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nanamineedstherapy · 23 days ago

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The Quiet After

Lima Syndrome/Yandere Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

Summary: You hated him. He loved you for it. But hate stains—and gods don’t bleed. A/N: I had a nightmare about Gojo like this a few months ago.

I. The First Flight

The first time you saw Gojo Satoru, he wasn't a man.

He was a ghost with white hair and ice-burn eyes, descending from the sky on colossal green wings that dripped black feathers and bone fragments onto the ruined streets below. His talons had shredded through the city’s defenses with lazy ease, twisting steel and human bone with the same detached cruelty.

It wasn’t a battle. It was a warning.

You had been kneeling beside the dying heir of the Varis house when Gojo landed, half-shrouded in feathers, the green tint of his owl form reflecting a sickly sheen against the scorched pavement. The heir's blood pooled beneath your knees. His lips were pale and trembling.

The house had been a last hope — the only power left in Japan capable of standing against Gojo’s rule. When Gojo tore through their gates, their legacy ended with the dying breath beneath your hands.

"I’ll do it," you whispered.

The old woman had been trembling behind you, too frail to speak. The heir coughed wetly, blood spilling over his chin.

"I’ll become the Varis."

You didn’t know why you said it. You barely understood what it meant. You weren't even part of that family.

Behind you, Gojo smiled. A slow, cruel curl of his lips.

"How touching," he said, his voice light as feathers. "Too bad you won’t live long enough to regret it."

He had already extended his hand toward you when the old woman’s trembling fingers pressed a ring to your palm.

It burned through your skin. Through your bones.

And then you felt it—a shattering, a splitting—the pressure of something vast and ancient shoving itself beneath your ribs and into your bloodstream. Your vision swam with green light. Feathers curled from your skin. You screamed as your body rearranged itself beneath the weight of cursed energy that wasn’t yours.

Gojo's smile sharpened.

"Interesting."

II. The Breaking

You tried to run.

You begged the neighboring countries for help. They sent weapons and cursed objects — even the damned Shackles of Tenmei — but they couldn’t send people. No one could touch Japan now, not with Gojo’s domain smothering the country like a rotten lung.

You fought Gojo for six months.

You learned to shift your body into a half-bird form. Your feathers were brittle. Your wings strained under the weight of your body. Flying hurt. Everything hurt. But you fought.

You cornered him once. Just once.

The shackles of Tenmei glowed white-hot in your hands as you lunged for him. Gojo’s smile was sharp as glass as he stepped aside — and let you snap them around his wrists.

His eyes widened when the cursed energy cut off.

For the first time in six months, you saw fear in Gojo Satoru’s eyes.

"Did you think," you hissed, "that you would always win?"

Gojo didn't answer. He only watched as you shoved him to his knees.

You were panting. Sweating. The ring of the Varis house throbbed painfully around your finger. Gojo’s head was bowed, silver hair dripping over his eyes. His smile was gone.

"I’m going to kill you," you said.

Gojo’s breath hitched — a sharp, strange sound.

Then he started laughing.

You hesitated.

Gojo lifted his head, smiling lazily despite the blood at the corner of his mouth.

"You should have killed me faster."

A sickening crunch.

Gojo’s arm twisted behind him, bones bending at an unnatural angle — and then the cuffs snapped open.

You didn’t even see him move before he had you pinned to the ground beneath the sharp points of his claws.

"You," he whispered, green feathers curling down his back, "are going to regret that."

The last thing you saw before the darkness swallowed you was the slow, deliberate curl of his smile.

III. The Nest

Fifteen children.

Fifteen.

And you were pregnant again.

Your body ached. Your swollen belly stretched beneath Gojo's palm as he curled his hand over your skin, his thumb tracing lazy circles over the rise of your pregnancy.

You stared at the ceiling.

The room was quiet, except for Gojo’s slow, measured breaths. His wings were tucked against his back, green feathers curling over the sheets. His mouth was pressed lazily against your shoulder.

"You're doing so well," he murmured, voice a low purr against your skin.

You didn’t respond.

You had stopped responding a long time ago.

His hand drifted to your belly. His fingers tightened. You felt the babies inside you shifting restlessly, the weight of them pressing into your ribs.

"You’ll give me strong ones this time," Gojo said softly.

Your eyes blurred with tears.

