tennis instructor. Besides, when you presented the case to yourself, it sounded insane. A handful of interactions with a man who was a bit eccentric, being restricted because you were so far behind other sorcerers.

Sometimes you felt insane, like you were missing something vital, drawing the wrong conclusions from inferred motivations because you couldn’t read Gojo like you could everyone else. You asked for a transfer to the Kyoto campus, and you clung to that. They said they would consider it, but you weren’t sure if they took it seriously. You couldn’t provide any details as to why you wanted to move, not even to yourself. 

All you could do was lay in bed listening to white noise TV overthinking every comment he made and interactions you had, your thoughts caught in the endless back and forth of confusion.  

“You weren’t there to greet me,” Gojo said, calling into the empty gym where you were stretching. He had been gone for three days and, unlike when you first began at Jujutsu Tech, you weren’t excitedly looking forward to his arrival. Or maybe you were? At least it was something other than the oppressive isolation and relentless training, but it only really upset you. “I got you a souvenir.”

“I’m good, thanks. Did you have a fun trip?” you asked in an icy tone, refusing to turn around to address him with respect.

“I wouldn’t call it fun, it’s work.” 

“Still,” you insisted, rolling your shoulders, “it must be nice to have a little freedom.” 

An awkward silence followed your comment.

“You’re not mad or something, are you?” Gojo finally asked. 

“I’m not mad.”

“I haven’t done anything to deserve this attitude,” Gojo clearly wasn’t convinced, you could hear the theatrical dismay in his tone. “What’s got you so grumpy?”

“I’m not grumpy.” 

“So why are you pouting then?” 

Finally fed up with the badgering, you whirled around to face him, resolved to be upfront, to not give him a way to get out of the question. But then you looked him up and down and felt an odd jab of disgust and guilt twist in your stomach. It was so much easier to think the worst of somebody when they weren’t there to provide any sort of counternarrative. Seeing Gojo, it was hard to believe that he was the person you sometimes feared him to be. He was too attractive, powerful, and intelligent. It didn’t make sense that he would resort to underhanded means to manipulate you.

“Is there a reason I’m not allowed to leave?” you asked, staring at his covered eyes. 

“What do you mean?” Gojo asked, the picture of innocent confusion. “Nobody’s stopping you.” 

“Really? Because when you’re here, you stop me and, when you’re not, Oyama finds a reason that I can’t. It’s almost uncanny that so many jobs coincide with the days that I make plans.”

“Have you tried asking Oyama?” Gojo asked. “Maybe he has a crush on you.”

“He detests me,” you told him flatly. “I don’t blame him.”

“Oh? Do you want me to talk to him about that? I hate to think that my students aren’t getting along.” 

“I want to know what’s going on,” you said, trying to keep calm.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Gojo said, his act of innocence perfectly maintained. Unless it wasn’t a mask. You couldn’t tell. “Are you feeling okay? Maybe you’ve been working too hard.” He frowned, thinking about it for a second. “I know! Let’s go out together. I’ve been dying to try this new sushi restaurant in town. I’ll invite Oyama and we can all get to the bottom of whatever it is you think you’re feeling.” 

The moon hung high in the sky as you did training exercises in the field near your dorm, trying to shut your brain off. Nothing was solved over dinner. Of course not. Both men acted like there was nothing strange going on.

No, of course you were allowed to do whatever you wanted. Of course they weren’t stopping you. But if they were, they had good reason to. If they were, the problem was that you were just so weak. Sure you were making progress, but you weren’t even close to catching up with other sorcerers your age.

When you got back to your room, you broke down and called your mom, intending to tell her everything. The isolation, the suffocation, the worries you had about your teacher’s behavior. But all she could talk about was how well things were going with her new boyfriend. They were considering moving in together. And it was fine if she gave his daughter your old bedroom, wasn’t it? You didn’t need it anymore. You texted Haruka, but she didn’t reply, posting on her social media story to ensure you knew she was ignoring you on purpose.

So you decided you needed to hit something. It helped you calm down, at least. It was easier to believe the world had a semblance of peace in the dark of the night. 

“Looking good!” a familiar voice called from behind you. You were trained enough to not be startled, taking a defensive stance as you considered how you were going to handle this. “I am curious as to why you’re out here though. I thought you were tired.” 

That was the reason you gave after you got back to campus, the reason you immediately excused yourself from his company. Gojo knew it was a lie then, and said it like a joke now. 

“I can’t sleep,” you said, shrugging as you turned around. 

“I see. You’re not still angry with me, are you? Even though I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“No.”

“Then I can’t help but wonder what face you’re imagining on that training dummy.” 

“Are you that hopeful that I’m thinking about you, sensei?” 

He laughed. “If anything, I’m worried,” he said. “You know what they say about a woman scorned.” 

“You told me I needed to train more,” you pointed out. “Do you have any tips? I prefer fighting with knives, but I can’t trust that I’ll always have weapons, and I still need to get in close if I’m going to use my Divination.” 

“I’m not sure there’s much to read from your current opponent,” Gojo said.  

“I’m being serious,” you said. “If you don’t want to help, that’s fine too.” 

“No, I do. Okay, get into a defensive position,” he instructed, which you did. 

Gojo walked around to stand close behind you, you could feel the warm thrum of his body, the energy coursing through it, the power. 

“Your posture is fine, the problem is your mindset,” he said, his voice lower. He reached around to brush his fingers over your flushed neck and over, across your shoulder and down your arm. “You can’t think of it in terms of only using your cursed energy or only your body. Jujutsu sorcery is more than the sum of its parts. You fight with your whole self.” His hands settled on your hips, repositioning them slightly to the side. Then his palm laid flat over your pelvis, dragging up your stomach. Your skin crackled with little sparks of electricity, crawling and thrumming and alive and nervous.  

“Sensei, I’m, uh…” Tongue-tied. A shiver snaked down your spine and you resisted the urge to move and put distance between you. You cleared your throat. “I understand that part, it’s just…”

“You don’t feel it yet. The harmony,” Gojo said. “Most people aren’t actively aware of their bodies, but a sorcerer has to be.” 

“I am,” you said softly.

“Are you really?” Gojo asked, his lips brushing your temple. “Do you feel how your cursed energy flows through your body? It has its own circulatory system, you just have to find its pulse, synchronize it with your own.” He raised his hand up to press against your neck, lightly pressing against the place where your blood erratically thrummed beneath the skin. 

“I get it,” you told him, you turned around, grabbing his hand from your neck, pressing your palms flat together. 

Gojo looked taken aback, but didn’t withdraw. You saw nothing from within him. Felt no flicker of emotion. 

“You know, I… I realized,” you said, looking up at his half-covered face, imagining a pair of sparkling blue eyes, knowing he was staring at you. “When we’re close like this, I can feel your… Infinity. The endless expanse that separates you and me.” 

“Really?” he asked, sliding his hand to the side. It dwarfed your own. “I heard that you’re getting even better at reading people. It’s very impressive how fast you’re progressing, I’m so proud.”

“I thought that would help me figure you out, but it’s not your cursed energy keeping me out. It’s your infinity.” You looked at where your hands met. You felt his skin, his warmth, and yet you knew the connection wasn’t quite there. It was impossible to truly connect with him. “Trying to read you is like trying to find a flame in an endless abyss. Even the few times I thought I’ve seen something, I can’t be sure that it wasn’t just an illusion in the dark.” 

Gojo’s head tilted curiously. “What was it that you thought you felt?” 

“I’m getting stronger,” you told him rather than answer, pressing your hand ever more firmly against his. “If you give me a chance, I’ll show you. That’s why you’re keeping me from going out, right? Because you think I’m weak.” 

“I’m not keeping you from doing anything,” Gojo told you. “I don’t know where you got this idea that I am.” 

You dropped your hand, stepping away from him. The words were a knife twisted in your chest. He made you sound crazy. Made you feel crazy. 

“Right. I’m going to bed,” you told him flatly. “Goodnight.” 

“Hello?” Haruka answered, her voice groggy from just waking up. She probably wouldn’t have taken your call if she was fully awake. 

“I’m too sick to train or study today,” you told her, holding up a potential outfit for the day. Gojo was gone, and you were done asking for permission to leave. “I’m going to be laid out in bed all day today and tomorrow.”

“What?” 

“Do you think Ikki and Kaoru would be interested in hanging out? I could use a drink.” While you were still a little over a year out from buying liquor, both Ikki and Kaoru were of age and they didn’t mind hosting little parties at their shared apartment. 

“It’s eight in the morning,” Haruka said. 

“Not now, I mean later. I’m gonna catch the twelve-twenty train. Let’s get lunch, or go shopping. Honestly, I don’t care, I just need to get out of here.” 

“Um. Yeah, I think we could do that.” 

“Great. See you then.” You hung up before she could change her mind. 

They waited until you were more than a little drunk to ask. You should have expected that, although you also didn’t expect to get so drunk. Ikki kept handing you drinks, urging you to relax and enjoy yourself. The world was warm and sweaty and spinning and comfortable and lovely and frightening. 

“Okay,” Ikki said, catching your attention. A cigarette hung out of the corner of his mouth like he was some kind of cowboy. He only smoked when he got drunk, it was kind of cute, not that you would ever tell him that. He already knew it anyway. “What’s up with you lately?” 

“What?” you asked, blinking fast.

“Kaoru thinks you got knocked up,” Fumiko said, speaking up from her position leaning against Kaoru’s chest.  

Kaoru frowned down at her.

“What?” you asked, trying to force your drunk brain to think sober thoughts. “It’s not anything like that… It’s a… It’s nothing.” 

“You’ve been blowing us off every time we asked you to come out without any explanation,” Haruka said. “It has to be a boy.” 

“No, it’s not.”

“Come ooooooon,” Fumiko pushed. “It’s a guy. He’s keeping you all to yourself.” 

“That’s not it,” you insisted.

“Is it something illegal?” Ikki asked with a puff of smoke. 

“No, nothing like that,” you said. Then you broke out laughing, looking at your nearly empty beer. “It’s not like I have a boyfriend or anything. It-it, okay it is a guy. We’re not dating. It used to just be a weird vibe but now it’s like, weirder. He stops me from leaving and if he’s not there then he gets Oyama to keep me from going and there’s always a reason, but it’s still… That’s weird, right? I had to sneak out to come tonight, and even then that’s only because he’s out of the country.” 

“There’s no way,” Haruka said, her voice flat with genuine disbelief. You could tell she was already prepared to call you a liar. “You’re saying you’re some kind of hostage?” 

“Wait so, what, there’s somebody at your school who’s obsessed with you?” Kaoru asked. “What even is that place?”

“It’s that teacher, isn’t it,” Ikki said, pointing his half burned cigarette at you “The creepy guy with the glasses.” 

“He’s not, like… creepy,” you said. “I don’t know, it’s just weird.”

Haruka scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Why would a guy that looks like Gojo go through all the trouble for you?”

“Tell him you’re dating me and I’ll beat him up if he keeps you all to himself,” Ikki said with a lopsided grin, butting his cigarette and throwing an arm around your shoulders. 

“How would that help?” Haruka snapped, glaring at the two of you, her aura sparking with anger. That was very not good. 

You shrugged off Ikki’s arm, scowling and trying to snap back to sobriety. “I knew you would do this if I told you,” you said. “That’s why I didn’t say anything before.”

“Why would I believe you? I know how you are. This is just like that one time in our second year with the tennis coach.” 

You frowned. Of course she would bring that up. “That wasn’t-”

“You thought he was cute, but he didn’t reciprocate so you told everyone he was a perv.” 

“Wasn’t that guy fired for trying to get with his students?” Kaoru asked. 

“Yeah, but he wasn’t into her,” Haruka argued. 

“It’s weird that you’re jealous about sexual harassment,” you told her bluntly.  

“Okay! I think we should take a breather,” Ikki said, trying to smooth things over. “You girls might’ve overdone it a little.” You pushed him off, your own temper flaring to meet Haruka’s fiery aura. 

“I bet Gojo turned you down and that’s why you’re making this up,” she said, her voice raising. “Or, no, you just want to outdo me. Brag about how you’re so much better just like always.”

“The only reason you’re saying this is because you’re mad he didn’t wanna sleep with you and you think it’s my fault,” you told her, working hard to keep the drunken slur out of your voice. “It’s not like I enjoy having somebody breathing down my neck all the time, although I’m sure you’d love the attention. You beg for it often enough.” 

“You do too!” she said, getting shrill. “You just act like you don’t. Being a prude doesn’t make you superior.” 

“That’s true, I don’t need self-respect to be better than you,” you snapped. In the ensuing silence, everybody in the room was just staring at you. Like you were the one out of line. Like they hadn’t ganged up on you to force you to tell them what was going on. 

Angry at them and angry at yourself for losing it so spectacularly, you stumbled drunkenly to your feet. Ikki got up too, although you pushed off his help as you went to the bathroom. Haruka shouted insults after you, which you ignored. 

Instead you went into their bathroom, marveled at the disgusting state of a place shared by two guys, and threw up. 

The knocking woke you up. It took a minute of looking at the sunshine peering in through the blinds to realize you were on Ikki’s and Kaoru’s couch, your back cramping from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. A glass of water and two painkillers sat ready for you on the messy coffee table alongside empty beer bottles and snack wrappers. You groaned, sitting up and taking the medication with a wince. 

Whoever was at the door continued to knock. You grunted, standing up. Bad idea. You nearly fell right back down, but you managed to stay on your feet. You were about to answer the door before you realized that could be a bad idea, turning around to find Ikki.

The door to Kaoru’s room was closed, but the other door yawned open. You peeked in. Haruka was passed out on the bed. You could hear the shower running from the bathroom.

“Ikki?” you called through the door. “Someone’s knocking.”

“What?”

“Someone’s at the door,” you said. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No,” he said. “Will you get it? I’ll be out in a second.”

Perhaps hearing voices inside, the person at the door only got louder. You sighed, annoyed by their insistence. 

You returned to the living room to open the door, squinting at how bright the morning was in comparison to the dark apartment.

“Good morning!” Gojo enthused. 

You blinked hard three or four times, willing reality to bend to make what you were seeing stop being true.

“Woah, you look like shit. Did you have a fun night?”  

“What?” you asked, baffled beyond comprehension.

“Who is it?” Ikki asked, coming out of the bathroom with billows of steam and only a towel around his waist, drying his hair absently. 

“I’ve come to retrieve my wayward student,” Gojo said. 

You stared at him, hungover and confused and wanting nothing more than to lay back down on that horribly uncomfortable couch and never get up. 

“Are you ready to go?” Gojo asked you when he got no answer. 

You let out an unsteady breath, closing your eyes for a second to try and gain some clarity or zen. Nope. That was a lost cause. 

“Give me a second, I have to use the bathroom,” you said, turning away from him towards the bedroom to get your bag. 

Haruka was still passed out, a fact you were very grateful for. You weren’t completely clear on the details of last night, but the broad strokes were all there. You slung your bag over your shoulder and went into the steamy bathroom. Clearing the mirror in squeaky finger-streaks proved Gojo right. You looked like shit.

After dry heaving a little as you brushed your teeth, you put on clean clothes and sorted out the mess that was your hair. It wasn’t perfect, but you didn’t look as awful as you felt. When you returned to the main room, Ikki was dressed. The room was heavy with awkward tension, although Gojo didn’t look at all uncomfortable. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what words were exchanged. 

“Ready to go?” Gojo asked. You sighed, throwing your bag over your shoulder. 

“I’ll talk to you later,” you told Ikki, smiling apologetically. 

And Ikki, in his endless wisdom, did the last thing you expected and grabbed you around the waist, pulling you in for a kiss. He stared at Gojo the whole time, aggression swirling around him thicker than any desire or affection. Using you to prove a point. That was unlike him. Gojo might’ve just had a way of pulling out the worst in people. 

“Call me later,” he said when he released you, winking.

“Bye,” you said, forcing a smile. 

“It was nice to see you again,” Gojo said, smiling and waving in a too-cheerful way. You walked out into the sunlight, wincing at how bright it was, going for the stairs without waiting for him to follow. 

“Did you have fun last night?” Gojo asked as you took the stairs down to ground level. 

“Yeah,” you said, too tired and irritable to play along. 

“You know, as your teacher, it’s my responsibility to look after your wellbeing,” Gojo said, hopping the last few steps to stay next to you. “Underage drinking can have very dire consequences. Especially when you’re spending the night at a man’s home. I would hate to think that you’d be taken advantage of.” 

“Why are you here?” you asked, turning to face him. “How did you know where to find me?” 

“I got back last night. I was worried when you weren’t on campus,” you could feel his gaze as he looked you up and down. “I’m glad to see you’re just fine.”

“Right,” you said. That didn’t answer your question, but you doubted you would get anything better. “Can we stop to get breakfast?” 

“Can you wait until we get to the station? We have to hurry to catch the train.” 

“Hurry for what?” 

“Didn’t you read my messages? You have a job,” he told you. 

“You’re kidding.” 

“You begged me for a chance to prove yourself, well here it is. If you do well on this mission, I’ll consider you for a promotion of sorts. Isn’t that exciting?” 

Through a series of increasingly unfortunate circumstances, the thread you were following led to a realization that the curse was based on the time of day. That is, exactly before sunrise. By the time you figured that out, you had about nine hours to kill.  

Gojo said he’d rent a room for you to rest, but it had to be close enough that you could be at the lot exactly on time. On short notice and in such a small area to select from, the choices of accommodations were slim. 

One room, one bed. If the embarrassment didn’t kill you, the cliche would. 

Gojo showering gave you some time alone to prepare yourself, at least. It wasn’t like you were afraid he would do anything, but you couldn’t say you were exactly comfortable with the arrangement. The whole day, you had been standoffish, but now you were just tired and nervous. Of course you wanted to prove yourself to him, but you also got angry every time you thought about him springing this on you when he knew you weren’t operating at your best. It felt calculated, but you knew that he would easily deny that if you accused him of anything.

The worst of everything was how meticulously he avoided any conversation about your behavior, or Ikki, or his own motivations for doing this. The more stormy your mood got, the bigger he smiled, and the more he acted the role of the caring teacher.  

Just like always, you felt like you were a little crazy. Drowning in delusions of self importance. 

You sat crossed legged on the foot of the bed and put on a ghost hunting show. If only being a sorcerer was like on TV. Dramatics, theatrics, silly devices, and easy answers. That had been your original hope when you started playing with Divination. You wanted something exciting, the cheap thrills weren't doing it anymore.

Well, you got what you wanted. You certainly weren't bored.

“What are we watching?” Gojo asked as he came out of the bathroom with a cloud of steam, drying his wet hair. You cleared your throat and averted your eyes from his partial nudity.

“Ghost Adventures,” you said, staring straight ahead at the screen.

“What’s that?” he asked as he got onto the bed, laying on top of the comforter. The robe mostly covered his bare torso.

“A ghost hunting show,” you answered. “It’s American.”

“Is it any good?” 

You snorted out a short laugh. “No. We don’t have to keep it on.” 

“I don’t mind.” 

You stared at the TV for a minute before checking your phone again. Haruka hadn’t texted you all day. At first, you were resolute that you would only accept an apology, but the longer you thought about it, the more you reasoned yourself to accept anything. 

“Isn’t it uncomfortable to sit like that?” Gojo asked, startling you. You turned off your phone screen, setting it on the bedside table. 

“I’m fine.” 

“I heard that if you sit with your back hunched like that you’ll get stuck that way.”

You rolled your eyes, although you did swing your legs around to lay against the headboard. As much as you wanted to pretend it wasn’t true, you were still tired from the previous night. Since he made no move to do it, you got under the stiff sheets, trying to fluff the lumpy pillow into comfortable submission. 

“Are you dissatisfied?” Gojo asked suddenly.  

“What?”

“Are you dissatisfied with your life as a sorcerer? When you first started at Jujutsu Tech I thought you were over your rebellious delinquent phase, but now you’re falling back into the same habits. I can only assume it’s because you’re dissatisfied.” 

“It was one night,” you argued. Chewing on the words and your lip for a second, you cast a sideways glare towards him. “If there weren’t such strict restrictions about when and how I can leave campus, I wouldn't have had to lie.”

“You’re still technically a student, of course there are restrictions. Do you think that’s unfair?” 

