#psych x you

[crazyk-imagine]

Stealing is Not the Answer, but It Could Be

Pairing: Shawn Spencer x Detective!reader

Characters: Shawn Spencer, Detective!reader, Burton "Gus" Guster, Chief Vicks, Carlton Lassiter, Buzz McNab

Warnings: Fluff, humor, Shawn being Shawn, Gus and reade being besties, Shawn trying to use his Shawn psych, Shawn trying to steal something, reader putting Shawn in his place, Shawn and Gus doing shenanigans

Word Count: 615

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You walk into the department, aiming for chief Vicks office when you hear an alarming statement from your favorite chaotic duo.

“Sometimes I think it would be easier to steal something than ask for it,” Shawn blurts out.

You owlishly blink, wondering if you heard that correctly.

“That is both frightening and alarming, Shawn.”

He turns to face you, putting on an innocent face. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to disagree.”

You look over his head to see what his buddy’s expression is. “Gus?”

He nods, gesturing to you. “I’m with her.”

“What? Gus? Aw, come on.”

He shakes his head, “I am not agreeing with you on stealing. Last time I agreed with you, we wound up in jail.”

“That was here though!”

He turns towards Shawn, “Lassie kept us there for five hours.”

“Yes, but then Buzz let us out.”

Gus shakes his head, “no, I’m not going back in there.” He stands up, whispering in your ear, “I almost had to pee in front of the other people locked up. You know how I feel about that.”

You nod, patting his shoulder to comfort him. “I know, Gus. I know.”

“Well, this has been nice.” Shawn tries to slip past you, “I’ll be off now.”

You shake your head. “Not so fast.” You hook your arm in his and pull him back. “Where do you think you’re going with the chief's favorite figurine?”

He yanks his arm from you, “how dare you! How could you even- okay, that was a little dramatic even for me but look at it.” He presses his face against the fish figurine. “It’s so cute.”

You shake your head, “put it back.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “It was just a harmless little prank."

“Harmless or not, you tried to steal in a police station, how smart is that?”

“You tell him.”

“Can it, Gus.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Shawn snorts, “ma’am? What are in the 1950’s and you're the little harmless housewife?”

“No, it’s called I have respect for those who are in a higher power than me.”

You smile at him, “thank you, Gus.”

The doors open.

“Anything I can help you three with?”

“Actually-”

You cut the psychic off and grab his arm. “Nope, thanks, chief. Keep being awesome.”

You sit him down at his dad’s desk and stand in front of him, holding a pen and a piece of paper. “Now make with your chicken scratch and write, stealing is not the answer fifty times.”

He opens his mouth to whine.

“Whine and I’ll add twenty-five.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smile, patting his shoulders, “attaboy.”

Gus covers his mouth to hide his amusement.

“Come on, Gus. Let’s go make like Shawn’s humor and scram.”

-

“Hey! Where are you two going?”

“To get some jerk chicken and a pineapple smoothie.”

“I want to come!”

“No!”

“That sounds amazing,” the pharmaceutical rep adds.

“I know right.” You close the door only to be hit with a breeze before the car shakes.

“Here. Now let’s go.”

You grab the paper. “Wow, you already, did it?”

You look in the left corner, “wait- nineteen- this is from when we were fourteen.”

“You never specified when I had to write it.”

“Shawn that’s not- that’s actually really good, you got me.”

He lets out a victory chuckle. “See, Gus. I told you; it would work.”

You gasp, “how dare you. Gus, I thought we were besties.”

“Uh- you see the thing is-”

You shake your head, “no. I’ve been betrayed enough.”

You lean against your arm, watching the world go by as he drives, unable to hide your smile as Shawn tries to bug you and tell you it was all him.  

-

Tag list

@kmc1989

[suprecorp]

*girls when it is literally eating away at their psyche* whatever

[buttercupblu]

Satoru's Psyche|Teaser

"Now…would you say that human nature led me to this? Or am I a product of the cards I've been dealt?"