It had been years. The children — your children — bore Gojo’s white hair and blue eyes. They followed him like shadows, mimicking his smile. They touched their wings and called him father with that same dangerous reverence you once held for the gods.

You didn’t touch them.

You couldn’t.

Gojo kissed your shoulder. His hand slipped to your hip, holding you steady as he rolled closer.

"You’re shaking," he murmured. "Does it hurt?"

You bit your lip. Said nothing.

Gojo chuckled softly. "You’ve gotten so quiet."

You turned your head toward the window. The curtains were closed. He never let you see the outside anymore.

His lips brushed against your throat.

"I’ll give you another one," he said softly. "You can carry another, can’t you?"

Your hands clenched into the sheets.

"You love me, don’t you?"

You closed your eyes.

His hand slid down your stomach. His mouth curled into a smile against your neck.

"You must."

You didn’t answer. You knew better than to answer.

Gojo’s hand curled over your hip. His breath warmed your throat.

"You love me," he whispered.

You stared at the ceiling.

And Gojo smiled.

IV. The Copper

The sky outside was green. The sun had long since disappeared beneath the weight of Gojo’s barrier. The air was always thick with cursed energy—it left a copper taste at the back of your throat.

You sat on the balcony, hands curled over your belly.

There was movement inside you. Small, sharp kicks against the inside of your ribs. Your mouth twisted. Your throat burned.

The door slid open behind you.

Gojo leaned against the frame, green feathers curling down his back. His eyes glittered in the dark.

"You’re awake," he said.

You said nothing.

Gojo crouched behind you, resting his chin against your shoulder. His hand slipped around your waist.

"You know," he murmured, "it’s going to be a boy this time."

You stared at the sky.

"I can feel it," he said. His hand pressed over the swell of your stomach. "Strong cursed energy. Just like his father."

Your mouth twisted.

Gojo’s hand curled possessively over your hip. His lips brushed against your ear.

"I’ll make you proud," he whispered.

Your eyes were empty.

"I don’t care," you said.

Gojo smiled.

"I know."

POV: Gojo Satoru

I. The First Sight

Gojo Satoru didn’t believe in fate.

He believed in inevitability.

The first time he saw you, kneeling in the wreckage of the Varis house, blood soaking the hem of your dress, he knew—with the cold certainty of a man who had never failed—that you were his.

It wasn’t love.

Love was for humans. For lesser things.

But inevitability—inevitability was for gods.

And he was a god.

You weren’t even supposed to be there. You were nobody. A last-minute survivor, clinging to the ruined legacy of a house that had already died. Yet when you stood, trembling and unarmed, between him and the dying heir—there had been something in your eyes that made him hesitate.

Fearless. Defiant.

Arrogant.

You didn’t beg. You didn’t cry. You stood there, back straight, staring down at the strongest sorcerer in the modern era with nothing but a ring clutched in your fist.

It was almost insulting.

And then the ring flared. The cursed energy shot up like a wildfire through the air—and you screamed as green feathers erupted from your skin.

You dropped to your knees. Blood pooled beneath your hands.

Gojo smiled.

"Interesting."

II. The Hunt

You ran.

It was cute.

You begged other nations for help. You pleaded with diplomats. Cursed weapons, sealed scrolls, objects of immense power were smuggled into Japan — all to stop him.

It was a joke.

There was no weapon in this world that could stop Gojo Satoru.

But you kept trying.

Kept fighting.

And Gojo — well, Gojo was patient.

He watched you for months. Let you think you were making progress. He let you feel the edges of victory beneath your fingertips — and then pulled it away just as you reached for it.

When you shackled him with the Tenmei cuffs, when you slammed him into the ground, he had smiled even as the cursed energy flickered out from beneath his skin.

"You should have killed me faster," he had whispered.

He had let you think you won.

He had let you taste the edge of his throat beneath your blade.

And then he had broken your wrist. Snapped the cuffs. Pinned you to the floor beneath the weight of his body as you screamed and thrashed and cursed his name.

"You really thought," he had whispered against the corner of your mouth, "you could win?"

He took his time with you after that.

He didn’t have to. He could have killed you the second the cuffs came off. Could have crushed your pretty little skull beneath his heel and been done with it.

But he liked watching you break.

He liked watching you struggle beneath him, wings half-formed and fragile as glass. He liked seeing the hatred in your eyes every time he touched you.