“Oyama doesn’t have the same restrictions.” 

“Oyama is nearly a Grade Two sorcerer, and he’s never had any behavioral issues.”

“Right,” you said, your voice flat. At least that was a different answer than you had gotten previously, some acknowledgement that you were getting unfair treatment. 

“If you’re this unhappy, why haven’t you said anything?” Gojo asked. 

You wondered how much he already knew or assumed. He wasn’t stupid, he was painfully perceptive. Unless it was all in your head, and he truly did not understand why you were reacting like this because he had no reason to think you would second guess his behavior and motivations.

“You already have a lot to worry about,” you told him. 

“I always have time for my cute little student. It’s my responsibility to see that you’re satisfied. I have noticed that you seem a little more tense. Is the stress starting to get to you? It’s important to talk about these things, you know. Otherwise they can spiral into a much larger problem. We have to rely on each other as sorcerers.”

“I’m fine.”

Gojo hummed. You pretended to be very interested in a case about some old haunted asylum where they tortured patients or whatever.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” Gojo said when the show cut to commercial. “Your abilities can be considered dangerous to yourself and those around you.”  

“What do you mean?” 

“Sorcerers and curse users go to great lengths to keep their techniques secret. The mere idea of your Divination puts them at risk. While it’s not fully refined yet, there is a non-zero chance that you will be able to read techniques in their entirety. I’m sure there are already conversations being had about taking you out. Nobody’s stupid enough to try anything when you’re under my protection, but if they saw a chance, they would jump at it.” 

“So I can’t leave,” you said, staring hard at the TV as a commercial for foot cream played out.

“You can!” Gojo said quickly, his voice energetically trying to placate you. “Neither myself or any other sorcerer will hold you against your will. You’re an adult, you can do what you please. I’m only telling you of the risks you face now.”

“How would they know about my technique?” you asked.

Gojo shrugged glibly, his expression just as unreadable without sunglasses or that bandage. “These things have a way of getting around.” 

In the very deepest part of your brain, you wondered if he didn’t have a hand in that. If he wouldn’t be willing to put you at risk if it meant you needed his protection. That was ridiculous. Truly. No matter what else Gojo had done, he hadn’t done anything you could call evil. The jujutsu world was just dangerous, and you already knew that. 

“I understand,” you said, trying to sound unaffected.

Neither of you spoke for a while, although you didn’t think he was watching the TV any more than you were. It was a ridiculous story and they were so deadly serious about their silly spirit boxes. 

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” Gojo asked. “I’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I should. Do you want to turn it off?” 

“I don’t mind. You usually sleep with the TV or something on anyway, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, but…” You frowned, your assurance trailing off. How did he know that? 

“I’ve always wondered why,” Gojo said. “Are you afraid of the dark? That seems inconvenient for a sorcerer.”

“I have bad dreams,” you said.

“Will I have to worry about you waking up kicking and screaming?” 

“Bad, not scary,” you corrected him, trying to make yourself as comfortable as possible. “Isn’t it wonderful that no matter how hard you repress things when you’re awake, your brain can just shove it in your face when you’re defenseless?” 

“I understand that,” he told you with a wry smile.  

“So even the strongest has to deal with that?” you asked, stifling a yawn into your palm. “I guess there really is no hope for the rest of us.” 

“I’ve read that nightmares offer insights into our psyches,” Gojo said as you stared at the ceiling. “Things that we fear the most… and things we want the most.”

“I dream about my dad coming back,” you said softly, without thinking. You scrubbed your palms into your eyes, laughing humorlessly. “It’s pathetic. Sometimes I wish I’d dream about curses or whatever. The happy dreams are so much worse.”

“I truly believe that love is the worst curse of them all,” Gojo said softly.  

“You’re probably right.” After a moment, you added, ”I’m sorry. For whoever you dream about, I’m sorry.”

“Who said I dream of anything?’

You huffed. “Fine. I take back my sorry.” 

“You can’t, I’ve already accepted it. It warms my heart to think of my cute little student worrying about her sensei. What would you do to help me, I wonder?”

Your face scrunched up in disgust. “Nothing. Forget it.” 

“I’d be more than happy to return the favor, you know. If you’re lonely,” Gojo said, turning onto his side with his head propped up on his arm, “I can help you.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Liar,” Gojo said. “I’ve noticed how sad you are, how you refuse to reach out to anybody for support. I know what that's like."

“I don’t need anyone's support,” you said, avoiding his eyes. “I can either get over this, or I can’t. That’s on me.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Gojo said, even softer. “Even the strongest need help sometimes, and you’re hardly the strongest. I’m worried about you.” 

You sighed, even more annoyed. “Don’t be.”

Gojo groaned dramatically. “You make it so difficult to be a good teacher and mentor. I want to help you, but then you act like this. It’s like you’re trying to rile me up.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, a cold flush running through your stomach.

“I’m telling you that you should be more careful,” Gojo said. “I’m not entirely sure you realize that you could very well face consequences for your behavior.”

“Is that a threat or something?” you asked. 

“No, of course not,” he told you with a smile. “Now go to sleep, you’ll need it if you’re going to perform well tomorrow. Remember what’s at stake.” 

The next afternoon, after getting your wounds treated and taking a long nap to make up for two nights of barely any sleep, you stood in the classroom facing Gojo. You had been expecting bad news, but not quite to the gleefully dismissive extent that he saw fit to deliver it. 

“Suffice it to say, you did not meet my expectations. I guess you’re stuck with me for a while yet,” Gojo said, smiling like it was great news despite the attempted apologetic tone.

You grit your teeth. “Is this what you meant about consequences for my misbehavior?” 

“What do you mean?” Gojo asked, tilting his head curiously.

“I don’t know what you want, if you expect something from me or if you’re mad I’m dating or whatever, but I did a good job,” you said. “You know I did, so-” 

“You didn’t,” Gojo said, cutting you off. “I carefully evaluated every part of your performance, and I don’t think you’re ready to take on more complicated jobs. This isn’t a game. There are lives at stake. Your life, the lives of your fellow sorcerers, and the lives of the civilians we’re trying to protect. If you want to accuse me of trading favors or having an unfavorable bias, you’re more than welcome to take your case to the higher ups. I’m sure they would be delighted to hear of any perceived misconduct. Otherwise, I recommend you focus on your training.” 

You nodded stiffly, biting your tongue. “Yes, sir.”

“I know you’re upset, but it’s important that you don’t rush something you’re not ready for. You could get hurt.”  

“I understand. If you’ll excuse me then.” You turned to leave his office, your shoulders high and tense. 

“Oh, right! I was told this morning that you asked for a transfer,” Gojo said, snapping loud enough to make you wince. “It was denied.” 

You looked over your shoulder, a cold bit of dread sinking into your gut. 

“Kyoto doesn’t need any more sorcerers at the moment, especially when you're still such a low level sorcerer,” he told you, returning to that innocent tone. “Why was it that you wanted to transfer anyway?” 

“No reason,” you said, hiding your expression and leaving quickly.

The disappointment was bad, but what you hated more than anything with the humiliation. If Gojo were honest, then you could understand your failure, but not in the way he presented it to you. He was going out of his way to embarrass you. Hot bouts of sticky red fury filled your stomach and your head whenever you thought about it, a feeling so mean and aggressive that it hurt.

You couldn’t call your mom, you wouldn’t know what to tell her. Haruka still hadn’t texted you. Ikki had asked if you were alright, but there wasn’t anything you could think of to say to him. You knew what he wanted, what he expected from you by offering what he saw as help, but you couldn’t do that. Even if it pissed Gojo off, it wasn’t satisfying. He would view that sort of behavior as petty. It was petty.

If you were going to do something, it had to be big. Something that you weren’t supposed to do, something that would make a point, something that would soothe your embarrassment. When you felt yourself drawn to the map on your wall, pencil in hand, it was like a golden opportunity had fallen into your lap, gifted directly to you by fate.

“Oyama! We have a job,” you told him, acting like you were unhappy with the arrangement. 

“What are you talking about?” Oyama asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

“It’s a spot on my map.” You could see his hesitation so you feigned annoyance. “If you want to go alone, that’s fine, but Gojo told me I had to as a part of my evaluation.”

He believed it, not even checking to make sure you were telling the truth. 

As soon as you were conscious, a ragged gasp ripped up the inside of your dry throat, panic shooting through your veins like ice water. You groped your chest and stomach, searching for wounds that weren’t there. A little yelp of fear left your mouth and you wrenched your body upright. The sheet fell from your chest, making you realize that you were not dressed, and you were not alone. 

Ieiri shot you a concerned look, blowing a final puff of smoke out of the window into the dark night before butting the cigarette. “Careful,” she warned, “your wounds are healed, but you’re going to be weak.” 

Tugging the sheet up to cover your chest, you realized you were in the clinic, and then your memories crashed through the gauze of groggy ignorance. The curse, the fight, the terror, and then the stupidest plan you had ever concocted. Although you weren’t wounded anymore, you coughed weakly, your body reacting to the mere memory of suffocating on your own blood.

“How do you feel?” she asked. 

You groaned, falling flat onto your back. “I feel like I got hit by a truck.” 

“How much do you remember?” Ieriri asked, closing the window.  

“Everything.” Unfortunately. Your face scrunched up as you tried to put the horrific memories of your mutilated body out of your mind. “Is Oyama okay?” 

“He has a few bruises, nothing major.”

You nodded, relieved for that. If he got hurt after you forced him to take you along, you’d never live it down. After a second, you threw an arm over your face, something like a raspy laugh crackling its way out of your sore chest. “I think I did something extraordinarily stupid.” 

“Like using yourself as bait so your fellow sorcerer could exorcize a curse?” Ieiri asked dryly.  

You opened one eye to look at her. “Did it work?” 

“It did, although you very nearly died for it. The broken ribs were the worst. You’re lucky they didn’t puncture anything vital.” 

Hiking up the sheet over your healed chest, you sat up again. Your head spun, but the only pain you felt was phantom, like your brain was unable to reconcile the severe physical trauma with your perfectly healed body. 

“It was the strangest thing,” you said. “The curse was smart enough to know to attack the stronger sorcerer, but I… I forced it to focus on me.” You winced, a shiver of soul-deep revulsion slithering down your throat all the way to the pit of your stomach as you remembered what happened after that. Remembering pain after the fact was difficult enough, let alone thinking of the right words to describe the experience. 

“You need water,” Ieiri said, pressing a bottle of water into your hand. You eagerly accepted it, uncapping the bottle and chugging the whole thing. She was calm as ever, if tired. 

Capping the bottle, you cleared your throat again. “I don’t suppose I can borrow some clothes?” 

She patted a pile of folded clothes on the bedside table with a tired smile. “They won’t fit, but it’s better than streaking across campus.” 

“Thank you,” you said, wrapping yourself in the sheet to fully sit up. 

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Ieiri said, turning to leave the room. She paused in the doorway, looking over her shoulder at you. “Oh, before I forget, Satoru wants to see you as soon as possible. I doubt he expected you to wake up so quickly, I’m sure it can wait until morning.” 

You frowned, your stomach twisting up at the thought. “Where do you think he’ll be?” 

“He’s probably in his apartment. I doubt he’s asleep, if you wanted to talk to him now.” She snorted, shaking her head. “That man sleeps less than I do.”

“Got it,” you said. “Thanks.” 

She hesitated in the doorway, thinking about what she was going to say. “Satoru was very upset when he heard what happened. I know he worries about his students, but this is different.”

“How so?” you asked, tensing up at the faint insinuation.  

Ieiri sighed. “I’m not trying to involve myself, you’re free to do what you want. But, speaking as someone who has known Satoru for a while, be careful. I care for him, but his nature doesn’t always lend itself to respectable behavior.” 

“Okay,” you said flatly, narrowing your eyes at her. You didn’t get the sense of any malice or disgust, but the words were obviously pointed. 

“That’s all,” Ieiri said with a light shrug, leaving the room and closing the door. You squeezed your eyes shut, wondering what to think about that. You didn’t know if you wanted to believe her or not. It was the first time anybody confirmed some of the strange things you felt about the man, but you didn’t know if that made it any better. 

Besides, you hadn’t so purposefully baited a reaction just to shy away now. 

At twelve-twenty-five, you left the clinic. Considering you almost died earlier that day, you didn't feel too terrible. Every muscle in your body was sore and shaky, like you had been training too hard, but you had just slept for nine hours. Even if you laid down, you wouldn’t sleep. If Gojo wanted to talk, you would talk. The reasoning behind it was, on the surface, because you wanted to get it over with. 

There might have been more to your compulsion, but you were too irritable to interrogate your motivation.  

Before going over, you stopped by your room to exchange Ieiri’s borrowed clothes for a clean shirt, oversized hoodie, fresh panties, and a pair of shorts. While you were there, you took the time to wipe the mascara rings out from under your eyes, swipe on some lip balm, and pull your hair back to mitigate the mess. What you really needed was a full coat of foundation and some dry shampoo, but the idea that you were so desperate to impress him pissed you off even more.

On your way to the faculty apartments on the edge of campus, you thought about the best way to handle this. Gojo would know why you lied and disobeyed him, he wasn’t stupid. There wasn’t any way you could think of to reframe the narrative either. You did it because you wanted to, and because you were angry about his ruling, and because you thought you could get away with it, and because you felt the need to act out against his authority. 

You still weren’t sure what you were going to say when you stopped in front of his door, knocking before you lost your nerve. Footsteps sounded almost immediately from the other side, and then the door slid open. Gojo stood on the other side. He was dressed down for the night, wearing a casual t-shirt and sweatpants. His hair was messy and eyes uncovered, sparkling in the faint light from the lamps along the path. 

“Oh, you’re awake!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think I’d see you until tomorrow.” 

“Yep, I’m all fixed up,” you said, throwing your arms out as if to present yourself. “Ieiri said you wanted to see me.”

“I can wait until you’re better rested,” Gojo said, putting on a dramatic frown.

You sighed, feeling awkward of all things. The whole time, you had been geared up for some sort of confrontation, but he was so calm, behaving just like he always did. Maybe Ieiri had misunderstood his mood. 

“I don’t think I could sleep with this hanging over my head,” you told him. “Unless this is a bad time.” 

“No, it’s fine. Come in,” Gojo said, opening the door wider to usher you through. 

Despite the traditional exterior, his apartment was decorated in a plain yet clearly expensive style, a marble coffee table and velvet upholstery and understated lighting. What struck you the most was how good it smelled inside. The TV was on, but muted, splashing color and light into the dim room. 

“Do you want tea?” Gojo offered, shutting the door. “Water? Strawberry milk?” 

“I’m okay, thanks,” you said. “I’d rather get this over with.”  

“Get what over with?” Gojo asked as he walked around you. He wasn’t wearing shoes, so you toed yours off, setting them next to his.

“You’re going to yell at me, aren’t you?” you said, maintaining a casual demeanor despite your anxiety.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he said, dropping onto the couch. Those were unmistakably Fendi Pequin stripes on the armrests, the thing must have cost a small fortune and yet he was lounging on it. “Do you want me to?” 

“Not especially.”  

“How about you sit down,” Gojo offered, patting the spot on the couch beside him. You shuffled from foot to foot, rethinking your decision to come to his place so late at night. It was so far down from all of the other buildings. Even if you screamed, nobody would hear you. But that was stupid. He could have done anything he wanted to do to you in the hotel, and he didn’t. You were making things up to justify your discomfort.

You sat down stiffly, more than aware that you were sitting on a piece of furniture that cost as much as your mom’s car. 

Gojo shut off the TV, leaving the two of you in the intimate near dark. It had been muted, but somehow the room felt even more quiet. His attitude was horribly off-putting. Ieiri said he seemed upset, but you weren’t getting that at all. If anything, he seemed more relaxed than the last time you saw him. 

The silence dragged on and on, you had no idea what to do or say. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, not when they were uncovered and you were alone. 

Finally, he sighed theatrically. “This is my own fault,” Gojo said. “I’ve always known you had behavioral problems. I thought—I hoped that it wouldn’t come to this. You could have died.”

“But I didn’t,” you pointed out, keeping your voice steady. “Nobody died, the curse got exorcized, and everything’s fine.” 

“Is that your defense for disregarding my authority, lying, and putting yourself and Oyama at risk?” 

“It’s not a defense,” you said. “It’s a statement of fact.” 

Gojo laughed, a sound that made you flinch away. It wasn’t forced, he sounded genuinely amused. “You are such a pain in the ass,” he said, smiling as if he was endeared by it. “I can’t tell if you’re unafraid of the consequences or if you really don’t believe you’ll face any.” 

“I did face consequences,” you argued. “Didn’t Ieiri tell you how badly I was injured?”  

“That’s not enough, is it? If you have the chance, you'll definitely do something like this again. The danger is a part of the thrill for a girl like you.” He hummed thoughtfully. “No, I need to take care of the underlying issue.”

“The underlying issue?” you repeated.

“You have no respect for authority—mine or otherwise.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sensei. I have the deepest respect for you,” you said, looking up at him with innocently wide eyes. It didn’t get the rise you wanted, his expression didn’t change. The unrelenting calm and friendly demeanor he maintained was beginning to creep you out.   

“Normally, I don’t mind. I understand; I can’t stand people ordering me around. With you, though, it really irritates me. Maybe I should try a little more discipline.”

“What are you going to do, spank me?” you asked, raising a brow. You could hear how desperate your sarcasm sounded, an attempt to regain control over the situation.

Gojo’s head titled as he considered your taunt. “That’s not a bad idea, actually.” 

You rolled your eyes, your hands curling into fists to hide your increasing anxiety. If you could read his feelings, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but you couldn’t tell how serious he was. “You’re funny.” 

“Oh? But that wasn’t a joke. I think that might help fix your attitude.” 

“So breaking my ribs wasn’t good enough, but that is?” you asked, disguising your fear and dread with more desperate scorn. “Come on, don’t be gross.”

“It was your suggestion.” 

“I was joking! I didn’t actually… I mean, you can’t just…” You shook your head rather than try to finish that statement, kicking yourself for getting so flustered. 

“You were never punished as a child,” Gojo said. “You said your dad left? I bet that, after that, your mom grew distant. She yelled at you, but you never faced any serious consequences for your misbehavior. You only got better at hiding your indiscretions. Is that it?” 

“That’s not your business,” you said, every muscle in your body drawing up tight in response to that accusation. 

“Children who aren’t taught boundaries and respect grow up to be rotten adults,” Gojo said. “Spoiled, rude, self-important adults.” With every word he moved closer.

“You would know, right?” you said, clinging onto the strength of attempted wit.

Gojo smiled. “Oh yes, I know very well. I’m rotten too. Shoko told you, didn’t she? That’s why you look so scared right now.”

“I’m not scared,” you said, clenching your jaw.

“There's been something I've been meaning to tell you for a while,” Gojo said. He put a finger beneath your chin to lift it, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’re not as complicated of a woman as you think you are. I know you think you’re better, but in reality you’re playing the same games, just with different rules. All of the posturing to get my attention, the misbehaving, the petty tricks to make me jealous–you're so obvious.” He let out a relieved breath, smiling. “Whew, I’m glad I finally got that out.”

“What are you even saying?” You asked, pulling away from him, shaking your head fast. “This is a joke, right?”

“I almost pity you. It isn’t entirely your fault. You’re young, ignorant, and weak, you couldn’t possibly have known where this would go. It’s not in your nature to leave well enough alone.”

“Stop it,” you said, your voice harsh. 

“I’m the same,” Gojo continued as if he hadn’t heard you. “It’s not in my nature to spare the weak or ignorant just because I feel bad for them. I’m not nearly that nice.” 

“I know you won’t hurt me.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he asked. “You showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the night begging me to punish you. I am a man. Even I have my limits. You've been testing them from the beginning.”

“You have to stop,” you said, your demand taking on the edge of a whine. “This is insane.”

“I’ll give you one last chance, okay? Prove me wrong. Leave,” Gojo said, backing off and gesturing to the door. “This is it, this is the last time you’ll get away without facing any consequences.” 

“Gojo, why are you-” 

“Three.”

“Nnn-no, wait, I-”

“Two.”

You stood up, swaying on your feet, but you didn’t run. You took one step back from him, afraid, but you didn’t run.