🗂️Patient File: Patient Gojo has been admitted to a specialized psychiatric hospital following a compulsive massacre and assault on the city of Shibuya|Causes/triggers that led to the patient’s mental decline and subsequent carnage in Shibuya are currently speculative; however, they are suspected to be linked to a prolonged period of confinement within a cube-like structure. Information regarding the mechanics of this structure and the patient’s history remain undisclosed to the ward and the public.  🩺Job Description: You are the only nurse in Tokyo—specifically assigned by an unknown secret society related to the patient—who is able to manage and care for patient Gojo. His violent and erratic behavior has left multitudes of staff members in shambles and disarray as he quickly disposed of them one after another. But for reasons unknown—a complete mystery to yourself as well—you have somehow managed to cross Gojo's barriers and earn his approval to be his one and only caretaker. Your duties include: daily routine patient care, observation and monitoring, therapy, adherence to protocol, and thorough documentation to be directly reported to the Director at the end of every shift. Be wary: Patient Gojo exhibits characteristics consistent with an extensive history of manipulation, obsessive behavior, and charismatic engagement. The patient's ability to charm and manipulate requires that staff be particularly cautious about their own psychological well-being. Exercise heightened emotional regulation and remain professional at all times to ensure that personal feelings do not affect judgment or quality of patient care. 📋Length of Admission (w.c): 10 unpredictable intervals 💊Intake Chart (tags): Patient is prone to: sporadic fits of violence; manipulation; flirtatious conduct, verbiage, and assault; over-obsessive tendencies; fluctuating attachment styles, narcissistic dialogue, and an insatiable compulsive urge to [REDACTED]. 🏥Orientation: August 14, 2024 [OUT NOW]

doctor's angel's note: - Check the acknowledgment box (like) - Forward your copy (reblog) to accept this position. - Sign below (comment) to subscribe to the patient's weekly updates (tag list). S/O: @blkkizzat for the teaser inspo|Check out their teaser of the juicy, delectable Yakuza!Toji x Reader story that I cannot wait to get my hands on, The Nursery

[satoruxx]

suguru isn’t made for casual. he’s a “carve your name into his flesh and seal his devotion with blood” kinda guy. an “i’m for you and you’re for me” kinda guy. an “i’ll give you everything as long as you look at me” kinda guy.

casual feels like an insult to him. dedication is all he knows.

[deepspacenova]

The 5 times Sylus manhandles MC with his tail

+ the 1 time she manhandles Sylus' tail herself 🥹

[bertoyana]

Erik, what are you doing?

X-MEN: DAYS OF THE FUTURE PAST (2014)

[gattaxa]

"So just how many cases have you gotten so far, Kate Bishop?" "I'll have you know that since the inaugural opening of Hawkeye Investigations, I've taken on 5 new, definitely real, definitely paid their deposits, clients." "And how many were of cheating wives and husbands?" "...Four... BUT! One of them was about a missing guinea pig. Yeah, that one was kinda weird."

[psychesalcove]

While the others talk, we were listening to Lovers Rock ✮⋆˙

Percy Jackson x Fem. Reader synopsis: You weren't one for parties, so how you found yourself at a Hermes cabin party was beyond you. At least your crush of a couple years was also there. tw: mentions of alcohol and drugs

part of psyches fall writes – want to read some more?

a/n: holy moly guys I'm so so sorry for not posting for over a month. School has been rlly tough the last month: tests, quizzes, assignments, and all that jazz. I just couldn't find the time to write for this blog, and I didn't have much motivation to write with all my English essays I've been having to do. I hope that each and every one of you is doing well, and again, I'm really sorry about not posting for so long!! I hope that you enjoy this loves!:)

You put your plastic cup up to your lips and sipped. It wasn't the best drink, but it was expected for a Hermes cabin party. The lights were flashing from colors that ranged from red to purple, and people were gathered around with their friends, talking about whatever came to mind.

You sighed, you free hand coming up to adjust your strap on your dress. You departed from your friends a couple of minutes ago, your mind going too fast to be doing social interactions at that moment. Yu rarely went to parties that were held at camp; the main reason being Percy.

You had been harboring a crush on him since you first saw him arrive at camp. And everyone else seemed to have the same story as you--how fun. You never really spoke to him, unless you were paired up for an activity or if it was in a group setting. Not that you minded. You think that if you did have one on one conversations with him you wouldn't be able to hold them for longer than three minutes. He was also known to go to every single party that occurred at camp; hence why you didn't go very often.