That hatred — that loathing — made you his more than any vow ever could.

He fucked you after that. Made you bear his mark, his children—because what better way to destroy you than to remake you?

He made you his temple. His altar.

Your children carried his face. Your body carried his scars.

And you hated him for it.

That hatred... it made him hard.

It made him love you.

III. The Nest

Fifteen children.

Fifteen.

You were pregnant again.

Gojo laid his hand over your belly, feeling the restless shift of life beneath his palm. His eyes flicked up to your face — pale beneath the moonlight. Your lips were slightly parted. Your lashes fluttered.

Beautiful.

"You’re shaking," he murmured, brushing his thumb over your navel. "Does it hurt?"

You didn’t answer.

Your hand curled over your stomach. Your breath hitched.

Gojo leaned closer, brushing his mouth over the swell of your belly. "You’re doing so well," he whispered.

You hated him.

He could feel it.

That hate coiled beneath your skin like a second heartbeat. You never said it aloud — but you didn’t need to.

You didn’t touch the children. You didn’t name them. You flinched when they called you mother.

He loved that.

Because the more you hated them — the more you hated him — the more he knew you would never leave.

Hate was permanent.

Love fades.

But hate… hate stains.

And Gojo liked leaving stains.

IV. The Offer

"You’re quiet today," Gojo murmured, pressing his lips to the curve of your neck. His hand drifted down, fingers curling possessively over the curve of your hip.

You sat stiffly beneath him, hands folded in your lap. Your belly was swollen beneath the thin fabric of your dress.

Gojo’s mouth curled into a slow smile. "Tired?"

You didn’t respond.

"Or are you thinking about running again?"

You flinched. Your throat worked.

"…No."

Liar.

Gojo’s hand drifted lower. His fingers curled beneath the hem of your dress. He felt you stiffen. Your hands trembled.

"I could forgive you," Gojo murmured. "If you tried."

Your breath shuddered.

Gojo smiled against your throat. "But you wouldn’t like the consequences."

You pulled away — or tried to. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you still. His smile sharpened as you froze beneath him.

"Would you like to hear a secret?" he whispered.

You closed your eyes.

"No," you breathed.

Gojo’s mouth pressed against your ear.

"I’m going to keep you pregnant."

Your eyes snapped open.

"Forever," Gojo murmured, smiling. His hand pressed over your belly, his cursed energy thrumming low and dangerous beneath your skin. "I’ll fill you up again and again until you forget why you hated me."

Your hands curled into fists. Your breath hitched.

"And even if you don’t forget," Gojo whispered, "it doesn’t matter."

Your eyes burned with tears.

"You’re mine," he whispered, pressing his mouth to your temple. "Mine forever."

V. The Realization

Gojo’s hand slipped through your hair. Your face was pressed to his chest. His breath was even, steady, as you lay trembling beneath him.

You had cried. You hated yourself for it.

Gojo had smiled.

"You’re perfect like this," he murmured. "Soft. Weak."

His hand drifted down, pressing possessively over the curve of your stomach.

"I’ll give you another one soon," he said softly. "You want that, don’t you?"

You swallowed thickly. Your throat burned.

"You’re sick," you whispered.

Gojo laughed.

"I know."

Your hands curled into the sheets. Your vision blurred. You hated him. You hated this.

But Gojo knew what you didn’t.

Hate was stronger than love.

And as long as you hated him — you would never leave him.

You would never be free.

He smiled against your skin.

"Say you love me," he whispered.

You closed your eyes.

"Never," you breathed.

Gojo smiled.

"I can wait."

VI. The Nest Expands

Gojo woke to the sound of breathing.

Soft. Even. Familiar.

His arm was draped over the swell of your stomach, the warmth of your skin seeping into his palm. Beneath his hand, he could feel the quiet thrum of life — steady, persistent.

Fifteen.

You were already past the point of comfort. Your body strained beneath the weight of it. Your feet were swollen. Your back ached. You could barely walk across the room without losing your breath.

And yet you were carrying another one.

It should have been impossible. Even with his cursed energy reinforcing you from the inside out, you were human. Your body had limits.

But Gojo had broken you past them a long time ago.

He pressed his lips against your temple. You didn’t stir. You lay beneath him like a corpse, eyes closed, hands curled limply beneath the silk sheets.