“One,” Gojo said, grunting the word as he got to his feet and picked you up, tossing you over his shoulder.

“No!” you shouted, struggling to escape his grasp as he carried you further into the apartment. “Stop it, put me-put me down! Stop, I want to go! I’ll leave! Put me down!”

“I warned you what would happen, it’s not my fault you never listen,” Gojo said, dumping you onto his bed. You bounced once, scrambling to get up and away. “No, don’t move,” he ordered, his voice low and authoritative, freezing you in place. His eyes sparkled inhumanly in the dim light. 

“I want to go,” you said, softly, your heart racing, pounding harder because you couldn’t move. “I’m leaving, I’m going and-” 

“No, you’re not,” he said, rolling his eyes as he opened a drawer on the nightstand, looking inside with a thoughtful expression. “By all means, keep up the act. The whole brat thing is pretty hot. There’s no point in punishing a girl who’s well-behaved.”

“What are you going to do?” you asked.

“I’m going to spank you for being such a naughty student,” Gojo said. “I don’t want to be too cruel, I know you’re sensitive. That’s fine. I can be nice too.” He looked up at you. “Do you think you can stay still on your own, or…?” He smirked. “Of course you can't.”

“You’re scaring me,” you said, hoping the words would break his act. 

“Don’t be afraid,” Gojo told you, rolling his eyes like you were being unreasonable. “I won’t hurt you that much.” 

You were going to be sick. “You can’t-”

“Of course I can,” Gojo said, pulling what you recognized as a vibrating wand and a pair of handcuffs from the drawer. “What you mean to say is that I shouldn't. You’re right about that. I'm well aware that this is a bad idea, and I might regret it, but it's too late to let that stop me. You know the feeling, don't you?” 

“No, no. You,” you shook your head, unable to form the words in your shock and disbelief at this situation, “you can’t.” 

“You already said that,” Gojo said, putting the toys on the bed to kneel on the very edge. You flinched away, but you didn’t dare run. He would definitely catch you, you could feel the thrill in his cursed energy. It was all a game. 

“I know,” you said, trying to think of the words to reason with him and coming up short, “but… You can’t.”

“The way you’re looking at me is too good,” he said with a boyish grin. “You genuinely can’t believe that somebody finally called your bluff.”

You shook your head. 

“I think this will be good for you,” he said. “You need to learn this lesson. It’s better to learn it here, in a controlled environment.” 

Gojo grabbed your legs before you could scramble away. You yelped, slapping his hands when he grabbed your hips. That did nothing to deter him from flipping you onto your belly and wrestling your hoodie and shirt off before collecting your arms and pulling them behind your back. Even though you were fighting him so hard that it hurt, he was barely trying, as if the process of overpowering you was as inconsequential as putting the leash on a small dog. You cried out as he secured your wrists in the handcuffs, giving them a solid tug to test their hold. They were lined with soft material, but they obviously weren’t the fuzzy bachelorette party kind that could be easily escaped. There was no way you could get out of them on your own. You tried to use your cursed energy to break free, but it did nothing. Had he reinforced them somehow? Was that possible? 

“Gojo, stop,” you demanded. “You can’t do this, you can’t!”

“It’s humiliating, isn’t it?” he asked, pulling your panties and shorts off in one go, getting them over your legs no matter how hard you tried to kick him off. “Being at the mercy of another person. Next time you think about misbehaving, think about this feeling.”

“Stop it!” you yelled, truly thrashing now. He grunted, sitting with his legs aside your torso, threatening to crush you. “Stop, get off. You’re hurting me!” 

“It’s okay if you fight,” Gojo said. “But you know it doesn’t matter, don’t you? You’re so weak.”

“Stop it! Just—ngh-” He shoved your panties into your mouth before you could finish that thought, muffling the words. You just yelled in disgust, in despair, in anger. And it didn’t matter.

Gojo leaned over you, brushing your hair away from your ear to speak directly into it.

“I’m sure you’re having a difficult time thinking clearly, but it’s important you remember what I’m about to tell you,” he said. “The next time I allow you to speak, I expect you to address me properly. I really don’t think that’s too unfair. I am your teacher, I deserve some respect, don't you agree?”

You shouted through the gag, shaking your head back and forth. 

Gojo hummed, dropping his shirt on the bed next to you. He lifted his weight from your back and turned around to sit on the edge of the bed. You used the opportunity to roll onto your side, trying to get away from him, but Gojo had no problem collecting you, letting you flop on the bed across his lap while you writhed helplessly. The first touch of his hand against the back of your bare thighs made you jump, tears of humiliation already pressing against the corners of your eyes.

“How many, do you think?” he asked.

No.

There was no way. You shouted in panic, kicking your legs. There was still a part of you that simply rejected this all, that couldn’t believe this would happen. Things like this didn’t happen to you. Not you.  

Gojo’s palm landed loudly against your ass, the smack striking your skin with a burst of stinging pain and the sickening flush of humiliation.  

“I knew you were going to be a problem from the first time we met,” he told you, rubbing his palm over the sore spot. “You think you’re better than everyone else. I can’t stand undeserved self-importance.”

He spanked you five times in quick succession, spreading them out across your ass and upper thighs. You struggled and yelled and kicked, but his other hand easily kept you in place. 

“You’re not fighting very hard. I really thought it would be harder. Are you sure you weren’t secretly hoping I’d do this? You can admit it, I won’t tell anyone.”

You shouted, pooling up all over your cursed energy to fight him off. Gojo rewarded you by spanking you more, focusing on your upper thighs, slapping the same spots over and over until your shouting became sobbing and the skin buzzed, burning red hot. 

“I know, that wasn’t very nice,” he said, rubbing the sore flesh, coaxing it out of becoming too numb to his touch. “You’re not very nice either, are you? Wearing all those cute little outfits to tempt me, flaunting that guy to make me jealous.” You yelled in fear when he raised his hand, but he only playfully tapped your ass, digging his long fingers in to knead it, just playing with you. “And then using your friend to taunt me… I think you deserve to be punished for that, don’t you?” 

You shook your head frantically, squirming and writhing and kicking to escape. But he spanked you again, and again, and all you could do was endure the pain. Gojo mixed in the playful swats with genuine strikes, keeping you crying, always on the edge, unsure if he was going to hurt you or not, not when he was going to stop or where this would go. 

You weren’t counting, and you weren’t sure if he was either, but eventually he let up.

“Mmm, that looks like it hurts,” he said, tracing the tender flesh with his fingertips. You cried, glad he couldn’t see your face. “Poor little thing. Okay, let’s-” Gojo flipped you around, pulling you up onto his lap. 

Putting any amount of pressure on your stinging ass made you yelp, your back arching. He didn’t care. He grabbed the vibrator and flicked it on, pushing the head past your pussy’s outer lips to buzz against your entrance before dragging up, drawing slick circles around your clit. You thrashed against him, but your kicking legs couldn’t do anything and there was nowhere to go. Gojo moved with your struggling in an indulgent way, like he was wrangling a disobedient animal, letting you tire yourself out as he tilted the wand this way and that to really grind it against your clit.

“It’s a little intense, I know,” he said. “If you just relax and let yourself enjoy it, you’ll feel so much better.”

You pressed your face against his shoulder, telling him to stop. The words were all mush, muffled by your own panties. Every part of your body was alive and awake and agonizingly sensitive, covered in a thin film of sweat and goose-flesh and anticipation. When he casually toyed with one of your nipples, you felt it like a jolt of electric heat straight down between your legs. The vibrator’s steady hum bypassed any reasonable objection your body would have to pleasure, a reaction as invasive and involuntary as pain. 

When you realized you were going to come—going to come like this—you shouted, straining your shoulders in an attempt to escape the cuffs. Gojo laughed, holding you tight as you spasmed and jerked around in his lap. Your hips bucked and the vibrator pressed against your clit just right and you almost blacked out.

“Aha, that’s it, isn’t it?” Gojo asked happily, grinding the vibrator there. 

Toomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuch—it hurt. You tried to tell him that, you tried to fight your way out of his grasp, you tried to do anything you could to escape but it didn’t matter as your body shuddered with the orgasmic flash of pleasure, a feeling so intense it felt like nausea. 

You came with a helpless cry, hiding your face against his shoulder as you jerked with each wave of stifling, intoxicating, sickening heat.

Gojo didn’t stop. You reared back to meet his eye and he just grinned, looking down between your legs to make sure he was keeping the vibrator in exactly the right place to make you spasm and kick and choke, panicked and overwhelmed. 

You didn’t know if you were coming again or if it was just one long string of overstimulation tricking your mind into pleasure, but you felt it draw out like soda fizz all the way to your fingertips and toes.

“Okay, what have you learned so far?” Gojo asked, shutting the vibrator off and setting it aside. You mumbled something into the gag, tossing your head back and forth. “Oh, right.” He laughed, pulling your panties out of your mouth. “What have you learned?”  

“Stop!” you told him in a wrecked voice, glaring at him with watery eyes. “It doesn’t matter how many times you spank me, or-or… I’m not playing along with your-your sick games, I’m not…” You closed your eyes, struggling to get out of his lap, sobbing and panting and angry and humiliated and- 

“Wrong.” Gojo shoved your panties back into your mouth. “You know what? I’m glad you’re a difficult student. Really,” he said. “It’ll be so much more rewarding when you finally learn your lesson.”

You ignored him, squeezing your eyes shut and turning your face away. 

“It doesn’t matter what I do to you,” he mused. “That’s what you said, right?” 

Without warning, Gojo’s hand landed directly between your legs with a sharp smack. You screamed, really screamed, squeezing your thighs together until the muscles trembled. 

“Oi, open your legs,” Gojo told you, his voice low and serious, more than you had ever heard.

You kept your eyes shut, shaking your head fast. 

“You’re saying you won’t?” he asked, his fingers tracing along the seam between your legs. 

You shook your head again, trying to squirm out of his lap. 

“Oh my, what a brave girl,” Gojo cooed mockingly, grabbing one of your legs to pry them apart, catching it with his own leg and pinning it against the bed. He spanked your pussy two, three, four more times, each one making your body jolt violently, another cry gurgling out of your throat. 

When his hand landed with a sickening smack for the fifth time, it stayed there, his fingers curling to find your entrance. You bucked against him, shouting for him to stop. Asking him to stop. The words were muffled, there was nothing you could do other than cry and toss your head to the side as he pushed his fingers into you, you couldn’t even close your legs.

“What’s this?” Gojo asked, pulling his fingers out of you. They glistened with evidence of your arousal, of your shame. “It really makes me question which one of us is sick.”

“You!” you shouted, trying to make yourself heard over the gag. 

“Me?” Gojo asked, his eyes wide with innocence. “You’re the one who’s getting wet for your teacher. That’s pretty twisted.” 

He pushed his fingers back into your pussy, driving them deep and curling them on the way out. For the first time, his breathing was getting unsteady. He kept rolling his hips up to grind against your ass, letting you feel his erection. 

“Aaah, you’re really wet. And tight.” He thrust his fingers back into you with a wet squish, scissoring and curling them to make you spasm and shake. “Hey, hey, I’m gonna give you an out right now, okay?” Gojo said, his voice quick with excitement. “If you ask me nicely, we can suspend your punishment and get on to the fun stuff instead.”

He pulled his fingers out to take your panties out of your mouth, dropping them onto the bed. 

“Come on,” Gojo said. “Ask me. I know you want it.” 

You set your jaw, glaring at him through teary eyes. It was weak, pathetic, and petty, but silence was the only thing you could think to do that wasn’t giving him what he wanted. 

He frowned, put out with your response. 

“Jeez, you’re such an insufferable brat!” Gojo complained, flipping you onto your stomach. The sudden slap of skin meeting skin followed by the pain when he spanked you again made you scream, your legs pathetically kicking, your shoulders straining to free your hands.

“Stop!” you yelled, your voice shrill.

“Oh? But I thought you were being brave?” He said mockingly, spanking you again, and again. 

You sobbed, pressing your face into the bed to muffle yourself as his hand came down again. Even though you fought him, there was nothing you could do to make him stop. True helplessness. It hurt, and there was no escape from it. Not when he took the time to brush his fingers across the tortured skin in between bursts, soothing you with a gentle touch. 

“I don’t understand why you’re being such a baby about this,” Gojo said. He grabbed one of your stinging ass cheeks, pulling it to get a good look at your pussy. You knew you were wet. It wasn’t your fault, but you felt the same shame. “It can’t hurt that bad. If I used a cane or a belt or something I’d get it, but I think you’re just making a big deal to try and make me feel bad. It’s not working. You deserve this and, between you and me, it’s kind of sexy to see you so pathetic.”

Without warning, Gojo tossed you onto the bed face up, your arms pinned uncomfortably beneath your back. Your back arched and you dug your heels into the mattress, pushing yourself up the bed until you were curled against the headboard, your legs up to try and hide as much of your body as possible. 

“By the way, are you a virgin?” Gojo asked, shoving his pants and underwear off in one go before looking for something on the floor. He found it quickly, returning to the bed. He didn’t care about his nudity. Why should he? He was beautiful and he knew it. Of course Satoru Gojo wouldn’t stop at being the strongest, or the most handsome, or whatever, of course he would have the perfect cock too. “I don’t care either way, I’m just curious.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, averting your eyes from his body to meet his as you pushed yourself into the headboard. They glittered in the dim light, wide and excited.  

“No, you’re not a virgin?” Gojo asked. You realized what he had grabbed from the floor when he caught your ankle, forcing your foot through a loop he’d made with his belt. 

“No! No, no, stop!” You shouted, trying to keep him from getting your other foot. He frowned when you kicked at him, desperate to keep him away. The resistance of his cursed energy kept you from actually kicking him, and you were rewarded with a hard, mean slap against your inner thigh. You squealed, giving him the chance to get your other foot in the belt cuffs before securing them.

“I was gonna be nice about this, but I guess not,” he said. You whined, sobbing. “You probably like it rough anyway, right? Girls like you always do.” 

He pushed your knees up to make space between your legs, letting your bound ankles fall onto his back. You watched him stroking his cock. This was going to happen. He truly intended to fuck you. It didn’t set in until right in that moment how utterly powerless you were to this violation. His fingers had been one thing, but his cock was big enough to hurt if he wasn’t gentle.

“Don’t do this,” you whispered, your voice weak and pathetic. “Satoru, I’m begging you not to. I’m sorry, okay? That’s what you want me to say, right? I’m sorry, so don’t-”

“It’s too late for that,” Gojo said, separating your pussy’s outer lips, his tongue peeking out as he lined up his cock. You made a helpless sound of upset, trying to buck him off, but there was nowhere for you to go. “If you were really sorry, you should have apologized when I gave you the chance.” He pushed his hips forward, just a little, testing the resistance. 

“Sensei!” you said, your panicked thoughts finding something to cling onto to make him stop. “Sensei, please stop. Please.” 

Gojo smiled, his lips parting when he forced the head of his cock past the initial resistance of your pussy with a jarring pop. He groaned, both of his hands holding onto your waist while he shallowly rocked his hips. 

Your mouth fell open, a sensation like shock striking against the viscerally real weight of his dick inside of you. That fell away to panic when he began to move, pushing a little deeper with a pinching ache. 

“Ah—fff-take it out!” you squealed.

“Ah, and you were being so good for me,” he said, jolting your body with a hard, mean thrust. You whimpered, and writhed, and your pussy clamped down around him to try and force him out, but it didn’t matter. He was bigger and stronger and you were drenched from the vibrator. “Look at me.” 

As soon as you met his eye, he pushed a little deeper, clearly reveling in the way it made your expression twist in pain and betrayal, more tears forming in your eyes and streaking down your temples. He licked his lips, rolling his hips shallowly to let you adjust to the size and weight of his cock. Like he was being nice. 

“How can I feel bad when you look at me like that?” he asked, his voice lower and breathy. He pushed deeper again, your body jolting and a helpless sound punched out of your chest. 

“It hurts,” you ground out through your teeth, more tears falling into your hair. The desire to be brave faded in direct relation to how much of his cock was inside of you. Being spanked was one thing, but the internal pain of violation wasn’t something you could handle. It was too intimate, too profound, too cruel.  

“Yeah, you’re way too tight. That guy clearly hasn’t been fucking you properly. Do you want your sensei to make it better? I’ll help you, all you have to do is ask.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, weighing your options. Option. “Please, sensei,” you said, hating yourself a little more.

“Look at me when you’re begging,” Gojo said. 

You winced, but the sudden snap of his hips made you relent. You met his dangerous, beautiful eyes. “Please, Gojo-sensei. It hurts, please make it better.” 

“Aw, you’re such a good girl,” he cooed, grabbing your cheeks. “Of course I’ll help you.” His hand lowered to pin you down by the neck while he fumbled in the sheets beside you with the other. You heard the vibrator turn on a second before it was against your clit. There wasn’t anywhere for your body to go when you seized up, your back snapping into a nearly painful arch. 

“No!” you yelped, but it was hard to get anything out from the obstruction of his hand on your neck. 

It didn’t matter that his cock was big enough to hurt as he continued to push it into you. It didn’t matter that your shoulders burned or that your hands were numb. 

“Go ahead and come,” Gojo told you sweetly. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? It’ll make this easier.”

You grit your teeth, breathing out hard through your nose, trembling as that little bubble burst, your pussy spasming around his cock as he began to set a steady pace. When his hips met your ass, slapping against the raw skin, you cried and yelled, but it all got lost in the confused haze of pleasure and pain and confusion and disgust and so much, too much.  

Gojo was laughing. Fucking you too fast and too hard, focusing the vibrator right against your clit to keep you moving with him, your body writhing beneath his like you wanted it, soaking his cock until the room was filled with the profane sound of skin slapping and wet squelching.

“Mmm, it feels good, right?” Gojo asked. “I know you think I’m mean, but I really only want to take care of you.”

You came again, babbling the words ‘no’ and ‘can’t’ and ‘stop’ as if they had any meaning anymore, as if you weren’t well on your way to coming again despite how torturous the excess of stimulation had become. 

“Sometimes, that means I have to be a little hard on you.” He fucked you hard enough to knock your head into the headboard, the entire thing pounding against the wall with each solid thrust. It hurt, it felt like he was splitting you apart, slamming against your cervix without even an attempt at kindness. But, at the same time, he turned the vibrator up a setting, rubbing little circles onto your clit. 

Gojo put a hand on your mouth to stifle your scream, it was that loud and shrill, borderline feral with the terrifying intensity of your orgasm. You didn’t want to come anymore. You really didn’t, you felt like you were going to die if you did. And he laughed, giving up on the hard pace to fuck you fast, his breathing becoming increasingly unsteady and his laugh shivering out into moans.

Sobbing into his hand, you came again, unable to understand anything beyond the cock pounding into you and the vibrator torturing your clit. 

Gojo dropped the vibrator suddenly, pulling out of you with a helpless sound. For a second, you heard the lewd schlick schlick schlick of his hand desperately fisting his cock and then you felt hot spurts of cum on your chest and your stomach. He finally took his hand off of your mouth, turning the vibrator off. All you could hear was your breathing and his breathing and the frantic pounding of blood in your ears. 

“Whew, okay,” Gojo said, lifting your legs to get out from under them. “Where were we with the lesson? I think… I was spanking you and you were being a brat about it. Have you had a change of heart?” 

You sobbed brokenly, squeezing your eyes shut. Trying to adjust to the shift of tone while you were still reeling from getting fucked, your torso covered in sweat and cum, felt like one of the most cruel things he had done so far. 

“Please, sensei, please no more,” you begged, your voice breathy and cracking at the end. “Gojo-sensei please, I-I do, I respect you. I’ll—anything, please just…” 

“Ahh, there’s a good girl. Finally,” Gojo said gently. “Okay, three more, and then I’ll forgive you.”

“No!” you cried hoarsely. “Please, no more.” You strained against the cuffs, thrashing as much as you were able. “Please, I’ll do… Please.”

“I need to make sure the lesson sticks,” Gojo said sweetly. “You’ve been so unreceptive. Three more, and then I’ll let you come again.”

“No!” you squealed, even more upset by that. The idea of feeling the vibrator again physically hurt, it was almost worse than the idea of him spanking you again. 

“I want you to count them, okay?” Gojo asked pitilessly.  