Speak of the devil, Percy appeared in your eyesight as he came back into the cabin from outside. You took a deep breath and looked at the floor, opting to not look at your long-time crush and make awkward eye contact. As you stared at the old wooden floor like it held all the answers to the universe, you heard a voice from beside you.

"Hi." Percy said. You lifted your head in record time, your eyes immediately finding his. "Sorry, uhm." He lifted his arm and rubbed the back of his neck. You heard him mumble something under his breath that sounded close to 'Gods I'm really bad at this.'

"Do you need something?" You asked and facepalmed yourself mentally. The one-time Percy comes up to you and you sound offended. Great going.

"I was wondering if you would want to come outside with me?" He asked, the words rushing out fast and blending together. You scrunched your eyebrows together, not understanding why he would want you to be out there with him. Seeing your expression, he continued. "I mean, I've never really talked to you before with just you, and I thought it would be nice?"

You nodded your head before you could stop yourself, and now you found yourself walking out the cabin door with Percy. He opened it for you, smiling as you looked at him with what was probably confusion.

As the two of you walked out, the fall air immediately hit you--why you wore a short-sleeved dress was beyond you. There were a couple of picnic tables littered around the cabin, and Percy lead you to the nearest one. As you sat down across from him, he cleared his throat. "Sorry that I did that. It was probably really werid now thinking about it," He laughed, refering to your interaction in the cabin.

You smiled at him. Gods he was really cute when he laughed. "It's fine, Percy." You said, hands coming up to rub your arms as the chili air covered your body.

You watched as his eyes winded a bit, his smile becoming larger. "You know my name?" He asked, hands resting on the table and leaning closer to you.

"Everyone knows your name." You stated, ears picking up on a Sabrina Carpender song coming from the party.

His ears flushed red, and he puffed out his cheeks. "Yeah, but still..." He drawled, hands making a small movment.

You raised your eyebrow. "But what?" You giggled, watching as his face got more red.

"It means a lot when someone like you knows it," he said, rushing his words once again. It took you a second to absorb what he said, but when you did, your cheeks flushed to match his.

"What do you mean?" You questioned, your heart beating slightly faster.

"Like," He blew out a breath. "It means something when you know who I am. I know that we don't know each other very well, or like at all, but for some reason it means something." He rambled, hands making the same motion as earlier.

Before you could say anything, he continued his rant. "Anytime that we've talked, I feel like you see me for who I am and not for what I've done or what I stand for or anything like that." He sucked in a breath. "And I don't even know how I'm as attracted to you as much as I am, I don't even really know you, but I notice you and I want to know you, really, really bad." Your heart skipped a beat, eyes still widened as you watched him.

"I really like you. And I want to know you, for who you are, like you know me. And I know that you probably don't know me very well or anything, but all the times we've talked I've felt like I've known you for years." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, awaiting your response.

When you didn't say anything, he opened his eyes again and looked at you with his pretty green eyes. "And if you don't feel the same way or anything, we can pretend like this never happened and stuff." He quickly explained--as if there was a universe where you wouldn't like him, was your thought as he said that.

"I want to get to know you, too, Percy." You giggled, kind still in a bliss over the words that came out of Percy mere seconds ago. His smile came back onto his face, eyes lighting up like he just got the best news of his life.

"Okay. Thats great." He said, blowing out a breath of air as he took in your answer. "And like, we don't have to start dating or anything right away, if you don't want to. And if you don't want to date at all, cool too," He explained.

You giggled again, taking your hand away from your arms to put it over his hand. "Let's start slow," You mused, watching as he became even more red in the face.

He nodded. "Yeah, slow." Percy squeezed your hand and smiled at you. "But like, it would be really cool to call you my girlfriend," He said, smiling more as you laughed in response.

"Slow, Perce."

He giggled--one that could've been mistaken for a girl, in your response, and more specifically, your nickname for him.

[starry-bi-sky]

danny and officer martinez's relationship in "late at night, when the nightingale sings" in a nutshell:

Martinez: FREAK! GET YOUR FUCKING KID!

Battinson, on the other side of the crime scene: he don't bite

Martinez, with Nightingale firmly attached his arm, visibly biting him: YES HE DO!

*points at them* Danny is the Bugs Bunny to Martinez's Elmer Fudd.