Gojo smiled.

You hated him.

But you carried his children.

And that…

That was enough.

The house was too quiet.

Gojo stood beneath the high arch of the foyer, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, watching the shadows creep beneath the edges of the windowpanes.

The children were asleep. The maids had long since disappeared to their rooms. Only the sound of the winter wind howling beneath the eaves kept him company.

He tilted his head toward the ceiling. His eyes gleamed in the dark.

You had been quiet lately.

Too quiet.

Not that you talked much these days. He didn’t expect you to. He didn’t need you to. You were soft beneath him, quiet beneath him, yielding beneath him—why would you need to speak?

But it was different now.

You used to fight. Used to spit venom at him even when you were too weak to stand. Used to stare at him with loathing bright in your eyes—enough to burn through his skin.

Now you just... stared.

Silent. Cold. Empty.

He hated it.

Gojo smiled thinly, adjusting his sunglasses over the bridge of his nose.

It was fine. You were his. You weren’t going anywhere.

VII. The Flight

Gojo heard the window creak before he saw you.

You stood at the edge of the glass, hair whipping across your face, the night sky yawning dark and wide beneath your feet.

Gojo didn’t move.

His heart didn’t even quicken.

"You’re not going to jump," he said lazily.

You didn’t answer.

The feathers shimmered along your arms—that same dark green hue, iridescent beneath the moonlight. Your bare feet curled over the ledge. Your breath came thin and shallow through your lips.

"Your wings won’t carry you," Gojo murmured. "Not with my cursed energy running through your veins."

You didn’t answer.

His smile sharpened. "They’ll only take you so far before you fall."

Your eyes flicked toward him. Your face was pale beneath the cold light.

"I know."

Gojo’s brows rose. "Then why bother?"

Your eyes burned.

"Because you won’t stop."

His smile didn’t slip.

"I know."

Your gaze turned toward the sky. The feathers across your arms rippled. Your fingers tightened over the glass.

"Let me go."

Gojo’s smile turned sharp.

"No."

You laughed softly.

Of course not.

Your bare foot slipped from the ledge.

Gojo watched you fall.

Your wings flared—dark green feathers cutting through the night. You dropped beneath the edge of the window—and then the cursed energy tethering you to him snapped back with a sickening crack.

You gasped.

Gojo was already moving.

His hand shot out. His cursed energy unfurled like a net beneath you. Your body slammed into the invisible barrier—breathless—as Gojo’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you roughly to his chest.

"You," Gojo murmured, "are not allowed to die."

You shuddered.

His hand curled through your hair. His mouth pressed hotly against the side of your throat.

"Not without me."

VIII. The Forever

The house was quiet.

Gojo sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting loosely over his knees. You lay beneath the sheets—silent, face turned toward the wall.

"You’re not going to leave me," Gojo said softly.

You didn’t answer.

Gojo smiled.

"Because if you did," he murmured, "I’d have to go find you."

Your shoulders stiffened beneath the sheets.

"And I’m fast," Gojo whispered. "Faster than anyone else."

Your hand curled into the fabric of the pillow. Your breath hitched.

"Let me go," you said. Your voice was barely above a whisper. "Just… let me go."

Gojo’s hand slid to the curve of your belly. He traced the swell beneath his palm.

"You want to die?"

Your breath stilled.

Gojo smiled.

"I could do that," he said softly. "I could end it for you."

His hand curled over your stomach. His thumb brushed over the curve of your ribs.

"But I won’t."

Your hand curled tighter into the sheets.

"Because this—" Gojo whispered, pressing his mouth to your ear, "—is exactly how it’s supposed to be."

You shuddered.

"You’re mine," Gojo murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "Mine forever."

Your eyes burned.

"And you hate it, don’t you?"

Your breath hitched.

Gojo’s mouth curled into a smile.

"You hate me so much…"

His hand slid lower. His fingers curled beneath the edge of your shirt.

"And you’re still carrying my children."

You jerked beneath his hand.

"You hate me," Gojo whispered, "but you keep giving me more."

Tears slid down your cheeks.

Gojo’s smile widened.

"That’s what makes you perfect."

IX. The Nest (Again)

The house was quiet.