You sobbed, shaking your head, but you couldn’t do anything when he rolled you onto your belly. 

“Don’t be so dramatic about it,” he scolded, getting behind you and pulling your hips up so you were on your knees, your back arching. He spanked you and you yelped, burying your face in the pillows. Gojo waited before sighing. “Count them, otherwise I’ll lose track. You wouldn’t want that, would you? We’d be here all night.” 

You sniffled, peeling your face out of the pillows to turn your head.  “One,” you whispered.

His hand landed again, right over the first. You cried out a word that mostly sounded like, “Two!” 

And again, one of the hardest so far. “Thre-EE-”

“There, wasn’t that easy?” Gojo cooed, flipping you around and grabbing your ankles by the belt cuffs, pushing your knees up to your chest. When you heard the vibrator turn on, you tried to get away, squealing out your objections, sobbing and desperate and flinching away from the mere idea of more. It was like being presented with a bottle of liquor after a bout of alcohol poisoning. 

“No, please no more, I can’t, please.”

“I told you, one more,” Gojo said. “You can do one more, can’t you? I think you can.” 

You wailed when he pushed the vibrator against your swollen, oversensitive pussy, grinding it in little circles right over your clit while you spasmed and shook and tried desperately to escape the inevitable.

Coming when you were so overstimulated wasn’t pleasant, it was just more and more and too much, all of it piled onto your overloaded nervous system and making you shake as the pitiless heat flared up to bursting, pulling your body taut, and then it snapped, leaving you even more helplessly, hopelessly overstimulated than before. 

Gojo didn’t pull it away, continuing to grind the vibrator against your clit, cruelly drawing out your feverish torment. 

You wailed, your head tossing back into the pillows, your hips wildly trying to twist out of his reach. “Yo—ou said-”

“One more,” Gojo finished for you. “Come on, don’t be such a baby about it.” 

Your nostrils flared and you sobbed pathetically and your pussy felt like it was burning just as desperately as your sore ass, but Gojo was going to wring one more orgasm out of you. It wasn’t hard, even if it hurt. Even if you cried and shook and felt the world darken around the edges when you felt the surge of pleasure fizzle out through you before it left you pained and panting and miserable. 

But he finally shut the toy off, letting it fall to the side.  

“What do we say?” Gojo asked, dropping your legs and falling onto his side next to you, propping his head up with one hand. 

You groaned, your chest hitching with every breath. “I don’t…” 

“Thank you, sensei,” he prompted sweetly, “for teaching me manners.” 

“Thank you, sensei,” you repeated dumbly, keeping your eyes closed rather than acknowledge his heavy stare. “Thank you for teaching me manners.” 

He laughed. “Wow, that’s really embarrassing. Earlier you were bragging about how it didn’t matter what I did to you, weren’t you? I was almost impressed with your resolve, it’s a shame to see it cave in so easily. What happened?”

You sobbed, shaking your head. “Shut up, you’re… It wasn’t my fault, it was you who… who…”

Gojo hissed, pulling a breath in through his teeth. It was a bad sound. A dangerous sound. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you said, your eyes snapping open with fear. “I’m sorry, I’m…”

He frowned. “Maybe you haven’t learned your lesson after all,” he heaved out a big breath, sitting up. “That’s fine, I’m ready to go again. Anything for my favorite student, hm?” 

[ericshoney]

Interrupt ~ Sturniolo Triplets

Summary: You agreed to film a car video with the guys but you couldn't help keep interrupting Nick due to your random thoughts, resulting in a fight.