Another Officer: i can't believe you're fighting with an actual twelve year old. Martinez: i swear to god that is not a twelve year old, that is a little hellion that crawled out of batman's shadow one dark and stormy night and decided to dedicate his existence to tormenting me. Officer: Are you really that mad about him putting a sticky note on your back-- Martinez: thats not the point

in danny's defense: the word "freak" is. a mini beserker button for him for.... obvious ghostly reasons, so like, even if its not directed at him, he still very much unappreciates Martinez's insults at Battinson. Danny may or may not be projecting.

he's not going to hurt the guy! not in any serious or permanently disfiguring way at least! But he is going to leave mean sticky notes on the square part of his spine that he can't reach, and stick salt in his 3AM Late Night Crime Scene Coffee, and kick the bottom of his heel while he's walking so he stumbles. And other petty, infuriating things that tally up and boil over, over time.

[threalcrabbysamantha]

“My Lord, the Ambassador from the Southern Water Tribe has arrived -“

*Zuko’s out of his meeting so fast, a few people swear on their lives he disappeared*

[crazyk-imagine]

The Coffee is Not the Murder Weapon

Pairing: Shawn Spencer x Plus!size!reader Characters: Plus!size!reader (aka Beans), Shawn Spencer, Burton “Gus” Guster, Carlton Lassiter, Juliet “Jules” O’Hara, Woody, Greg (the murderer), Buzz McNab (briefly mentioned) Warnings: Mentions of guns and bullets, violence, this man Greg is crazy, coffee shops should not be a place for murder plots, Woody being “prepared”, okay plot but stay for the fluff, friends to lovers, my love for writing for these peps returns Word Count: 2,466

A/N: Bad plot but I tried, and it didn’t turn out completely horrible so yay. Yes, I’m giving myself a pat on the back, don’t judge me :p

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“Push on the gas, Lassie or else someone is going to get hurt and it’s not gonna be me,” Shawn says, his voice elevated as he thinks about what could happen. 

“What’re you talking about, Spencer?” 

“Shawn, calm down and tell us what’s going on,” Juliet tried to reason with him. 

“No! I can’t- I- you just gave to trust me on this.” 

“If you want us to trust you, you have to explain what’s going on. Do you feel something?” 

“Oh my god,” Gus says, after Shawn hands him the phone. “Floor it, Lassiter!” 

“Why?!” 

Shawn rubs his hands across his face. “The barista did it. We were wrong about the manager being poisoned.” 

Juliet furrows her brows, trying to make sense of the words flying out of the psychic’s mouth. “But Woody said-” 

“He-” 

“He’s calling me,” Gus announces, showing his friend the phone. 

Shawn quickly snatches it out of his buddy’s hand, answering it. 

“Shawn, you’ll never believe the story I overheard last night when I was at the bar. So, this girl, who was close to turning thirty, although I think she was lying. Anyway, she was saying-” 

“The barista did it with one of those skinny tongue depressors.” 

“Yes! It never ceases to amaze me how well your skills are.” 

The psychic tosses the phone up in the air for his friend to catch. 

“Sounds like we have the right to arrest someone.” Carlton speeds up, maneuvering himself, safely, between cars. “Where am I going, Spencer?” 

“Where do you think?” 

“If I knew, do you think I’d be asking you?” 

“The coffee shop. Beans told me she had a shift, and our killer does too. She put it together before my visions became clearer. If we don’t get there within the next five minutes, it’s going to be a manhunt and I’ll be the first in line.” 

“We’re not going to let anything happen to her,” Juliet tells him. 

“I’ll believe it when I can see that she’s safe.” 

“Sha-” 

“We’re here. Spencer, I’m only going to say this once and only once. Do not and I mean, do not go in there.” 

“But, I can-” 

“No,” Carlton tells him before he and Juliet rush out of the car, standing by the front door with their guns in front of them before they sneak into the building. 

-

“I’m going in.” 

“Oh, no you are not,” Gus slams his hand onto the door lock. 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Sha- Shawn.” Gus makes the noise people typically make when trying to call a cat over, “psst. Psst. Shawn, no.” He gets out of the car when he realizes his friend isn’t going to follow him back towards the safety. 

The two make their way into the building, sneaking through the front door, only pausing when they hear a strange noise. 

“Are we really going to go in there, Shawn? I mean, what if he has a gun or some other weapon?” 