Gojo stood at the edge of the nursery, watching as you tucked the twins beneath the blankets. Your hand shook. Your breath came thin and shallow through your lips.

Gojo tilted his head. "Tired?"

You didn’t answer.

You turned toward him. Your face was pale beneath the soft light. Your mouth parted—and then closed again.

Gojo’s smile softened.

"You’re doing well," he murmured.

Your hands tightened at your sides. Your breath hitched.

Gojo’s hand curled beneath your chin.

"You hate them," he whispered.

Your eyes filled with tears.

"No," you said.

Gojo smiled.

"Liar."

Your breath hitched.

Gojo’s mouth brushed against your temple.

"I’ll give you another one soon," he whispered.

You stiffened.

"Don’t—"

Gojo smiled.

"I already have."

Your breath froze in your throat.

Gojo’s hand curled possessively over your stomach.

"You’re mine," he whispered. "Forever."

Tears slid down your cheeks. Your hands trembled at your sides.

"Please," you whispered.

Gojo’s smile widened.

"No."

Gojo stood at the edge of the nursery as you curled beneath the blankets, shaking, tears soaking through the fabric of the pillow.

His gaze softened.

"You’ll see," he whispered.

"You’ll love me eventually."

X. Silence

Gojo didn’t remember falling to his knees.

The blood was already cooling beneath his hands. Sticky. Warm. It soaked through the sheets, staining the edges of his jacket, dripping between the cracks in the floorboards.

Your body lay beneath him—pale, still, too quiet.

He pressed his hand to your face.

No breath.

No heartbeat.

The room was quiet except for the sound of the midwife’s trembling breath, the distant wail of a newborn splitting through the dark.

"Fix it," Gojo said softly.

His hand curled through your hair. His thumb brushed across the curve of your cheekbone.

"Fix it."

The midwife didn’t move.

"Satoru—" Nanami’s voice was low. Sharp. A hand clamped hard around his shoulder.

Gojo’s eyes flared. His cursed energy snapped through the room like a whip — fast enough to split bone. The midwife screamed as the force of it shattered the glass beneath her feet.

"Fix it," Gojo whispered.

"She’s gone." Nanami’s grip tightened. "Gojo—"

"Shut up."

Gojo’s mouth curled into a thin smile.

"I’ll fix it myself."

Nanami’s breath hitched.

"Satoru—"

Blue light bloomed beneath Gojo’s fingertips — thin, sharp, glimmering like glass.

"You think I can’t?" Gojo’s smile widened. His hand slid beneath your jaw.

"She’s mine."

Nanami stiffened. His hand shot toward Gojo’s wrist.

"Satoru—"

"Don’t touch me."

Nanami’s breath hitched.

Gojo’s hand tightened beneath your chin. His cursed energy rippled — thin lines of red-blue light bleeding beneath your skin.

"I’ll bring her back."

"Satoru—"

"I’ll bring her back."

His mouth pressed against your temple.

"I have to."

XI. The After

You didn’t come back.

Gojo sat at the edge of the bed, hands pressed over his face. His sunglasses were gone. His jacket was gone. His hands trembled loosely over his knees.

The house was too quiet.

Too still.

Outside the nursery, he could hear Nanami’s footsteps. The sound of the midwife’s voice murmuring low. The sound of a child’s cry.

Gojo didn’t move.

He sat in the dark, listening to the sound of nothing.

"Satoru."

Nanami’s voice cut through the quiet.

Gojo didn’t lift his head.

"Satoru."

Gojo’s hands curled through his hair. His breath stilled. His mouth parted beneath his fingers.

He laughed softly.

"She’s not gone."

Nanami stood at the edge of the doorway. His face was pale beneath the cold light. His shoulders were stiff beneath his jacket.

"Satoru—"

"She’s not gone."

Gojo’s head tilted toward the window. His eyes were empty beneath the dim glow of the streetlights.

"I can still feel her."

Nanami’s breath hitched.

"Satoru—"

Gojo’s mouth curled into a thin smile.

"I’ll find her."

Nanami’s eyes sharpened. "Satoru."

Gojo’s hand slid toward his blindfold. His breath curled beneath his throat.

"She’s still here."

"Satoru."

Gojo’s head lifted toward the window. His cursed energy rippled beneath his skin — thin lines of blue light creeping beneath his fingertips.

"I’ll bring her back."