Warnings: Shouting, swearing, ADHD!Reader, argument, angst with a happy ending.

~~~~~~~~~~

Today you had gone to hang out with your best friends, agreeing to film a car video with them. The guys knew about your ADHD and being an influencer yourself, you were open about it on the internet.

All four of you were sat in the car, eating McDonald’s happily as Nick began to intro the video.

“Hey look at this funny TikTok I found of a dog!” You shouted, cutting Nick off.

You showed the video to the boys, Nick sighing as you did. All of them loved you and helped where they could with your ADHD, but they weren’t professionals.

Nick continued to talk about the video topic, however you kept interrupting him. It was like Chris but worse and Nick started to get angry.

“Shh! Your on time out for a minute!” He shouted, setting a timer on his phone, as Chris and Matt both laughed.

You pouted as he kept taking, Matt and Chris taking as well and as soon as the time stopped, you talked again.

“I think that food looks disgusting! I mean dog food looks better!” You shouted, looking at the gross food.

"Okay, what about thi-" Nick began saying, but you interrupted him.

"Oh remember that TikTok of that guy who tried dog food!" You shouted.

"Shh!" Nick exclaimed.

"Go Nick." Matt said.

"I'm trying!" He responded loudly.

"Dude calm down." Chris said.

"No! I'm actually getting pissed off now. She's constantly interrupting me every second! Like at least you keep your mouth shut for a bit, Chris." Nick responded.

You frowned a bit, Matt already turning the camera off, knowing none of them wanted this footage to be recorded.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean too." You apologised.

"You always say that, but you keep doing it. Like shut the fuck up and let someone else speak! You can't blame your ADHD all the time!" He shouted.

You fell quiet and looked out the window, feeling your heart sink. You had forgotten to take your meds this morning, resulting in you being extra loud and bubbly. They guys didn't know this though.

"Let's carry on, shall we." You said quietly.

"I promise I won't interrupt you Nick, or Matt or Chris. I promise to keep my mouth shut." You added.

"No, kid. We're not filming right now. I'm driving home and we can continue filming another time." Matt said, starting the engine.

Chris had agreed while Nick remained quiet. He instantly regretted shouting at you, especially hearing your apology for no reason.

When you all returned home, you rushed to Matt's room, taking shelter in there, as Matt slapped Nick around the head.

"Hey woah!" He shouted.

"Dude you fucked up." Chris said.

"I just got angry alright, I shout at both of you sometimes." Nick responded.

"Yeah and we take it differently to her. Plus you know she can't help it with her ADHD, why use that against her." Matt said, disappointingly.

"I know and as soon as I said it, I felt bad." Nick admitted.

"Go tell her then, bro!" Chris called.

Nick came to Matt's room and as soon as he heard you crying, he felt his heart break instantly. He walked in coming over and hugging you tightly.

"I'm so sorry sweetheart, I didn't mean anything I said. I was just a bit angry and I know you can't help it I really do, I'm sorry and know it's a fucked up thing. I get if your angry at me." He apologised.

"Didn't have my meds. I forgot." You admitted.

"Kid, why didn't you tell us?" Nick asked softly.

"Scared you'd tell me off or something....but that already happened." You answered.

"I'm so sorry again. I really am." He apologised again.

"If your willing, how about Chris, Matt and I help you try and remember your meds? Come up with some sort of plan that we'll stick by too, then we help you out and something like this won't happy again." He suggested.

"You....You want to help me?" You asked in shock.

"Of course sweetheart. I'm so sorry again for shouting at you, I should have checked if you had your meds or needed time to regulate before jumping to being a asshole." He replied.

"Thank you." You said, giving him a small smile.

"Your welcome and I'm so sorry again." He said.

You smiled and hugged him, happy he apologised and knew he was going to do better to help you and make up for his mistake.

[lokisgoodgirl]

An Offering [Asgard! Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki's lack of carnal exploits have caused chaos in Asgard- and something must be done. (w/c 2.7k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Loki POV. Smut. Language. Ridiculous lore.

Loki’s eyes scanned the lines on the page, uncrossing his ankles before immediately crossing them again.

He was restless. His manhood twitched as he re-read words he had missed in one endless, sprawling sentence. An annal of the wars of Muselpheim. It was the least erotic tome in his personal collection. These days, it didn’t take much.

He cast a glance out the window, wondering what carnage his unspent power was causing at the present time. Had a ghostly tidal wave risen and washed out the harbour town? A curse which made food taste like ash? An unfamiliar steed trotting through the mountain villages with an insatiable appetite for the bemused inhabitants worldly goods?

Loki didn’t know. All he knew was that he didn’t want to see anyone.

It was humiliating. His mother’s voice filled his ears against his will, the memory making his ears burn. You must copulate with someone Loki. Anyone; she had said calmly, her cheeks faintly pink. Chaos is building within you, if it is not released...naturally – then your seidr will find a way to expel itself in other ways,’

Loki shook his head, the familiar clench of embarrassment twisting in his stomach. A belch of smoke began twisting skyward in the distance from the market. It was green. He sighed, shutting the book on his lap and placing it to the side of the window-seat. If he concentrated, he could feel magic leaking from his pores like sweat. It bubbled through the air around him, the faint scent of tart spiced lemongrass following him around. Taunting him. Chaos.

And it would only get worse. “What am I to do with you?” he mumbled, staring down at his crotch. It stirred in response.

“Ah, yes, but you see, we want the same thing-” he crooned, as if to a friend. Or indeed, a foe. “The way they talk they would have me thrust you upon any diseased cretin from the alleys by the square.” He looked out the arch, the heavy emerald smog beginning to settle over half of Asgard. “But we are better than that,” he muttered.

A low chorus of coughing had begun to rise and echo around the high towers of the citadel. Loki grimaced. “I do hope it’s not poisonous,” he mumbled to himself.

There was a knock at the door. “Gods…” Loki sighed, letting his head fall back against the wall in frustration. Will they not let me alone.

It had become abundantly clear months ago that taking care of his sexual gratification by hand was not sufficient to quell the tide of magical energy coursing through his veins. Flesh, was what was required. A second heartbeat. An offering of the basest kind.

The instances of chaotic overspill had started small – batches of grain turning to sand, mirrors losing their reflection in the palace; but as the need for release grew, so did his frustration.

There was a reason that his familiar bedfellows had fallen out of favour. He caused too much angst. Too much heartbreak, that much was clear. They were satisfied for a time, but tormented in their limbo for his affection. Or his title. But they could never be her. He could see it in their eyes, the realisation when they felt him leave their cooling beds. It was not their fault.

He could not have her. She did not know or care of his existence, not really. Not outside of his garishly rouged face on a mural. Loki was not interested in breaking hearts. Not anymore. Especially his own. And as time when on, and the leakages grew in strength – people were afraid. There was that, too.

The knock came again. With an exasperated exhale, Loki rose. He crossed the room, smoothing his palms down the front of his tunic. Hooking one thumb in the low slung belt around his hips, he tried his best to look menacing as he opened the door. “What do you-”

The frown of annoyance melted to confusion as he ran his gaze over the waiting form in stunned silence. A woman, her face dipped in a light curtsey. Soft tendrils of hair fell around her collarbone like a nymph. “Your highness.” she spoke, keeping her head down. Loki tilted his head. How curious, he pondered as he reached out and gently tipped the woman’s chin up. His breath hitched at the unexpected sultry darkness of her eyes. Familiar. Impossible. “What are you doing here?” he murmured warily, casting a glance around the otherwise empty corridor. “Don’t you know it is dangerous to-” “May I come in, your highness?” she said softly. Loki frowned at the audacity of her interruption. But there was no hint of fear in her lilt, which he respected – and so the god found himself stepping aside.

The hem of her gown rustled on the stone floor, sweeping in a grand circle as she turned to face him. It was cream, the fastening at her bosom which ran down the centre of its length trimmed in the same dark green as the thick smoke currently blocking out the sun. Loki shivered.

“It has been decided that I am to be an offering,” she said haughtily. Her chin was held high, a beacon of poise and cold elegance. Norns, how Loki wanted to ruin her.

But he wouldn't. He shouldn't. Not her.

He stared back in slack-jawed disbelief, before bursting into laughter. He could feel his stomach clench, the peals of mirth taking a greater hold than the situation deserved. But it had been a while since Loki had laughed, among other things.

“My a-a-apologies,” he gasped, extending a hand to pat down her tangible offence. The lady’s arms had folded, a waft of malice washing over the god like a current. He collected himself, smoothing his hair as she looked on. “It’s not you, you are…” he looked the woman up and down, “lovely. Truly. I just...did not expect my family to stoop so low as to enact a farce such as this.”

The woman began to pace in a wide circle, her finger inspecting the wide wooden curve of his bed-frame. She paused, her chin tilting towards him with a wicked glint in her eye.

“It was my idea, actually” she said, beginning to smile as Loki shuffled where he stood. “Your brother took some convincing, but I think that is only since he had eyes for me himself.”

Loki could not find the words. “The armoury cache has turned to salt, you know” she chirped, smiling while she continued an achingly slow tour of his chambers. Loki groaned inwardly as she peered at the books on the nearest shelf, ghosting a fingertip over the spines.

“You have no idea how difficult it is to get a Prince’s attention,” she hummed. “Especially when he locks himself away and denies the ladies of the court an opportunity to flaunt themselves. Desperate action must be taken,” she purred playfully, the fragrant twinge of stinging sarcasm inflaming Loki’s arousal. Was she jesting? A cruel, elaborate trick? Loki decided he must be dreaming.

He cleared his throat, painfully aware of his cock hardening beneath his trousers. Of all days, why had he chosen the satin?

“You are here of your own free will, then?” he managed to say. She nodded, a closed lipped smile pressing against her cheeks. His eyes were drawn to the heave of her cleavage, rising and falling in anticipation before they rose back to her face. Her lips.

"It is a grave offence to lie to a god of Asgard, my lady" he warned, painfully aware of the slowing breaths making his voice thick. He could feel his tongue move, yet the words seemed to belong to another.

“They say it could be dangerous,” she said matter-of-factly, ignoring his ominous overtones. “-Fucking you, I mean.” Loki stared. He was fully hard now, the urge to free himself and have the woman against the nearest bookcase almost overwhelming. She raised her eyebrows, a mischievous smirk curling at the edge of her mouth. “Personally, I think it’s all rather exciting. Don’t you?” “You’re mad,” Loki mumbled, realising with surprise that he was already halfway across the floor. The woman let out a low tinkling laugh, resting an elbow on the shelf. “You’re one to-” Loki’s lips collided with the siren, crashing against her mouth like a tempest. She parted for him, wild hands twisting in his hair as he pressed her against the wood. Her moans of excitement, her breathy pants into his mouth as he caged her. Loki was undone.

His tongue wrestled hers, hands exploring the curves of her body that bucked against his touch. Meaningless words gasped from his lips as her palm slid harshly against his cock, mastering the slide and squeeze along its length.

“Bold, my Prince-” she teased, as his throat worked in grunts and swallows beneath her touch.

“I take nothing which was not already offered, my lady” he keened, thrusting against her hand. Their lips met again, deep curls of muscle enveloping the other in wet need. “And not all which is offered, either” he groaned against her ear. “Not yet.” The woman chuckled, sliding her hands up the velvet of his tunic. She pushed him lightly, making him stumble back like a feather. The backs of his knees hit the bed, falling and landing on the pristine sheets with a bounce.

“Take it then,” she uttered, laden with ceremony. Her eyes smouldered, wild waves falling around her face. Fingertips worked invisible buttons at the bodice of her dress, the middle section of green parting before she shrugged it from her body. Loki gripped the sheets, thighs trembling. “It is here, for you...my Prince.” Loki wet his lips, hungry eyes staggering up every perfect inch of her naked body. Mapping the trail his fingers would take as he sank into each delicious curve. The god felt his thighs widen, the tight trousers he wore an unbearable constraint. With a flex of his fingers, he was as naked as she. “Norns,” she whispered, her eyes wide. She began to pace towards him, a sudden goddess of love and peace and salvation. “You’re even more beautiful than they say.”

Loki barely heard her, transfixed by the supple legs which now straddled him on the edge of his bed. With a sharp intake of breath he let his hands run over the curve of her ass, squeezing gently. In turn, her fingers wrapped around the root of his cock, tugging as she breathed against his cheek.

“How long I have waited for this,” she murmured softly. Loki groaned. He fell back, bringing her with him in an animalistic kiss. He was being rough, he knew that. But he could barely control the deafening roar of unnatural lust. It flowed from him in waves, a roar of static crisping in the air.

“If you feel you are in danger, leave – immediately,” Loki gasped, throwing his head back with a moan while she ground against him. His mussed hair fanned against the sheets. He could feel the well of magic pulsing inside him with the beat of his cock. Like a drum, louder and louder in his ears. “You need this,” she panted, “we all do.”

Loki was tortuously aware of his manhood dancing at the tight slit of her entrance. He felt as a hound did, told to stay itself before a feast table. She moved it in circles, lapping up her wetness. The god groaned again, lips parted to the ceiling. “For Asgard,” she murmured coyly, before sinking fearlessly onto his cock. The cry which strangled itself from Loki’s throat shook books from the shelves. A ripple reverberated from the bed, making stone from the high arches crumble in dusty clouds.

His eyes flew open, and he knew from the reflection in her own that they were dark as a lemurs. The pupils drowning out any colour in his irises; wide. Wild.

Hands flew to her hips and pushed her down as he thrust up, bottoming out. A ringing cry sounded around his chambers. “Good...girl,” he smouldered darkly, an empty echo of past affairs. “Uhhh...y-yes- good girl.” Loki heard his own voice in singular clarity. As rich and foreboding and potent as a tangled forest by moonlight. There was a squelch as he withdrew, before flipping her over. She lay below him now, her features alight with desire and self-satisfaction. Her pretty moans tickled the air as he filled her sweet little cunt to the hilt. Each slap of his hips scraped the bed further across the floor. Ancient mahogany screeching on rough stone. Had sex always felt this good? Loki couldn’t recall.

All he knew was he needed to fuck to the edge of oblivion. Her fingertips dug into the taut flesh of his ass, pulling him deeper. Loki hissed, curls swinging wild over his brow. Flames nested in the torches hung on the walls snuffed out, plunging the room into inky blackness. All that remained, while the cloud of his unspent lust blocked out the sun, was her body. This temple that would restore him. Loki sucked down, teeth grazing a bruising kiss into her shoulder. “Loki,��� she whined, moaning like a whore. “More-” And Loki complied. He hoisted her legs over his shoulders. “My benevolent offering,” he muttered in barbed desire, sliding his wet cock inside her inch by tantalising inch. Loki’s eyes rolled back as he hit bottom. Consecration, surely. The torch flames came roaring back to life, licking the very ceiling above them in a tidal wave of primordial heat. The woman gasped, her pussy tightening. More dust fell from the archways, specks swimming in the air as the god punctuated every thrust with a filthy curse known only to he.

She exploded upwards, hooking her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to hers. Their bodies writhed with devilish rhythm, each fluid buck of Loki’s hips making emerald stars explode in a dreamy haze above their heads before melting to nothing. “I’m close,” she panted, tightening her thighs around his hips. Loki growled, his breathing heavy. He could feel the animal inside him rear. The bull. The wolf. The serpent. Ready to feast upon her pleasure like a wasted demon. He pressed down, tugging her clit with slow, wicked waves of his hips.

With a howl of his name, the woman came undone beneath him; her hair sprawled and spilling over the bed’s edge like a sacrifice. The room began to shake. Or was it the palace? Loki didn’t know. Trinkets fell to the floor, smashing. Crashing sounded from the next room, plates, jars of ink splattered like dried blood on the stone. Ancient tomes thudded with morose cracks, a sound which at any other moment would fill the god with despair. But not at this moment.

Every muscle in his body was tensed, primed to detonate. His balls tightened as they slapped her skin, the thundering surge of magic in his body threatening to burst in uncontrollable chaos.

He couldn’t. It was too much, too dangerous. Suddenly her fingers clasped around his jaw, drawing his gaze to hers. It was dreamy. Happy. It was trusting. And brave. That too.

“My Prince,” she whispered softly; a calm in the storm. “Cum for me.” He pressed his forehead to hers, his breathing becoming steadier. The fingernails of her free hand scratched gently between his shoulder-blades, down the curve of his spine.

Loki savoured the heat of her body beneath his, the unrelenting grip of her channel around the root of the realms woes. She worked him fearlessly, lilting her hips up to meet the base of his cock with rhythmic grace. “For me,” she repeated, before placing a gentle kiss over his parted lips. She sucked the bottom one as it released. Loki’s mind was blinded by light. Shuddering, incapacitating pleasure searing through his body as his world went dark.

Orgasm ripped through him like torn leather; fierce and merciless and raw. It rose in an eruption, consuming and obliterating and remaking him as he spent himself inside her.

A shimmering pulse of power emanated from the bed, spreading and rippling through walls as the whole of Asgard felt the release cascading from his veins. From his cock. An aftershock that would be felt through the realm. The god's face was contorted with pleasure. A thick, shaking gasp of exhausted relief was all he could muster as he collapsed in a heap beside his saviour. Moments passed. But truly, it could have been an age.

“Did I say anything?” he panted, utterly spent. “I just felt...-” “-my name,” you finished, running a hand up his chest.

You dragged your fingernails gently down his stomach, sighing happily as the first licks of sunlight appeared through the clearing smog. “I didn’t know you knew it.” “Of course I do,” he murmured. A veil of sleep began to descend while he inhaled the scent of your sex damp hair. Was this a dream?

If it was, Loki hoped he would never dream another.

He turned to you with a lazy smile, eyelashes heavy with the bliss of it all. He was free. And she was here. Her. You. “I did not think you knew mine," he said quietly, before sleep took him.

Tags

@meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @lokischambermaid @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @sidepartskinnyjeans @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @multifandom-worlds @morgan-wolf @thenotoriouserg @november-rayne

[grapejuicestyless]

To Love, To Love, To Love

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: You thought you were over him in every way possible, but you can never really kill feelings that strong.

His curls were soft between my fingers, knuckle deep in his hair, pulling out the tangles with each curl of my fingers.

He hummed appreciatively against my chest, his cheek pressed to my body, lips resting heavily between the valley of my breasts. I could feel each breath lingering on my skin, his lip balm smeared on my shirt, one he had bought for me the night before to match.

“They just threw away the entire plot line in the fourth movie, I don’t get it. It’s like everything that made the first three so good was completely ruined for the sake of some extra cash.” Harry mumbled tiredly, pointing at the tv with narrowed eyes.

“This company always does this, can you even be surprised? Every successful franchise always becomes a cash grab for them.”

Harry hummed, and the sound vibrated against my body. It was all so serene between us. A calm after a whirlwind of a few years.

Harry and I had been two wild dogs, chasing after each other’s tails, running in desperate circles yet we ran at the same pace, and we never figured out how to capture what we wanted.

So many nights had been spent crying over the boy, how my heart ached with affection for my best friend, how badly I needed him to want me. I began dressing better for him, and carrying around mints with the hope that maybe the next time I would see him, he would have me.

But I was a dog with a bird at his door, giving him something valuable to myself that it seemed he never wanted.

Harry did the same things. He’d been drowning in his love for his best friend for so long, aching pains in his bones from the waiting for me. He’d never wanted anything more, but the talking from strangers and advice from friends led us astray. How could the other love each other? How could our best friend develop feelings for us? It all seemed so impossible, and the tears drowned us until we flushed out, and our conversations ran dry.

Nobody tells you that even once you move on, those feelings never really leave. Even now, after years of silence that neither of us meant to keep, after we convinced ourselves we flushed away our devotion and joked about how blind we were, with his head on my chest now I feel especially warm in the familiar house.

You can fall out of love with people, but there will always be that lingering feeling of “what if.” A feeling that bubbles until the warmth returns and your situations draw you back into the storm like a riptide pulling you under. Part of me would always love Harry, only now I liked him much more to ever try and be in love with him again.

Silence is much worse than any rejection. The heartache of realizing you lost contact three months deep hurts much worse than any apology for not returning your feelings. It’s like a knife.

We’ve grown now, we’re older, we can control ourselves. We aren’t teenagers who run around kissing the people by the bars, we stay inside and don’t go looking for something that will someday find us. When I complain that I want to kiss someone, to be kissed, he raises his hand eagerly and smiles, declaring he wants to press his lips to mine. But it’s all a joke now, or that’s how I see it.

Maybe to him, it’s not. Maybe when we make jokes about being in love, about the songs he wrote for me in my wake and the tears I shed over him it’s because part of it is still true, maybe we just don’t believe it anymore. Harry once loved me just as hard and true as I once did for him. Though we may not be chasing after one another, I know that part of him still loves me too.

When we’re forty and single, we’ll get married, and we’ll laugh about how long it took us to get together, but for now he lays on my chest and makes fun of some old movies that seemed better when we were kids. He points out the bad green screen that we never caught when we were younger, and his laughter will echo through my bones.

And I’ll soak up every moment with him, because even if we never happened, at least I have him. At least we never became strangers.

[amnestria-the-elf]

So we're all just supposed to be fucking grateful that Larian gave us "new Wyll content" (evil ending for a man who is canonically incorruptible, what the fuck) and simultaneously broke him again (giving low approval greetings to a romanced PC, what the fuck).

I... I just... the simultaneous feelings of rage and utter hopelessness are overwhelming.

Listen, if you've read any of my posts you know I have a pretty clear "Don't yuck anyone's yum" policy. If you think an evil Wyll ending is interesting, fine. But here's why it falls flat for me.

First, like I said above, Wyll is canonically incorruptible. It's literally the entire basis of his character. He is a man who was coerced into making an infernal contract to save a city and had to pay a horrible price for doing so, then spent seven fucking years alone in the wilderness doing his damned best to protect the people of the Sword Coast, while all along telling his horrible, abusive patron to just fuck off already.

Now, could you argue that during the events of the game, Wyll develops a taste for evil? Sure. There are plenty of opportunities for his villain origin story to unfold. But they never do. His moral compass never wavers. Turned into a devil? He feels shame, because it's an outward sign that he was doing things for Mizora that were morally wrong, and he didn't see it before. His approval rating for the PC shoots through the roof if you save Karlach, a sure indicator of his true moral compass. His father kidnapped? Fuck that noise, we're gonna save him. Rescue Zariel's "asset"? Ugh, fine, but don't get distracted from the real reason we're here. His father gets tadpoled? Oh hells no, we're gonna take down these assholes and save the godsdamned world. His father accuses him of being an agent of a devil and is super pissy about it? "Everything I did, I did for the people of the Sword Coast."

For fuck's sake, he will leave the party if the PC gets too evil, even knowing it means he'll probably turn into a mindflayer immediately. Even if he's romancing the PC. Unwavering moral compass. So giving him an evil ending without also going back and changing everything about his character just feels like lazy writing to me.

Which brings me to the second reason all of this rubs the wrong way. Wyll deserves so much more content. More romanced greetings, more reactions to other characters' choices, a final boss battle that is actually about him, a default ending that actually makes fucking sense (I have another post cooking about the Avernus ending, so I will leave it for now.)

And please, spare me your "But Wyll was rewritten after early access" bullshit. That's Larian's problem. They chose to listen to feedback and do a late-stage rewrite. They then chose to implement it poorly and never fucking fix it. Other characters, who already have far more content than Wyll, have had even more added over the course of the seven released patches. Wyll, on the other hand, has been sitting around completely ignored until now when we get this evil ending.

Many have rightfully pointed out the inherent racism steeped in all of this. I want Larian to be better. But as Maya Angelou said, "When someone shows you who they are, believe them." I already didn't have much hope about Patch 7 for Wyll, but this... honestly, this is worse than him just being ignored again.

The thing that kills me the most is that this is just going to be more fodder for the fandom to completely mischaracterize Wyll, for those who already haven't bothered to think critically about his character at all to just be like, oh, cool, Wyll is evil now. Nope. You've completely missed the point.

I'm just... so tired. I've worked very hard to put this little bubble of Wyll enthusiasts around me (hi friends I love you all!) so that I can hold on to some shred of sanity in this fandom. The world needs heroes of color. Just let Wyll be the hero in peace.

[gay-dorito-dust]

wahhhh reading that hurts me 😭 could you please write a part 2 where they all find out that it was bill who possessed reader?

Tag list: @babypeapoddd @i-am-tiredd @sly-thou-pookie @x-seyaa @sweetlumpkinseedlin @kawaii1369 @roo024 @lightmaren

Part 1 right here

‘What?’ Ford asked.

Bill cackled. ‘For someone as smart as you sixer, you sure are stupid as not to notice the obvious signs of whenever I’m possessing someone. I mean out of everyone you should know better.’

Ford clenches his jaw. All this time he had thought you had betrayed him when in actually you had been loyal to him and his family, up until he and his brother ostracised you even more then you already were for the past thirty years. He made you feel like shit, and he could tell that Stanley felt the same amount of guilt as he clenched his fists in silent anger; Ford then levels Bill with a glare. ‘You possessed y/n! My assistant!’ He roared at his once muse.

Bill only chuckles. ‘Correction!WAS your assistant Stanford! And pushed you through the portal whilst wearing the face is someone you cared for,’ Bill then gasps as he looked at the guilt ridden faces of the Pines Family and feeling the joy bubble up in his triangular body, the look of defeat and realisation was all too sweet, ‘Oh wait! Someone you once cared for before throwing them out like they were nothing to you, not once letting them the space to explain what had happened and how I tricked them into making a deal with me.’ He finished by pretending to wipe a tear from his one eye after cackling some more at the hilarity of the situation.

Humans loved to cause more problems within problems they didn’t fully handle properly as they stockpiled on top of each other, giving him the leeway to get what he wants without issue or confrontation from the pathetic family.

Possessing you during a brotherly squabble was perfect! Ford had cut all ties with him and decided to call upon his idiotic brother- as though that would’ve ever worked in any timeline- to help hide his work but when things didn’t go Ford’s way, they fought. You were trying to stop the fight and bill took advantage of that by claiming he could help you stop the fight, fat chance, he was going to make it worse and leave you to be his scapegoat! It was a brilliant plan to make up for multiple set backs thanks to Ford’s sudden realisation of his hermit tendencies, everything was out in place for the ultimate betrayal by the hands of Ford’s assistant; you!

Bill found that Tragedy was at its finest when the betrayal comes from someone you love and it did.

‘They didn’t-‘ Ford began.

‘Say anything?’ Bill interrupts, causing Ford and Stan to glare at him as the demon cackle as he got in close to their shared triangle shaped prison, staring them down with his one eye, unblinking. ‘You and your piece of shit brother over here didn’t even let them speak! Never less believe them when they were telling the truth!’ He roared, ‘and now you don’t know whether they’re even alive so that you can apologise to them!’

Mabel slams against the bars of hers and dippers prison. ‘they’re alive!’ She shouts and Bill now looks at her, amused.

‘How can you be so sure shooting star? For all you know they could be dead, cursing your grunkles names as they die with an unsatisfying end.’ Bill mocked her as she falters in her resolve, he was right, how could she be certain that you were alive when Gravity Falls was literally on fire and demons from another dimension were running amok? She couldn’t and that’s what upset her the most.

‘Because we know our great aunt/uncle better than you bill and we know they’re alive!’ Dipper pips up this time as he laid a reassuring hand on his sister’s shoulder, smiling at her as she smiled back at him in thanks for having her back. Bill looks at the twins, hating their optimism and hope that you were okay and decided to destroy this by reaching into thin air and producing a realistic illusion of your unmoving body before them.

‘Are you so sure now pine tree? They don’t look very much alive to me!’ Bill exclaims as Mabel, Dipper, Stan and Ford could only look up the body that Bill claimed was yours in disbelief and shock. This couldn’t be how it ended, could it? They still had to apologise to you after all for everything and make it up to you however you wished!

‘No, no this is some foul trick of yours bill!’ Ford screamed as he threw himself against the bars, forcing himself not to cry at the sight of your body while seething with rage and a need to avenge your supposed death. ‘You sick son of a bitch!’ Stanley joined in as he felt even more useless than ever, he felt the most guilt out of everyone as his eyes seemed to refused to move from your supposed body. You couldn’t be dead, he refused to believe such bullshit lies, you were still alive and fighting with the rest of them! He knew it, deep down in his heart he knew it to be true!

‘No.’ Mabel cried as she tried to reach out to you as Dipper held her while silently crying himself, vowing to take down bill now more than ever as he tugged his hat down to cover his eyes. You were the most encouraging person he’s ever met and now you were gone, you asked him and Mabel to trust you when contemplating to stay with Stan, and they did believe and they never regretted doing so because you were right! You were always right and yet in the end you died thinking they hated you more than anything; which wasn’t true! Far from it and now…now they can’t make it up to you, they had lost their chance.

Bill had won over the pines family once again.

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Could you do one where the reader had been in a relationship with Hunter before being taken with Omega on Tantiss. Now that they're reunited, Hunter realizes that he wants to marry the reader?

With a little bit of Wrecker and Crosshair friendly teasing Hunter.

Marry Me?

Hunter x Reader

Summary- After an insufferable separation from you, Hunter realizes his true feelings. That he never wants to be apart from you- that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

Part Two right here! Part Three right here!

A/N- SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 OF THE BAD BATCH!!!! You have been warned! Thank you so much for requesting babes! Hope you like it! <3 <3

Word Count- 1,755

Beautiful Screen Shot by @isthereanechoinhere96

"Omega... It's- It's been months. We don't even know if they're still aliv-"

You felt shame rise up in your chest when you agreed with Crosshair. He was right, time had gone by slowly and there was no way of knowing if Hunter and Wrecker were alive. Your sweet sweet Hunter. The man who only showed he heart for the people he deeply loved. You were lucky to be one of them.

"They'll be there." Omega stated. She was so sure... but all you could think about were the doubts. Omega was always able to be more trusting and optimistic than you. Constant fear of losing your family limited you severely.

You swallowed deeply and looked down to Omega, pushing your anxieties down. "They will be." Were you trying to convince Crosshair or yourself?

The next few minutes of hyper-space felt like days. You were so eager. Everything was either going to get a million times worse, or a million times better.

Omega guided the ship to a remote planet you had never heard of, a deep blue over taking you.

Picking at your nails nervously, you stood- ready to depart. Crosshair noticed this and eyed you. He was nervous as well, but for different reasons.

You almost sobbed when you saw the Marauder in the distance. Hope bubbled in your chest, all thoughts of doubt escaped you.

The second the door lowered with a steam, Omega ran out of the ship. You followed her quickly behind.

She stopped at the mid-point between the ships. Wrecker slowly exited the Marauder, "Now there's a sight!"

You laughed, the tension dissipated. Omega ran to him and Wrecker picked her up, spinning around. "Wrecker!" She responded.

The sight made tears of joy fall. To see Omega so happy was enough for you.

"And I wasn't even sure your message was real!" Wrecker half-joked, still holding Omega up.

"Wrecker, I knew you'd show up!" Her words made your ears ring, did Hunter show up? Well, of course he did! That would be dumb for him to leave Wrecker... Unless, unless he wasn't alive to leave.

Your brain ran wild, why hadn't Hunter come out yet? It was almost as if Wrecker read your mind, he rested a hand on your shoulder after lowering Omega.

Just then, another set of footsteps came out. Hunter skipped steps to get to you and Omega.

Your hands shot up to cover your gasp, tears falling fast now. Omega got to Hunter first- you knew she needed it more.

He crouched down and hugged Omega deeply, his words drowned out. What you did make out was him saying your name, an arm stretched out for you and an arm holding Omega tightly.

You met him as fast as your feet would let you. "Hunter..." You whispered, face immediately meeting his neck as he pulled you close.

His arm pulled you in, crushing you against him in a pleasant way.

He pulled back to pepper your face with kisses, then a deep one on the lips. A few of your tears dripped onto his face, mixing with his own.

Omega giggled and pulled on your arm, you pulled back to let her back in on the hug. All three of you were lifted when Wreckers arms grasped around the bunch of you.

Wrecker pulled everyone up, making the embrace tighter. It was like your perfect little family was back again.

That night, after abandoning the empire's ship, was filled with more hugs, catching up, tears, and awkward conversations with Crosshair. You couldn't have wished for anything better. Your family, all in one place. Save for Echo, but you learnt he was safe with Rex- that made you smile.

You helped Omega settle into her room. You noticed too many yawns and drifting off, she was worn out emotionally and physically.

You spoke with her softly, reminding her everyone would still be here in the morning. Picking up Lula, her doll, and tucking it under her arm gave out the last yawn.

"Can I talk to Hunter?" She questioned with big eyes.

"Of course, baby. I'll be right back" You pet her hair back and left to go retrieve him.

You stopped when you saw him, Crosshair, and Wrecker whispering in the cock-pit.

"Ahaha! Be a man, just ask!" Wrecker said as he patted Hunters back harshly. Ask who? What would he have to 'be a man' about?

"If you say it any louder he won't have to..." Crosshair remarked.

"Oh! Sooorry." Wrecker dragged out.

"Both of you hush, I'll do it when I feel the time is right." Hunter spoke, his husky voice immediately filling you with warmth.

"You got this!" Wrecker exclaimed again, this time he earned a "Shhh!" from both Hunter and Crosshair.

You slowly entered the cock-pit, this time making your appearance known.

"Oh! Hello!" Wrecker greeted loudly, signalling to Hunter you were in the room. Hunter just sighed and shook his head.

You were curious about the conversation, but thought it might not be any of your business.

Smiling, you started, "Omega wants you to finish putting her to bed, Hunter." The way his face lit up had you star-struck. Almost like he couldn't believe she wanted him. "Thank you."

He nodded and headed her way, a hand cupping and maneuvering around your waist as he passed you. His subtle but frequent small touches warmed your heart.

You took a seat in the co-pilot chair, swiveling to look at Crosshair and Wrecker. Both looked down at you with crossed arms and smug looks.

"What?" You wondered if there was something on your face, or if you just took someones spot.

"Nooothing, we will be heading off to sleep now. RIGHT Crosshair?" Wrecker spoke in a suspicious voice, elbowing him in the side. Crosshiar grunted but agreed, leaving you alone.

Weird.

But then again, nothing was normal on this ship.

You took this time to lean back and take a few minutes of rest alone. It was nice being able to relax by yourself, knowing everyone was safe.

After a handful of minutes, Hunter made his way back from Omega. He took the seat next to yours, turning to face you.

"How are you doing?" You asked, sparking conversation.

"Fine, I'm just happy you guys are here... I keep thinking i'm going to blink and you'll both be gone..." His words shook at the end. You sat up, understanding the seriousness of the conversation.

"Hunter, Omega and I are alive and safe. We are here and we are not going anywhere." You rose and stood between his legs, hands cupping his face.

He looked up at you, tears filling his eyes slowly.

"What if I can't protect you two again?" He brought up a hand to rest at your hip, the other on his leg.

You rested your forehead against his, "That was a freak accident, baby. No one could have stopped that. Now we have Crosshair, Batcher, and we are ready for anything. We will keep Omega from the Empire. I promise."

He took a deep breath in, like he had just decided something.

He started by saying your name, "You always know just what to say. I wish I had that ability..." He closed his eyes and breathed you in for a moment, then he spoke again. "When... When we were apart I was so lost."

"I kno-"

"No, I don't think you understand. I couldn't think of anything but you and Omega. I was so broken without you." He repeated your name.

"I-I never want you to be away from me again." His voice got huskier as he spoke, and your legs felt like jello. You just looked at him deeply, nodding.

He started for a second time with a shaky breath, "No one can take you from me again. I will claw my way back to you every damn time." He nods his head up, brushing his nose to the side of your cheek with closed eyes.

You let him speak, even when your mind was flowing with your own comments, "It- The distance, made me realize. There is no one that can compare to you. No other woman I would ever want to be with."

Ah, so that is what they were talking about. You smiled big, awaiting the special phrase.

Tears filled your eyes with his words, he was speaking as raw as he was capable of.

"I can't promise you money or luxury, but I will spend every waking hour fighting to make you happy. Fighting to keep you safe." He pulls back, steadying you with both hands on your hips.

You take in a teary breath to speak, but he cuts you off. "Don't say anything yet, just- Wait here, just a second." He stands, reaching to Crosshair's old storage compartment.

He rushes back with a small box. You raise your hands to cup your own face, bright red. He lowered onto one knee, right in the middle of the cock-pit

"Please, for my own sanity and happiness, will you marry me?" He asks.

"Yes. Yes Hunter, there are no other words than yes." You fall down onto him, arms grasping around his neck.

He lets out a sigh of relief like you'd ever say 'no.'

"Thank you, oh thank you." He whispers into your neck, holding you tight. He only pulls back slightly to kiss you. A kiss so deep and full of emotions your head spun. You just held him, never wanting to let go.

It felt like time stopped, just for you two. Just for a clone trooper and a small girl...

"I never planned on you..." He broke the silence, head placed on top of yours. "But I- you were so damn perfect. Too perfect." You gave a small laugh, looking up to see his handsome face.

You rested a hand on his tattoo, thumbing it. "Hunter, if anyone is perfect it's you. You have so much love for me and Omega... How do you do it?"

"I manage." He smirked, leaning down to smell your hair. Something he used to do frequently when you snuggled in the past.

"Am I now Mrs. Hunter? Or is it Mrs. Trooper?" You joked, pulling back to sit fully on the ship floor. Your hands still filled with his much larger ones.

He smiled at you, another reminder on why he loved you so much. "We can figure out all the fine details later... Just let me kiss you again..."

So, you did.

A/N- Thank you so much for reading! I loved writing this one, I hope it turned out as good as I thought! Sorry It took me longer to post than usual, I was pretty busy this past week. As always, i'm open to constructive criticism!

Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @knight-of-flowerss

[changetyre]

How long? II Lando Norris X Reader ⓈⒾ

SUMMARY: Finding your soulmate doesn't always include a happy ending.

WARNINGS: Angst Angst Angst with a sprinkle of fluff. Sickness, death.

A/N: This is a story I wrote a while ago for Wattpad and which I always loved but reading it back now there's been things I've wanted to adjust which is what I chose to do here ;)

Lando POV II 

"Tell me about her," she asked me passing me back our photo. 

I looked at it, my thumb grazing over her in the picture I kept in my wallet.

_____

Y/N POV II 

Lando and I've been together ever since I can remember. We met when we were only toddlers and became inseparable ever since. We both knew in our hearts how much we meant to each other, we knew that we couldn't live without each other. However, another part of us, and everyone around us, told us there would come a point where we'd meet other people.

And we did meet other people, in fact when I went to college and Lando joined F1 we both decided to try to date others and it was the most miserable time in both our lives. Which only reinforced our feelings, we were irrevocably in love.

We were aware that we were a very cheesy couple, the kind of people who just didn't care when people were around us and loved to show our love for one another no matter the time and/or place. We were the kind of couple to gift each other little things and have dinner dates every week. Land never failed to bring me flowers every weekend since we started dating.

Life felt like a dream when we were around each other, we literally felt like we were in the clouds, floating in our own bubble of love. But it didn't take long before it burst. 

Given the amount of time Lando and I had spent together we had discussed anything you could possibly imagine and despite some thinking this was a horrible and selfish thought, when Lando and I talked about losing one another, we always thought he would go first...simply because of his job.

What Lando didn't know though was that every night and every time Lando went on track I would pray, pray for his safety, pray for his health, pray that if one of us had to go...for it to be me...because I could simply not live a life without him...the single thought made me choke up. 

'Be careful what you wish for.'

One year ago I was diagnosed with Breast cancer. For some reason the news didn't come to me as much of a shock as I thought, it was like something in my mind and body had expected this, had somehow mentally prepared me for it. On the other hand, I could tell how much this devastated Lando, so much he'd set his mind on quitting F1 to care for me which I had to practically force him not to. 

We had caught it early on and I only needed a few weeks of chemotherapy. Luckily the news came at the end of Lando's season, he would be home and he wouldn't get distracted on track.

Chemo was worse than anyone had ever described to me, it felt like I'd been completely stripped away from my own body and I was miserable but I knew I had to get through it, I tried to keep a smile all the way through it, for Lando, but I knew he could see right through me and he had as many sleepless nights as I did through it all.

Finally the last week of Chemo, everything was better. Lando was certainly brighter than before although I could tell he was still worried, I could see it in his eyes. Every time I'd say I was tired, huff, breath abnormally, or complain about any sort of pain I could tell Lando's heart skipped a beat.

It annoyed me at first because he constantly hovered, but I never said anything and eventually, I understood. I knew that if I was in his shoes I'd be exactly the same and now I found myself wondering whether I'd wished for the right position to be in because even though I was in pain physically...Lando was in pain too, even more than I was...and it broke my heart to see him go through it.

Now I wanted the season to start more than ever so Lando could put his focus and worry somewhere else other than me, and even though I worried that he might have an accident because of all this distraction I knew how much he adored driving and it was what he needed. 

The start of the season went well, not as good as we expected but it was good enough and the boys still had the rest of the season left.

I was with Lando in Monaco for the race, I was so excited about having him race here in Monaco since we'd recently bought our apartment here and we hadn't been able to enjoy it because of my treatments. 

It seemed like things were finally getting back to normal, Lando and I were floating back up in the clouds again and we were finally finding our rhythm again...it was almost too good to be true. 

I was home making dinner for Lando and me, he'd texted he was almost home and I'd decided to make some food for us. The whole day I'd noticed I was particularly exhausted and I kept running out of breath doing simple things. I had just set the table when all of a sudden it felt like my lungs had disappeared.

I dropped to the ground in pain gasping with all my power for some air. I thought I was going to die right there and then all until I heard the door open.

"Y/N!" I heard Lando's panicked scream. "LOVE!"

He pulled me up and turned me towards him, I clutched my chest. "I can't breathe." I wheezed.

"SOMEONE HELP ME!" He screamed out.

And eventually, for me, everything went black.

__

I woke up on an all too familiar surface. I was in a hospital bed, all sorts of tubes and needles attached to me. I looked for Lando and saw he was outside talking to the doctor, I could see him through the window.

Lando was facing my way while the doctor's back was towards me. I could tell it was a serious conversation and as much as I tried to deny it I knew what was happening. The cancer was back...and this time it wasn't going away.

I saw the anger and pain in Lando's eyes as the doctor spoke to him, he argued. I imagined he kept asking for a solution that simply didn't exist. Lando held his tears in all until he locked eyes with me. I gave him a look letting him know it was okay, I knew and that was enough for him to break down.

The doctor simply patted his shoulder before walking away. Lando walked to the room wiping his tears away as best as he could. Once he came in I could tell he didn't know what to say.

"It's back-" he spoke in barely above a whisper. 

"I know baby." I opened my arms for him and he broke down in tears again. I cried with him, not because of my pain but because of his.

"How long?" I asked him after a few minutes.

Lando kept his head buried in my chest but I could feel him shaking his head.

"Baby how long?" I repeated the question.

His head finally rose up, his eyes were swollen and the tears just kept coming. "They're not sure, he says it could be 6 months or a week." Lando's voice broke at the last words before he buried his face in my chest once more except this time he wrapped his arms around me holding me tightly as if I could slip away at any second.

"I love you..." he wept "I'm so sorry." these last words shattered me.

"I'm sorry too...I love you." I whispered to him as I kissed the top of his head.

"Baby I'm scared-" he whispered into my chest. 

I didn't exactly know how to comfort him, I let Lando cry it out as much as he needed to while I tried to remain strong, I found myself pondering over how I felt, I wasn't scared but I was in pain, and I was so miserable for leaving Lando like this, we definitely didn't have enough time together.

___

The next morning once Lando had come back into my room with a cup of coffee I decided it was time to talk about the next step. I knew deep down Lando still wanted to push for a cure that simply didn't exist but I also knew I didn't want to spend another second stuck in these hideous grey walls.

"Baby I want to get out here," I spoke. I was prepared for a discussion.

Lando simply looked down and gave a shaky sigh. "I know...and I'll get you out." his lip quivered and I could see tears brimming up in his eyes again.

"You're not going to ask me to stay?" I needed confirmation.

Lando got up and walked over to me, he scooted me over and sat down on the bed. "The day I met you-" he took a deep breath trying to keep himself together. "I made a promise to myself that I would do everything in my power to make you happy no matter what-" a tear slipped down his cheek. "I hope you know that if it was possible I'd take your place right now because seeing you like this..." another tear fell down his cheek. "it's been hell." I placed my hand on his cheek caressing it, I was crying too. "But I know you better than anyone and I know that you're not the kind of person to go out in a hospital room and I know you want to do as much as you can before you-" he stopped himself and his breath hitched. He couldn't say it.

"You're right." I quickly said not wanting him to finish because I could tell how hard it was for him. "I want to spend every second I have left with you, with the people I love, out of here." His lip quivered again as more tears left his eyes.

"Let's go then." Lando got back up starting to pack my things.

The news spread through the F1 world fairly quickly and I was flooded with pitiful messages all over my social media. Lando's friends from work who I'd grown close to didn't know what to say when I showed up in the paddock with them for the Monaco GP. Most of them simply gave me glances that spoke a thousand words.

Carlos, Alex, George, and Charles had all been incapable of holding their tears back as they saw me, giving me a hug that only existed for these situations.

After the Monaco GP, Lando and I found ourselves going to our favorite spots within Monaco, I was tired, so tired and I could feel death inching closer every day but I held on, I held on because...I knew he wasn't ready...I wasn't ready.

One morning I woke up to find Lando had planned a whole day for us and it all started at home. I'd walked to the living room to find Lando had prepared a very scrumptious breakfast. And he'd decorated our balcony with roses and candles.

We walked to it and there Lando got down on one knee, pulling out a small black box, which he opened to reveal a ring. My hands flew up to my mouth, I had always dreamed of this day but certainly not like this.

"My dearest y/n, I've imagined this very day over a thousand times in my head and I've come up with hundreds of speeches for this very occasion but it seems none of them would work for what we're going through now." His voice broke. "You have been the first and only woman in my life I have ever loved, you have been my best friend since day one, you've been my rock, my world, my everything and I simply do not want to spend another day not being able to call you my wife...so y/n, my love will you marry me?" I could tell he sped up the last bit to hold his tears back.

"Yes." I let him slip the ring on my finger before he rose up and we engulfed each other in a deep kiss.

"Propose...check" he pretended to hold a list and checked off the first point making me laugh.

"So what's next my fiancé," I asked him.

"Well, why don't we get going and I'll show you...my fiancé." he gave me another kiss.

Lando took me shopping for a bit before he drove us both back home. I'd noticed something else had been set up and once I walked into our room I found a wedding dress hanging in our closet. I gasped admiring the dress, it was simple but beautiful.

"Pietra helped me pick it out for you, we tried getting a more over-the-top one but apparently you can't just buy dresses like that overnight." he shrugged.

"It's beautiful." you admired the dress.

"Well you better get dressed, and I'll do the same. I'm going to get dressed somewhere else and when the time comes your driver will be here." he winked.

"Wait what?" I was confused.

"Just be ready in 2 hours...I love you." he gave me a quick peck on the lips before walking out. I got dressed and ready as best as I could with the time I had left, I did a simple hairstyle, partly because I was never good at doing my hair and partly because I barely had the strength to keep my arms up for longer than 3 seconds. 

20 minutes before the 2 hours were up I heard a knock at the door. I opened it and Pietra, Alexandra, Lily, and Carmen were all standing there in matching dresses. You looked at them confused but on the brink of tears because of how beautiful they looked.  "Did I die already?" I joked, and they laughed but I could tell the thought pained them. 

"You look beautiful." P had to pat her eyes as she looked at me. I had naturally grown closest to her because of the brotherhood between Max and Lando. 

"Thank you for doing this?" I had to hold my tears back too. 

"Let's go." Alex and Lily extended their hands out for me and I took them walking out with them. We walked downstairs and Carlos was waiting in an Aston Martin DB6 Volante, that had been decorated with white flowers. 

We arrive at the beach to find it prepared for a ceremony, all of Lando's friends from the paddock and his friends from Quadrant were there, as well as both our parents. I just about started crying there and then. 

I got out of the car and Carlos stood there offering me his arm guiding me to one end of the carpet that had been rolled out. I saw Lando at the other end and tears quickly brimmed my eyes. As soon as he laid eyes on me it didn't take him half a second before he started crying too, Max Fewtrell quickly stepped in to hand him a handkerchief even though he was shedding a few tears too.

Without You by Harry Nilson started playing, and it was enough for me to let my tears run free. Carmen handed me a bouquet of roses and I began walking down the aisle, and for some reason, all my strength seemed to leave me right there and then. 

I stumbled causing everyone to try to jump forward to grab me, My mom caught me, I could see the concern and the pain in her eyes but she also understood I needed to keep going. She wrapped her arm around my waist and helped me down the aisle. 

And now it's only fair that I should let you know what you should know...I can't live, if living is without you...I can't live, I can't give anymore. 

The song reached this part just as I reached him, he wrapped his arms around me, letting his forehead rest on mine. 

"You look beautiful." he sniffled. 

I placed my hand on his cheek before placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Let's get married," I whispered to him. 

The ceremony was short, Lando had wanted to arrive at the vows quickly and once we did he pulled out a sheet of paper, a tear was already rolling down his cheek. 