Nanami stepped forward. His hand shot toward Gojo’s wrist.

"Satoru—"

The window shattered beneath Gojo’s hand.

XII. The Hollow Flight

Gojo didn’t sleep.

He sat at the edge of the nursery, head bowed beneath the dark. The windowpanes rattled beneath the edge of the wind. The sound of a newborn’s breath curled soft and quiet through the room.

The child lay beneath the blankets, tiny fingers curled against the curve of his chest. His breath rose and fell beneath the thin fabric. His hair was different.

Gojo’s mouth twisted.

Not like him.

Like you.

Like her.

Gojo’s hand slid toward the child’s cheek. His thumb brushed across the soft curve of skin.

The child stirred.

Gojo’s breath hitched.

Blue light flickered beneath his hand. His cursed energy bled beneath the surface of the child’s skin.

He could make it work.

He could fix it.

He just needed—

"Satoru."

Nanami’s hand curled beneath his wrist.

Gojo’s head lifted. His mouth twisted beneath the edge of his breath.

"You’re hurting him."

Gojo’s hand stilled.

His breath curled thin beneath his throat. His mouth curled into a thin smile.

"I’m not."

Nanami’s grip tightened. "You are."

Gojo’s eyes sharpened. His cursed energy rippled beneath his skin — bright blue veins of light twisting beneath his fingertips.

"Let go."

Nanami’s breath hitched.

"Satoru—"

"I said—"

The child whimpered beneath his hand.

Gojo’s breath stilled.

Nanami’s hand shot toward his wrist.

"You’ll kill him."

Gojo’s mouth twisted. His cursed energy crackled beneath his skin.

"He’s mine."

Nanami’s breath sharpened.

"He’s hers."

Gojo’s hand froze.

The child’s breath shuddered. His tiny hand curled weakly against the edge of the blanket. His mouth parted — thin, shallow breath curling through the dark.

Gojo’s mouth curled into a thin smile.

"And she’s not here."

Nanami’s breath stilled.

Gojo’s hand slid toward the edge of the blanket. His fingers curled beneath the soft fabric.

"I have to fix it."

"Satoru—"

"I have to—"

Nanami’s hand shot toward his shoulder. His fingers curled hard against the bone.

"She’s gone."

Gojo’s breath stilled.

The child whimpered beneath his hand.

"You killed her."

Gojo’s breath sharpened. His mouth curled into a thin smile.

"No."

Nanami’s hand tightened over his shoulder.

"You killed her."

Gojo’s breath twisted through his throat. His mouth curled sharp beneath his teeth.

"I didn’t."

"You did."

Gojo’s mouth twisted.

"I didn’t."

Nanami’s hand slid toward the back of his neck.

"You did."

Gojo’s hand curled into a fist.

"I didn’t—"

"You did."

The window shattered beneath the sound of Gojo’s breath.

XIII. The Quiet After

The house was quiet.

Gojo sat at the edge of the nursery. His hands were empty. His breath curled thin beneath the dark.

The child lay beneath the blankets. His chest rose and fell beneath the soft light. His mouth was open. His fingers curled weakly beneath the edge of the fabric.

Not like him.

Like you.

Gojo’s breath hitched.

His hand slid toward the edge of the blanket. His fingers curled beneath the fabric.

"I can fix it," he whispered.

Nanami’s hand curled over his shoulder.

"Satoru—"

"I can fix it."

Nanami’s grip tightened.

"She’s gone."

Gojo’s breath sharpened. His mouth twisted.

"I’ll bring her back."

"Satoru."

Gojo’s breath stilled.

The child stirred beneath his hand. His tiny fingers curled toward Gojo’s hand. His mouth opened beneath the soft light.

Gojo’s mouth parted. His hand slid toward the edge of the blanket.

"Satoru—"

Gojo’s breath curled beneath his throat.

"She’s mine."

The child’s hand curled weakly beneath his fingers.

"And so is he."

A/N: Man this nightmare just scared me for no reason. 😭 OK BUT FR… would you rather be Gojo’s darling or Nanami’s safe space??? 👀 BE HONEST. And don’t act like you wouldn’t fold for him too, y’all are NOT immune to Gojo brainrot 💀. I NEED to know what team you’re on 👹👹 — Team "I Can Fix Him" or Team "Run, Girl, RUN"???

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