"My best friend, my rock, my first love, my only love, my life, my world, my everything, these words don't come remotely close to describing what you are to me. I hope you know I consider myself the luckiest man on earth to have met you, to have loved you, to have cared for you, and to have married you-" he chocked up. "But although I thought it was impossible...as much as I feel the luckiest man...I feel the unluckiest too." he looked up to meet my eyes completely distraught. "It's unfair the world is taking you away from me when our love story has only just begun, all the dreams, all the plans, all the promises I have yet to fulfill to you will stay here while you will go." he gulped down, he had a knot in his throat. "I will cherish, love, and protect you for the rest of the time we have left together, I will continue bringing you flowers every weekend, I'll wake you up with kisses in the morning, I'll make you smile and laugh every day, and most importantly I will, with all my power, do my best to keep you happy." he finished. 

I leaned forward giving him a long kiss on the cheek, now it was my turn and since this was all unexpected I hadn't prepared anything but already had enough to say. 

"My Lando...you have made me the happiest woman on earth since the day I met you. You are the most loyal, hardworking, loving, fun man I have ever known and I consider myself the luckiest woman on earth to have fallen in love with you. And the luckiest woman for you will be the first, last, and only man I will ever love." Lando's lips quivered as I said those words, a sob escaping his lips. "I will forever be sorry that we didn't get more time together, that I couldn't give you what we had so long hoped for, a life, kids, to grow old together." I cleared my throat having to compose myself. "I wish there was more I could do to keep you happy in the time I have left my darling, I can't promise you much, but I promise that I will love you with every fiber of my body and soul until my last breath." I ended. 

We were pronounced husband and wife and Lando pulled me in for a long deep kiss, mixed with both our tears. 

It was the most perfect day of my life, surrounded by so much love from our families and friends, surrounded by so much happiness. Once the moon was out and the tide started rising things started getting packed up but Lando and I decided to take a walk along the beach. 

We walked in silence, simply appreciating and cherishing each other's company. Once we were nearing the end of the beach I had to speak about what was on my mind. 

"Lando." I started. 

"No." he immediately replied. 

"Baby-" I was going to keep going. 

"I know what you're going to say and you can't ask me that-" he spoke softly but I could hear the anger and hurt in his voice. 

"Lando listen to me please-" I stopped making Lando turn to me. He looked down and he was crying silent tears. "After I'm gone I need you to promise me you will keep going no matter how hard or painful it is...I want you to give your career 1000% percent like you always have...and someday whenever you're ready I want you to find someone who will make you happy, who will take care of you, who you will fall in love with and start a family with-" I spoke clearly, this was a thought I'd head since the first time I'd found out I was sick. 

"No, I can't." He replied sniffling. 

"Yes you can and you will," I assured him. 

"How will I ever love someone as I love you..." he locked eyes with me. 

"I'm not asking you to love someone as you love me. But you will learn to love again, I just want you to promise you will not shut yourself out, you need to keep going...for me." I walked up to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, with one hand I wiped the tears from under his eyes. 

He looked at me unsure and simply nodded, I knew he didn't mean it right now but it was as much reassurance as I would get from him for now. 

"I'll never find anyone like you." He spoke once we'd started walking back. 

"Maybe not, but you will find someone, there's plenty of women out there Lando, amazing, beautiful, incredibly talented women and I'm sure there's someone else for you." the mood had livened up a little bit. 

____

LANDO POV II 

The next morning I woke up...she didn't. She'd passed in her sleep, in my arms. A smile was still on her lips. I knew she was gone but I still tried to wake her, I still needed her to wake up.

I was inconsolable for months after her death, and my friends and my family had to help me back to my feet. Literally, because it was as though all my strength, all my will to live had died with her that day.

"She made me promise her that I would find someone else, that I'd fall in love again." I stifled a laugh remembering our walk at the beach. 

"She sounds like an amazing woman." She commented. She had a very genuine smile. 

"She was...I never met anyone like her." I sighed, that ache in my heart was still very present but bearable now.

_____________

Bonus A/N: 

If it serves as any consolation I cried my eyes out writing this story. . 

[wannabehockeygf]

Feels Like - Quinn Hughes

“We almost got away, we cut it close,

The city’s getting loud, if I choke,

It’s only ‘cause I’m scared to be alone,

Been trying to work it out you should know,

I would do whatever you wanted.”

***

part 2 // quinn hughes x gracie abrams albums fic trilogy

part 1 part 3

***

Summary: Quinn’s been up to no good, and it’s about time you find out.

Word count: 6.8k

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

Warnings: cheating, alcohol

Notes:

- me saying I’m so busy and won’t have time then I crank this out in a day !!

- this was so heart wrenching to write …

- not proof read as always

***

Quinn Hughes had a good head on his shoulders. At least, that’s what everyone always told him. Coaches, family, even the media—they all saw Quinn as the level-headed one, the smart one, the kid who knew what he wanted and went after it.

Except when it came to you. When it came to you, Quinn's head was anything but good. It was a mess—confused, conflicted, weighed down by the guilt that had been gnawing at him since last night.

Quinn ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. He sat on the edge of his hotel bed in Boston, staring at his phone like it was some kind of bomb he had to defuse. Your name was still at the top of his recent calls, your last text a blue bubble of worry and reassurance.

“Heading your way, Q. On a train. Didn’t book a flight because it was too much, but I’ll be there in the morning. I love you.”

He swiped out of the messages and into Instagram, his thumb hovering over the search bar. His heart pounded against his ribs, each thud a reminder of just how much he had screwed up. He was still in last night’s clothes, a blue Hawaiian shirt that Jack had bought him as a joke and black slacks that clung to him uncomfortably. He hadn’t slept; instead, he’d gone out, did so much more than emotionally cheat on you, and then spent the night pacing his room, trying to figure out how to make this right—how to fix something that might be beyond fixing.

His phone buzzed in his hand, a new message from you: “Quinn, are you awake? Call me when you see this.”

Quinn's stomach twisted. He could picture you right now, curled up on that train seat with your eyes heavy from lack of sleep, your hair mussed from running your hands through it too many times. You were coming all this way for him, despite everything. You were coming to see him even after he’d hung up on you. He felt a pang of guilt so sharp it made his chest ache. You deserved so much better.

He knew that. God, did he know it. But knowing it didn’t make things any easier. If anything, it made things worse, because he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop thinking about you, couldn’t stop needing you. And yet, he was too weak to stop what he was doing—the other thing he couldn’t seem to stop needing.

His fingers hesitated over the search bar for just a moment longer before he typed in the name, quick and almost subconscious, like he was on autopilot. The profile came up instantly: smiling photos of her on some beach, her hair wild in the wind, sunglasses perched on her nose. She looked carefree, happy. The last photo was from a week ago, captioned with a simple heart emoji.

Quinn’s heart clenched. God, she was beautiful. And she made him feel things—things he didn’t feel when he was with you, his girlfriend, things that scared him as much as they thrilled him. She was everything you weren't: spontaneous, wild, a bit reckless. She didn’t make him feel like he had to be perfect all the time.

Which was probably why he’d ended up here in the first place.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to quell the guilt that surged up his throat like bile. He thought back to last night—the way she’d looked at him across the bar, her eyes dark and knowing, the way she’d smiled like she knew every secret he was trying so hard to hide. The way her lips felt against his, the heat of her breath, the sound of her voice when she whispered in his ear.

And then he thought about you. About your laugh, your smile, the way you looked at him like he was the most important person in the world. How you never hesitated to drop everything for him, even when it meant putting your own life on hold. Like right now. Like this very moment, when you were probably sitting on some cold, uncomfortable train seat to get to him because you thought he needed you.

He was such an asshole.

Quinn tossed his phone onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. He felt like he was being torn in two—one part of him screaming at him to get his shit together, to be the guy everyone thought he was, the good guy, the guy who didn’t screw over the people he cared about. And then there was the other part—the part that was scared, insecure, the part that wanted so desperately to feel something real that he didn’t care if it meant hurting the one person who had always been there for him.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, the word barely more than a sigh. What was he supposed to do? He didn’t know. He was in too deep, caught between two worlds that couldn’t coexist, caught between two versions of himself that he couldn’t reconcile.

He stood up, pacing the small hotel room, the carpet rough under his bare feet. His mind raced, thoughts bouncing around like ping-pong balls in his head. He couldn’t keep doing this. He had to make a choice. He had to choose.

But how do you choose between the girl who makes you feel safe and the one who makes you feel alive?

His phone buzzed again, and this time he couldn’t ignore it. He snatched it up, expecting another message from you, another plea for him to call, but instead, it was from the other girl. A simple text: “Had fun last night. When can I see you again?”

Quinn stared at the message, his heart hammering against his ribs. What was he doing? What the hell was he doing? He wanted to smash the phone against the wall, to shatter it into a million pieces, to shatter himself along with it. But instead, he just stood there, staring at the screen, torn between guilt and desire, between what he wanted and what he knew he should do.

“Quinn?” A voice called from outside his door, sharp and insistent. It was Petey, knocking lightly. “You in there, man? We gotta head out to practice soon.”

Quinn stood frozen in the middle of his hotel room, his phone buzzing persistently in his hand. The screen glowed with the picture of you he had made his lockscreen, and every time he looked at it his heart dropped. His stomach churned, a sickening mix of guilt and anxiety that had been gnawing at him for the good part of twelve hours. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the mess of curls that he hadn’t bothered to tame since last night.

Last night. God, what a disaster.

He could still taste the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, still feel the phantom touch of her lips against his. She had been all over him, pulling him in with that damn magnetic smile of hers. And Quinn, the idiot that he was, hadn’t done a damn thing to stop it. Now, standing here, he felt like he was drowning in the aftermath.

“Huggy?” Elias’ voice came through the door again, more insistent this time. “You good?”

Quinn glanced at the clock—barely enough time to get his shit together before practice. Not that it mattered. His head was so scrambled, he doubted he’d be of any use on the ice today.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to move. One foot in front of the other, like he was on autopilot. He tossed his phone on the bed and headed for the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face in a vain attempt to shock some sense into himself. The water dripped down his cheeks, and he stared at his reflection in the mirror, searching for some sign of the guy everyone thought he was. The guy who had it all together.

But all he saw was a mess. A guy who couldn’t make up his mind, who was screwing over the one person who had always been there for him. The guy who, deep down, was terrified that he was going to lose everything if he didn’t get his shit together.

He grabbed a towel and dried his face, then ran a hand through his hair again, trying to make himself look halfway presentable. But no amount of water or towels could wash away the guilt that clung to him like a second skin. He was stuck with it, like a tattoo he couldn’t scrub off no matter how hard he tried.

“Fuck,” he muttered, the word slipping out before he could stop it. He shook his head, running his hands through his hair once again, feeling the strands tug against his fingers. He needed to get it together. He needed to get out of this room before he went completely insane.

He grabbed his practice gear from the chair by the window, where he’d tossed it last night when he’d stumbled in. The memory made his stomach twist: the way he’d pressed the button to hang up on you, the way his thumb had hovered over it like it weighed a hundred pounds. And then the other girl’s laugh, soft and sweet in his ear, her fingers trailing down his arm as she whispered something he couldn’t quite remember anymore but knew had made him feel like he was floating.

Quinn pulled off his clothes, replacing them with a questionable smelling sweatshirt and gym shorts, his movements jerky and stiff like his body was protesting every step. He glanced at the mirror on his way to the door, catching sight of himself—his face pale and drawn, his eyes shadowed with fatigue. He looked like hell. He felt like it, too.

With a sigh, he opened the door to find Elias leaning against the wall, one brow raised. “Dude, you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Feel like it too,” Quinn muttered, stepping out into the hallway. The bright lights made his eyes sting, and he squinted, wishing he’d grabbed his sunglasses. Or maybe he just wanted to hide behind them.

Elias clapped a hand on his shoulder, giving him a once-over. “Rough night?”

Quinn forced a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “Something like that.”

“Yeah, well, better shake it off. Coach is on one today, and he’s not in the mood for anyone dragging ass.” Elias started down the hall, and Quinn followed, trying to push everything to the back of his mind. Practice. Focus on practice.

But his thoughts wouldn’t settle. They kept bouncing back and forth like a damn tennis match: his girlfriend’s face, her worried messages, the way she always seemed to know when he needed her without him even having to say it. And then the other girl—the way she made him feel like he could breathe, like he could forget everything for just a little while.

He clenched his fists as they reached the elevator, trying to steady his breathing. Elias was rambling about something, but Quinn couldn’t focus on the words. His mind was a blur, a mess of emotions that he couldn’t untangle.

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside, the metal walls reflecting their distorted images. Quinn caught sight of himself again and grimaced. “I look like shit, don’t I?”

Elias snorted. “You said it, not me.” He glanced at Quinn, his expression shifting to something more serious. “But seriously, man, you okay? You’ve been off for a while now.”

Quinn swallowed hard, his throat dry. How could he even begin to explain what he was feeling? How could he tell Elias that he was standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering between falling and flying, and he didn’t know which one he wanted more?

“I’m fine,” he lied, the words heavy on his tongue. “Just tired.”

Elias didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he just nodded, letting the subject drop as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open to the lobby.

They walked out into the warm Boston morning, the humid air biting at Quinn’s skin through his clothes. He shivered, shoving his hands into his pockets as they made their way to the team bus. He tried to lose himself in the routine, in the familiar motions of getting on the bus, finding his seat, putting in his headphones. But even the music couldn’t drown out his thoughts, couldn’t silence the nagging voice in his head that kept telling him he was screwing up.

He leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes, willing himself to focus on the day ahead. Practice. Game plan. Not on the texts waiting on his phone, not on the girl he was supposed to love and the girl he couldn’t stop thinking about.

But his mind wouldn’t cooperate. It kept circling back, like a dog chasing its tail, never quite catching it but never stopping either. He thought about you, about the way she made him feel grounded, like he had a purpose. And then he thought about the other girl, about the way she made him feel alive, like he was on fire.

God, he was an idiot. A selfish, stupid idiot who didn’t deserve either of them.

He opened his eyes, staring blankly at the seat in front of him. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to choose between two things that felt like they were pulling him in opposite directions, like they were tearing him apart?

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out without thinking, his heart lurching in his chest. It was a text from you, and his stomach twisted as he read it:

“I’m here. Just got to the station. Can’t wait to see you.”

Quinn closed his eyes, a wave of guilt washing over him. You were here. You were here for him, because you thought he needed you. And maybe he did. Maybe he needed you more than he’d ever realized.

Quinn’s mind was spinning as the team bus rumbled through the streets of Boston, the city waking up around them in a blur of brick buildings and early morning light. He stared out the window, his reflection a pale, drawn ghost in the glass, looking back at him with tired eyes. The weight of his phone in his pocket felt like a lead ball, dragging him down deeper into the mess he’d made for himself.

He glanced around the bus, his teammates absorbed in their own routines—some with headphones on, nodding along to whatever music was blasting in their ears, others chatting quietly, their voices low and relaxed. Elias was beside him, scrolling through his phone, occasionally chuckling at something he saw. Quinn tried to mimic that ease, but his stomach was tied in knots, and every breath felt like it caught in his throat.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to find a position that didn’t make him feel like he was about to crawl out of his own skin. But no matter how he twisted or turned, the guilt was there, gnawing at him, a constant reminder that he’d messed up in a way that couldn’t be easily fixed.

His phone buzzed again, and he bit down hard on his bottom lip, his hand twitching towards his pocket before he stopped himself. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—look at it. Not yet. The last thing he needed was to see another text from you, filled with love and concern, when all he could think about was how he didn’t deserve any of it.

But of course, his brain wouldn’t let him rest. As much as he wanted to ignore it, your last message played on a loop in his mind: “I’m here. Just got to the station. Can’t wait to see you.” He could picture you standing there, suitcase in hand, maybe looking around for him, your eyes bright with anticipation. The thought made his chest tighten, a painful squeeze that sent a ripple of nausea through his gut.

He thought about how you’d always been there for him, how you never hesitated to drop everything and come running when he needed you. And now, here you were, doing it again, without knowing that he’d spent the night with someone else, that he’d betrayed the trust you’d placed in him so completely.

God, he was a piece of work.

Quinn shifted again, his knee bouncing nervously as he tried to focus on anything else—the pattern of the bus seat, the way the sunlight filtered through the trees, the hum of the engine beneath his feet. But everything came back to you, and the way he was going to have to face you in a few hours, knowing what he’d done.

A part of him—the rational, level-headed part that everyone always said he had—knew that he should come clean, that he should tell you everything and deal with the consequences. But the other part, the part that was scared and ashamed and desperate to keep you in his life, was louder, drowning out the voice of reason with a hundred excuses and justifications.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to look you in the eye and pretend that everything was okay, when he knew it wasn’t? But then again, how could he tell you the truth and risk losing you forever?

He pressed his head against the cool glass of the bus window, staring out at the passing streets of Boston. The city looked bright and sunny, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in his mind. It was the kind of day that would normally have him in good spirits, maybe even cracking jokes with the guys. But not today. Today, he felt like he was carrying a mountain on his back.

The bus jolted as it hit a pothole, and Quinn’s head banged against the glass. “Ow, fuck,” he muttered, rubbing the sore spot. Elias glanced over from the seat next to him, eyebrows raised.

“You good, man?” he asked again, his tone a mix of concern and exasperation. Quinn knew Elias was just trying to help, but right now, all he wanted was to be left alone with his own stupidity.

“Yeah, just...headache,” Quinn lied, forcing a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. He didn’t know how to explain the real problem without sounding like the world’s biggest jerk. He wasn’t ready for the questions that would follow, the judgment, the inevitable “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Elias nodded, turning back to his phone, but Quinn could feel his eyes lingering, like he was trying to solve some kind of puzzle. Quinn wished he could give him the answer, wished he knew it himself. But all he had were a bunch of jumbled pieces that didn’t seem to fit together.

As the bus pulled up to the arena, Quinn grabbed his gear and followed the rest of the team inside. The familiar smell of a rink—ice, rubber, sweat—usually calmed his nerves, but today it just made him feel queasy. He trudged to the locker room, his legs feeling like lead, and sat down on the bench, staring at his skates like they might somehow offer him some guidance.

“Hey, Huggy,” Brock called from across the room, already halfway into his gear. “You gonna put those on, or are you just gonna stare at them all day?”

Quinn blinked, realizing he’d been sitting there for way too long. “Right, yeah,” he mumbled, pulling off his shoes and shoving his feet into his skates. The process felt mechanical, like he was going through the motions without really being there. He tied the laces tight, almost too tight, like he was trying to squeeze out the guilt that sat heavy in his chest.

As he laced up, his mind wandered back to last night. He remembered the way her fingers had grazed his wrist, the light touch sending sparks through his skin. He remembered the look in her eyes, that dangerous mix of desire and something else—something that made him feel like he was balancing on a razor’s edge. And then he remembered your text, the way your voice had sounded over the phone, so soft, so worried. The contrast made him feel like he was being split down the middle, two halves of a person who didn’t know how to be whole anymore.

Quinn dragged his skates across the locker room floor, the sharp blades scraping against the concrete as he walked to the bench. His hands moved on autopilot, grabbing pads, buckling straps, all while his mind replayed the same scene over and over again: your smile, your eyes, the sound of your voice. The guilt gnawed at him, relentless, like a dog with a bone it refused to let go.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Brock sidling up next to him until the guy was practically in his lap.

“You look like someone ran over your puppy,” Brock quipped, pulling on his jersey with a grunt. “What’s up with you today?”

Quinn forced a laugh, but it came out more like a wheeze. “Just didn’t sleep well, I guess,” he lied, his stomach twisting into another knot. Brock, bless his soul, nodded, accepting the excuse without question.

“Yeah, well, try to pull it together, man. You’ve got that ‘I just accidentally liked my ex’s Instagram post from 2017’ face.”

Quinn blinked, momentarily pulled out of his spiraling thoughts. “Is that...a thing?”

“Definitely. Don’t ask me how I know.”

Quinn couldn’t help but chuckle, a real one this time, and for a moment, he felt a little bit lighter. But the moment passed quickly, like a cloud drifting over the sun, and the heaviness settled back in.

He needed to tell someone. He really did, and he thought about telling Brock, someone a little older, with a little more experience, but he knew it wouldn’t go well. The man had a wife and kid, and admitting to him that he’s a cheater couldn’t go any way but sideways.

He finished gearing up, the ritual of it providing some small comfort, like if he could just get everything on right, he’d be okay. But as he stepped onto the ice, the cool air hitting his face, he knew it was only a temporary reprieve.

The practice rink the Bruins had given them was buzzing with activity, the sound of skates cutting into the ice, pucks clattering against the boards, the low hum of voices. Normally, this was his sanctuary, the place where he could clear his mind and focus on nothing but the game. But today, the rink felt like a prison, every noise amplified, every movement too sharp.

Quinn skated a few laps, trying to shake the feeling, but it clung to him like a second skin. He saw you in every reflection, heard your voice in the echoes of the arena. And every time, it was like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him.

“Quinn! Heads up!”

He barely had time to react before the puck came flying toward him, and he fumbled to catch it, the black rubber slipping off the tip of his stick and skidding across the ice. A chorus of laughter erupted from the other guys, and Quinn forced a grin, trying to play it off.

“Nice hands, Huggy,” one of them called out, and Quinn gave a mock salute, his heart pounding in his chest.

As practice dragged on, Quinn found it harder and harder to focus. His mind kept wandering, and every time it did, it went straight back to you. He thought about the last time you’d visited him, how you’d spent the weekend curled up together on the couch, watching movies and talking about everything and nothing. He thought about the way you’d looked at him, like he was the only person in the world, and how he’d felt like the biggest fraud alive.

He thought about a few mornings ago, when he’d kissed you goodbye before heading to the rink, your sleepy smile still lingering in his mind. He hadn’t known then what he was going to do later, hadn’t known how everything would spiral out of control. But now, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop replaying the night in his head, wondering how he’d let it happen.

The worst part was, he knew he didn’t deserve you. Not after what he’d done. But he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, couldn’t imagine his life without you in it. And so, he found himself trapped, caught between his guilt and his fear, unable to move in either direction.

When practice finally ended, Quinn was the first off the ice, practically sprinting to the locker room. He needed a moment to breathe, to think, to figure out what the hell he was going to do. But as soon as he sat down on the bench, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he knew without looking that it was you.

He stared at it, his heart in his throat, his fingers trembling as he reached for it. The screen lit up with your name, and for a split second, he considered ignoring it. But he couldn’t do that, couldn’t just pretend you weren’t there, waiting for him, loving him, trusting him.

With a deep breath, Quinn swiped his thumb across the screen and brought the phone to his ear. “Hey,” he said, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

Quinn swallowed hard, his heart racing as he heard your voice on the other end of the line. It was like a balm and a burn at the same time, soothing yet searing into him with the heat of his own guilt.

“Hey! I’m here at the station,” you said, sounding bright and cheery, completely unaware of the emotional storm that was tearing him apart. “I was just wondering if you’re on your way or if I should grab a coffee or something?”

Your words were so casual, so normal, that they felt almost surreal to him. He closed his eyes, the images of last night flashing like a movie reel against the backs of his eyelids—her laughter, the way she’d leaned in close, her lips brushing his neck in a way that had sent shivers down his spine. And then he’d see your face, smiling up at him with that same soft look you always gave him, the one that made him feel like he was exactly where he needed to be.

He forced a laugh, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yeah, I’m, uh, just finishing up at practice. I’ll be there soon.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he didn’t know what else to say. How could he tell you the truth? How could he explain that he’d been weak, that he’d betrayed you, that he didn’t deserve to have you waiting for him?

“Great! I can’t wait to see you.” Your voice was so full of warmth and excitement that it made his stomach twist. He could picture you standing there, probably wearing that old Canucks jacket of his that you loved, the one that was two sizes too big but somehow looked perfect on you. The thought made his chest tighten with an ache that he couldn’t shake.

“Yeah, me too,” he managed to say, his voice cracking just a little. “See you soon.”

As he hung up, Quinn let out a long breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The guilt felt like a heavy stone lodged in his gut, pressing down with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. He dropped his head into his hands, fingers tangling in his hair as he tried to make sense of his own stupidity.

He should have never gone out last night. He should have stayed in, watched TV, gone to bed early—anything other than what he did. But instead, he’d let himself get swept up in the moment, let himself be led astray by a smile and a soft touch, and now he was paying the price for it.

Why couldn’t he just have said no? Why couldn’t he have just kept his distance, like a rational human being?

But no, Quinn Hughes had to be an idiot. A complete, utter, monumental idiot.

He glanced around the locker room, hoping for some kind of distraction. Most of the guys were still milling around, showering, changing, talking about the upcoming game, like it was just another day. Like his whole world wasn’t collapsing around him.

Quinn stared at the locker room ceiling, the fluorescent lights casting harsh, white beams that felt like an interrogation spotlight. The thought of meeting you at the station had his stomach in knots, guilt gnawing at him like a relentless beast. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to find some semblance of calm, but the images of last night wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Why did I do that? Why am I like this?” Quinn muttered to himself, rubbing his temples as if he could erase the memory with enough pressure. The smell of sweat and damp gear filled his nostrils, a stark contrast to the sweet perfume that had lingered on his skin just hours ago. He grimaced, suddenly aware of how sick it made him feel.

His phone buzzed again. Without even looking, he knew it was another message from you, probably asking how long he’d be. He couldn’t ignore you forever, but he also wasn’t ready to face you. He needed more time—time to figure out what the hell he was going to say, time to gather the pieces of his shattered conscience.

With a groan, Quinn grabbed his phone and quickly ordered an Uber. The bus to the station was out of the question; the last thing he needed was more time to wallow in his guilt with nothing but his own thoughts for company. As soon as the confirmation buzzed through, he grabbed his gear, barely acknowledging his teammates as he rushed out of the locker room.

Within minutes, a car pulled up, and Quinn slid into the backseat, barely managing a greeting to the driver. He stared out the window as the city blurred by, the buildings and people blending into a haze of colors and motion. His reflection in the glass looked haunted, a man on the brink of losing everything.

His mind kept replaying the events of last night, a relentless loop of regret and self-loathing. He thought about the way he’d let himself be drawn in, the way he’d ignored that little voice in his head telling him to stop, to walk away. But he hadn’t listened. He’d let his guard down, let himself be led by his desires instead of his brain, and now he was stuck in a mess of his own making.

Quinn squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the images, but they kept coming—her smile, her touch, the way she’d looked at him like he was the only man in the room. It had been intoxicating, a rush he hadn’t felt in a long time. But now, it felt like poison, spreading through him with every thought, every memory.

He opened his eyes, staring down at his hands, noticing the way they shook. He felt sick, his stomach churning with a mix of fear and guilt. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have thrown away everything he had with you for a moment of weakness?

The driver made a comment about the weather, but Quinn barely heard him, his thoughts too loud, too chaotic. He just nodded absently, his mind a million miles away. He couldn’t focus on anything but you, waiting for him at the station, completely unaware of the storm raging inside his head.

The car finally pulled up to the station, and Quinn could see the throngs of people milling about, all of them blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil raging inside him. He thanked the driver and stepped out, his legs feeling like they might give out beneath him. With every step towards the entrance, his resolve weakened, the weight of his guilt dragging him down like an anchor.

There you were, standing near the entrance with your suitcase by your side, your face lighting up as soon as you spotted him. Quinn’s heart lurched painfully in his chest at the sight of your smile—so warm, so genuine, so undeserved. He forced a smile in return, even though it felt like a mask, a flimsy attempt to cover up the disaster he’d become.

“Hey, you,” you greeted him, your voice as bright and cheerful as ever. “I missed you.”

Quinn swallowed hard, the lump in his throat nearly choking him. “Missed you too,” he replied, his voice cracking just slightly. He leaned in to hug you, his arms wrapping around you with a desperation that he hoped you wouldn’t notice. But even as he held you close, the guilt gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the mess he’d made.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with those eyes that always seemed to see right through him. “You okay? You seem…off.”

“Yeah, just tired,” Quinn lied, his smile faltering for a moment. “It’s been a long morning.”

Quinn watched your expression as you searched his face, and he felt a pang of anxiety strike deep in his gut. He couldn’t remember a time when lying to you had felt so awful. You were the one stable thing in his chaotic life, the person who always knew him better than he knew himself. And now, all he could do was lie to you, feeding you half-truths like they were the easiest thing in the world. The guilt twisted in his stomach like a knife.

“I get it,” you said, giving him a small, understanding smile that made him feel even worse. “Traveling always wears you out.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he said, trying to muster a laugh that sounded more like a cough. He reached for your suitcase, needing something to do with his hands. “Here, let me grab that for you.”

As he lifted the bag, he could feel your eyes on him, studying him. He turned his head slightly, avoiding your gaze, afraid that if he looked at you for too long, he might break down right there in the middle of the station.

The two of you walked toward the exit, and Quinn’s mind raced, trying to find a way to change the subject, to steer the conversation away from any topic that might reveal just how messed up he was feeling inside. He felt like he was standing on a tightrope, trying to balance between the truth and the lies, between who he was and who he pretended to be.

“So, how was your trip?” he asked, hoping to sound casual, but his voice came out a little too high-pitched, like a teenager caught sneaking in past curfew. “Everything go okay?”

“It was fine,” you replied, glancing at him sideways, deciding not to tell him about the woman with the accent who preached how much men sucked. “Kind of boring, actually. I kept thinking about you.”

Quinn’s heart sank. Of course, you were thinking about him. You always were. And here he was, thinking about someone else. His stomach twisted with a fresh wave of nausea.

“Yeah?” He forced a grin, trying to keep the mood light. “You didn’t have too much fun without me, did you?”

You laughed, the sound like a melody he didn’t deserve to hear. “Not a chance. You’re the fun one, remember?”

Quinn managed a weak chuckle. “Yeah, right. Me, fun. That’s a good one.”

As you two stepped outside, the warm air hit him, and he took a deep breath, hoping to clear his head. The sunlight was blinding, making him squint as he tried to navigate through the crowds. He was grateful for the distraction, for anything that would keep him from focusing on the dark cloud hanging over his head.

Quinn tried to focus on the city around him, on the way the skyscrapers loomed overhead, their glass windows reflecting the blazing sun. He tried to lose himself in the noise of the traffic, the blaring horns and the distant chatter of people passing by. Anything to distract him from the overwhelming guilt clawing at his chest. He wished he could just disappear, sink into the pavement, and let the earth swallow him whole.

As you reached the hotel, Quinn fumbled with his key card, his hands shaking so badly he could barely swipe it. You gave him a puzzled look, and he managed a weak smile, hoping you couldn’t see the panic in his eyes. The door finally clicked open, and he hurried inside, dropping your suitcase by the bed.

“Home sweet home,” he said, trying to sound cheerful, but his voice cracked, betraying him. He turned away, pretending to adjust the air conditioning, but really just needing a moment to collect himself. The room felt stifling, the walls closing in on him, each breath a struggle.

You wandered over to the window, gazing out at the city below. “It’s a nice view,” you said softly, and Quinn’s chest ached at the sound of your voice. You were always so kind, so thoughtful, and here he was, lying to you every step of the way. He hated himself for it.

“Yeah, it’s… something,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling the tension coil up his spine. He knew he needed to tell you, to come clean about everything, but the words felt like lead in his throat, heavy and impossible to get out. How could he explain something like this? How could he make you understand when he didn’t even understand it himself?

He took a step closer to you, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it. He hesitated, his hand hovering over your shoulder, before finally giving in and wrapping his arms around you from behind. You leaned back into him, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, breathing in your scent, feeling the familiar warmth of your body against his. It was almost enough to make him forget, to pretend that everything was okay, that he hadn’t completely screwed up the best thing in his life.

Almost.

“Quinn, are you sure you’re okay?” you asked again, turning in his arms to face him, your brows furrowed in concern. Your eyes searched his face, and he felt like you could see right through him, like you knew every dirty secret he was trying to hide.

“I…” He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “I need to tell you something.” His voice was barely a whisper, the words sticking to his throat like glue.

“What is it?” You tilted your head, looking up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and he felt like the worst person in the world. How could he do this to you? How could he destroy everything you had together?

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he leaned down and kissed you, hard and desperate, like a drowning man grasping for air. You gasped in surprise, your hands coming up to cup his face, and for a moment, he lost himself in the kiss, in the feel of your lips against his, soft and familiar and everything he didn’t deserve.

When he finally pulled back, he was breathing heavily, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his voice breaking. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You blinked, confusion etched across your features. “Quinn, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

“I messed up,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I messed up so bad, and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even know if I can.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and Quinn felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. He wanted to hold you, to comfort you, but he knew he had no right. Not after what he had done.

“I need you to know that I love you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I love you so much, and I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“What did you do?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Quinn took a deep breath, his hands shaking as he tried to steady himself. He knew he couldn’t keep lying, couldn’t keep hiding the truth from you.

You deserved better than that.

You deserved so much more than he could ever give you.

[luveline]

maybe miguel with shy spider girl who never holds eye contact with him and he calls her to is office alone for info and she’s just a mess? idk 😭😭

“Miguel wants to see you.” 

You smile at Peter B. Parker. It is not a natural nor authentic smile. “Sorry,” you say, “what?” 

“Miguel, the big guy! He wants to see you. You reported that weird bubble on 265, right?” Peter’s chewing on gum obnoxiously, seemingly unwise to your panic. Mayday giggles in his arms. “He wants your opinion.” 

“I've never spoken to him.” 

Peter laughs jovially as Mayday climbs up his front and almost topples down the back of him. “He's a nice guy, you'll like him. Hey, you want some gum?” 

You take a stick of gum but don't chew it, the strip of Juicy Fruit powdering your fingers as you ride the elevator up to Miguel's laboratory. You barely know where it is, only that it's in a general direction of which you've never walked in. You haunt the dorms and the library rather than the workshops, content in your quiet life (as quiet as it can be, considering). Every step you take down the red lit hall to his lab is brimming with the want to turn back. 

There's a platform set on the floor decorated by computers. You can't tell what's holographic and what's physical, but Miguel O'Hara is undeniably solid. His shoulders alone look thick as a tree trunk where he stands in the midst of it all. 

You know it will be less painful to just… say hello. You put your Juicy Fruit in your pocket and clear your throat quietly. 

“Mr. O'Hara?” 

He waves his hand at you without looking. “Miguel is better. Come here.” 

You struggle up onto his raised laboratory. Would it have hurt to build a step? 

“Spider-Girl from earth 1421. Yes?” 

“Y/N,” you say. “Yeah, that's me.” 

He looks up at that, like your name is a curse word, or a surprise. You meet his eyes for as long as you're able to before your gaze crawls to his chest. 

“And you saw the distension on 265?” 

“Distension… um, you mean when the air looked like it was bubbling?” 

“What were you doing when it started? Just give me a run down.” 

You clasp your hands together tightly. You feel silly in your suit because somebody convinced you that it was okay to wear stuff on top, so now you're in this big silly hoodie while Miguel stands waiting in his officials. You'd always thought it was nanotechnology, but closer it seems more like a fabric with chameleon technology, or—

“What were you doing when it started?” he asks again, softer now. “You're not in trouble, I just need to get a sense of what happened.”  

“I know, I– we were there to– to–” You wince. “To capture an anomaly, Doc Ock 83.” Your hands start to tremble, you're so nervous. “But we had a hard time finding him, he wasn't doing much, and the– bubble started not long after getting there.” 

“Was it a precursor to anything? Did something significant happen after it began?” 

“Um–” You can't think. What happened? You'd been standing on the street between the last reported sighting of the anomaly with your small team. You're a competent bunch but you only ever get called in for the weak guys, and you weren't sure what to do when things got weird. “I'm sorry, I don't know.” You peek at him, worried he's going to snap at you. 

“Just take some time to think about it.” 

He smiles —Miguel smiles at you, a juxtaposition to every rumour you've ever heard about him— and takes a step toward you, gesturing at your hoodie. You freeze up, worse when his fingertips point at the hem of it. 

“Do you have your drone?” 

You flush a hundred degrees hot and pull your hoodie up your chest to click the panel of your drone where it dents over your heart. It breaks free, flying up into the air above your head on automatic. Miguel grabs it out of the air and takes it over to his computer, where he syncs the sim and looks through your recordings. He isn't so cruel as to play them without permission, deferring back to you.

You raise your hand and tap the file. 

It starts with you talking to yourself. “There's no… what alley was he…” You scrub forward to the middle of the video, just before the distension begins. “Hey, do you see that?” you ask your teammates.

Miguel leans forward. He's standing very, very close to you, and he talks quietly so as not to overcloud the sound on screen, “Here. Does this jog your memory?” he asks. 

You look away from him again. But, now he's asked, and now you've seen it, there was something unfamiliar. “After it appeared, the anomaly changed. Doc Ock didn't look like himself. I thought I was seeing things, but here–” You rewind the video and point at the outline of Doc Ock against the bubble. “See? He's different. He looks paler.” 

Miguel glares at the screen in concentration. Your comparison must impress him, though it doesn't solve the problem. “Alright,” he says as he copies the file from your drone. You summon it back to your heart. “The next time one of these is reported, I want you to come with me.” 

“Oh. Why?” 

“Because six people went to that dimension and only one of them flagged this. You have a sharp eye. When you deign to use them.” 

You bring your gaze up in a rush, “I– I'm just nervous–” 

“I know.” He smiles at you again, not at all the prey versus predator grin you'd imagined, but a more private smile as though you're sharing a joke. He looks at once like a normal man. Is he flirting with you? “Keep your communicator on, hm? I'll call for you.” 

“Okay.” You don't know what to do, so you offer him a smile of your own. “See you then.” 

He chuckles into himself as though he knows something you don't. “See you, nerviosa.” 

You wouldn't need to know Spanish to know he's teasing you. 

[stayteezdreams]

Scenarios: Whump {Ateez x Gn!Reader}

Scenarios: Whump; how they would take care of you and react to you taking care of them.

Pairings: Kim Hongjoong x Reader; Jeong Yunho x Reader; Choi San x Reader & Song Mingi x Reader (All Gn!Readers)

Requested By Two Different Anons (during Milestone Event)

Warnings: Mentions of illness/sickness, injuries, general whump stuff.

A/N: Thank you to everyone for waiting patiently for me to get back into finishing the requests I got for the milestone event. <3 If anyone wants the other 4 members for this let me know!

Words: ~1.2k

Kim Hongjoong:

When Hongjoong is sick or hurt, he doesn't tell you how bad it is so you don't worry.

But you find out anyways (usually after interrogating Seonghwa)

Hongjoong likes to take care of you, and doesn't want you to worry too much over him.

But you don't listen to him.

When he hurt his knee during dance practice, though it wasn't serious, you still offered to help him.

You got him things around the dorm.

Reminded him to take his pain killers, massaged him, ran him a hot bath, etc.

Though he felt bad about you taking the time to help him, he really did adore the way you took care of him.

He always returns the favor in kind, when you get sick or hurt.

Though you tend to take care of him with gentle softness, he is a bit more forceful (in a loving way).

"Don't you dare try and get that yourself."

"If I come back and you aren't still in bed you wont get any food."

"Take your medicine or I am leaving."

It's never really mean, and always has a tinge of humor to it, and you know it's cause he hates that you are hurt/sick.

The worst thing he can imagine is you being hurt, so he tries his best to make you better faster, or to distract you so you aren't suffering.

He is also very very sweet when you are sick or hurt.

Cuddles just for you, gentle massages or fingers through your hair.

Bubble baths, kisses, etc. Anything he knows would made you feel better.

Jeong Yunho:

Yunho adores how you hover over him when he is sick or hurt.

He watches you with an adoring smile as you carefully read the directions and warnings of his medication and barely listens as you explain it to him.

He is so distracted by how cute he thinks you are that he forgets he is sick or hurt in the first place.

TOTALLY uses it against you.

"What do you mean you're leaving? " I just need to go get some things from the store." "What am I supposed to do then?" "I'll only be twenty minutes you'll be fine."

Hits you with the 🥺🥺🥺 and you can't help but give in.

Takes full advantage of having you around, cuddles that he refuses to end, hot baths he insists you have to share with him.

Everything you do for him when he is hurt/sick will be returned in kind.

You get a cold?

He buys every medicine he can find, twenty types of tea, cute stuffed animals, soups, etc..

He is checking your temperature, brining you cold rags to wipe your head. And the whole time he has a pout on his face.

Because he can't stand you being upset or sick.

Wishes he could trade places with you.

Doesn't care of he gets sick from cuddling with you.

"Then we will be sick together."

If you are hurt, ooohh booyyyy, pout x100.

Doesn't let you do anything.

You could hurt your wrist and he won't let you walk around.

"It could get worse!" "My wrist?" "Yes!"

You both hate when the other is suffering, but love the domesticity of taking care of one another.

Choi San:

Similar to Yunho, San loves how much you care for him when he is sick or injured.

Acts like a baby if you aren't giving him enough attention.

Steals kisses anytime you are close.

"You're gonna get me sick!""

"Then it will be my turn to take care of you."

If you are gone for too long he will text you with dramatic ass texts.

"I think I'm dying." "Why?" "My chest hurts." "WHAT?" "Because you aren't here." "Boy I swear to GOD."

Sweet smile the whole time you are taking care of him, even if he is miserable he feels like he is in heaven.

Changes your contact name to Cute Nurse. Does not change it back once he get's better.

When he finds out he did end up getting you sick, he actually feels really bad. But does as he says, and takes care of you this time.

Changes his name in your phone to Doctor Sexy, does not want you to change it back.

If either of you are hurt from an injury, taking care of each other becomes routine.

San will drag out his injury, pretending it's worse than it is just so you stay.

And as an excuse to get more shared baths out of you.

You of course see right through him.

However, if you are injured, he is so afraid to hurt you he barely comes near you.

"San, it's fine I promise." "But what if I hurt you?" "Then be gentle. I promise cuddling with me will not make my concussion worse."

Super delicate and caring with you when you are hurt.

Will fight the other's if they try to mess with you.

Makes you promise not to get hurt again.

Song Mingi:

Mingi says he doesn't want you wasting your time looking after him.

But you know he secretly loves you being around more often when he is sick/hurt.

You can tell by the soft smile on his face as he is watching you fuss after him.

Showers you with compliments because he adores you.

"You're so cute." "You'd make a great nurse/doctor." "But I don't want you taking care of anyone else." "Maybe I should by you a uniform"

Tries not to abuse the power he as over you when he is hurt/sick, but does use it as an excuse to make you stay with him.

"What if I wake up in the middle of the night and need help?" "Then I guess I'll have to stay." "I guess you will."

You are really good at consoling him when he is injured and misses out on some band activities.

You distract him with games, and keep him occupied. And he loves you so much for it.

Such a baby when it comes to you being hurt or sick.

Pouting constantly, wants to wrap you up and keep you safe from the world. Because how DARE you get hurt.

Many, many, gentle kisses to make you (and himself) feel better.

When you are sick he is not sure what to do or how to take care of you, but bless him he is trying his best.

"Here's your medicine." "Why is it so hot?" "I thought you were supposed to warm it up?" "Its cough medicine not tea."

But when you accidentally roll your ankle when on a jog, he knows exactly how to take care of you.

Is a bit over the top about it though.

And by that I mean he will carry you literally everywhere.

Need to go get water? He wont bring it to you, but he will carry you bridal style to the fridge so you can get it yourself.

He thinks it funny. You think it's ridiculous, but in a very cute way.

xx End xx

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[waughymommy]

MOMMY KNOWS BEST

Chapter 4 (last chapter, THANKS FOR READING AND THE ENCOURAGEMENT..)

            Sunday dawned and Rebecca stirred. She looked over at her baby and smiled, “Good morning cutie pie.” She tickled his belly. “How did my baby sleep?”

            “I swept otay,” Brian lisped around the pacifier in his mouth. He was getting a little more comfortable with her seeing him acting a little more childish. But in the back of his mind, he was still waiting for this to all bite him in the ass. Was she really serious about me using my diapers? What if his friends or family found out, or worse his coworkers? He spit out his pacifier and sat and jumped out of bed.

            “Where are you going Brian?” Rebecca asked.

            “I have to go take a piss, sweetheart….” he quickly realized his mistake. “Mommy, I’m sorry mommy. Please don’t spank me.”

            “I’ll let it slide this time mister. But call for me when you are done going pee-pee and mommy will help you get dressed for the day.”

            This was going to take a lot of getting used to, “Ok.” He flushed and made his way back into the bedroom.

            “I didn’t hear you wash your hands. You aren’t a total baby yet. Turn around and wash your hands now,” Rebecca said in a tone suggesting he had better do as she said.

            “Sorry mommy.” He washed up and returned, but this time he came back to her holding up a pull up. He stopped dead in his tracks. He didn’t see anyway in getting out of this.

            “I know we talked about diapers last night, but I’m still working on getting all the things my baby needs. So for now, I want you to wear this pull up. It’s very important that if you need to go potty you tell me and mommy will take you, ok?” Rebecca knew all too well that his embarrassment and frankly, his stubbornness, would make it difficult for him to ask. Would he be so childish and wet his pull up just so he didn’t have to ask? The thought of him losing control and helplessly wetting like a baby sent a chill down her body. “Ok, step in and then we will get you dressed.”

            Brian complied, stepping into the pull and she quickly pulled them up to his waist. She selected a pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt and got him dressed for the day. He felt so small having her do this for him. As embarrassing as it was, it felt so good too. After putting on his socks and shoes, she clipped his pacifier to his shirt. “You better not remove this. Now move that butt to the living room. Mommy will let you watch tv while I get myself dressed. And then after that we will be going out. Mommy wants to go shopping.”

Brian plopped himself down on the couch, “Can I watch the news?”

            “Absolutely not. That is not for babies,” she flipped through the channels. “Oh look, Bubble Guppies. Let’s watch that. And Brian, you need to sit on the floor. I would hate for my baby to fall off the couch and get hurt.”

            This felt absolutely ridiculous. For a moment, he considered protesting, but remembered the spanking he had the day before. He slid down from the couch onto the floor. He could feel the padding of the pull up. Although he had always wanted to be a baby, it had always been so hard to shut off his adult thoughts. He loved the idea of watching these childish shows, but his adult brain prevented him from really enjoying. He heard his wife doing something in the kitchen. She returned a moment later with a sippy cup in hand.

            She extended the cup to her husband, “Now I want baby to drink his apple juice. It better be all gone by the time I finish getting dressed. I think you know what will happen if you don’t.” Brian accepted the sip with both hands and brought it to his mouth. He started sucking and soon he tasted the sweet juice. He turned his attention back to the television. Maybe it was the bright colors or the rhythmic sucking on the sippy cup, but Brian felt a wave a childish pleasure sweep over him. He found himself enthralled with the show and lost all track of time.

            Rebecca finished getting ready and walked out to check on Brian. She paused when she saw him in his trance, so sweetly watching tv. She walked over and placed her hand on his shoulder. Her touch startled him and he broke out of his trance. “I’m so proud of my baby,” she cooed. “Is my baby ready to go?” She took the sippy cup from him and put his pacifier in. The pleasurable feeling coursed through him again and he let her guide him out the door and into the car. He started to open the door to the front seat. “Silly baby, you are far too little to sit up in the front seat.” She ushered him into the back seat and buckled him in. She made a mental note to research car seats. She produced another sippy cup and instructed him to finish this one. What Brian failed to notice was the diaper bag Rebecca placed in the passenger seat. She adjusted her mirror, “Is my baby hungry?”

Thank you all for reading from chapter 1 and if you haven't read chapter 1, please go to my page and read for Fantasy and enjoy all...

REMEMBER, BE SPECIAL, BECAUSE EVERY BABY IS SPECIAL ❤️❤️💖💖🍼😘..