“That’s when you selflessly throw yourself in front of our bad guy while I, the hero, save the day.” 

“I don’t like that plan.” 

“Well, it’s the only one I have so far.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Fine, it’s not but this one makes us both look like heroes.” 

“I understand why you’re making jokes, but we need a real plan if we want to make sure Beans doesn’t get hurt.” 

The psychic sighs, “I know, Gus.” He leans off the wall, glancing back over his shoulder. “I have a plan.” 

“What is it?” 

“You stay here and I’m gonna make a distraction.” 

“Okay- wait! What?” He turns around, finding his friend nowhere near him. “Dammit Shawn.” 

-

Shawn walks around the corner, hearing clattering coming from the back and rushes forward only for you to duck behind the counter. 

“Shawn?” You stare at him with furrowed brows. “Duck. Duck.” 

“Duck?” He dives to the floor when bullets come flying through the door, breaking the glass window. He wraps his arms around you, covering your head as he pulls you closer, making sure nothing happens to you. 

Once the firing stops, you lift your head off his shoulder. 

“Do you know the way out of here?” He whispers. 

“We won’t make it without being seen. Why are you here alone?” 

“I remembered you told me this place has a really weird back entrance, so it takes a few minutes to get in here. If we stall him long enough, then maybe we can make it out of this alive while Lassie and Jules do their thing.” He stops talking and becomes quiet. “I have an idea.” 

“You are not going to try and make a conversation with him. Are you?” 

“It’s called a distraction.” 

“A terrible one, at that.” 

“I could do it.” 

You glance over his shoulder. 

“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” 

You gulp, nodding. Your former coworker, Greg, grabs your arm, yanking you away from your friend. 

“Hey. Hey! Let her go.” 

Greg shakes his head, “no, I don’t think I will.” He forces you into the nearest chair. 

“You don’t need to need to manhandle Beans like that.” 

“It’s her fault.” 

“What’s her fault?” 

“Ruining my plan and you, the psychic coming around wasn’t any help either.” 

“It sounds like you have a problem with me and not-” 

He waves the gun around in Shawn’s face. “You stay over there. She stays here.” 

You tense up at the feeling of the metal on the back of your head. 

He nods. “I’m staying over here. You don’t need to keep waving the gun around.” 

“Santa Barbara PD, drop your weapon,” Carlton says, keeping his attention on Greg. 

“I don’t think I will.” 

“You sure you want to do that?” 

“Why not? I’ve got a hostage right here,” he steps to the side, letting the officer get a view of your back. 

“Let the civilians go so we can talk.” 

“No,” he clicks the trigger of the gun. 

You close your eyes, trying not to shake as you hear everything going on behind you. 

“No,” Shawn takes a step closer, and everyone’s focus turns onto him. “Remember it was me. I’m the psychic, I know why you did it. He wasn’t giving you the proper respect, right? And he should have, you’re the one who made sure everything ran smoothly around here especially when he would take his sporadic trips. You did everything he should have done and he- he-” 

“He was gonna fire me and give my job to Janet, but she put it in her two weeks’ notice after that and then she,” he spits in your direction. “Was the next one.” 

“And, you believe she would have taken your job without hesitation?” 

Greg nods. 

Shawn nods before he starts to chuckle. “And that’s when you need to listen or pay attention to all employees because she’s a very kind woman who would never do that and I’m lucky to know... that took a minor detour, I’ll admit but it just proves that she isn’t what you created in your mind.” 

“Are you done?” Carlton asks. 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” 

That’s all the detective needed to hear as he takes another step forward. “Let her go.” 

“I don’t think I will.” 

“Greg.” 

“What are you doing?” Shawn whispers. 

“Do you know why our boss would take sudden trips?” 

“Yeah. He’s a greedy bastard who wants to blow away his money.” 

“No, his wife is sick, and she’s been in a home that specializes with her condition. She has her good days and her bad days, so when it’s not looking good, he rushes over there in case it’s going to be his last time with her.” 

“Really?” He jerks your arm. “How do you know?” 

“He told me because I found him crying in the storage closet when it was my turn to close the shop a few months ago. He trusted you, that’s why he was confident with you being in charge.” 

He lowers his hand. 

Shawn sees the way you’re eyeing your coworker and shakes his head. 

Greg drops his gun. 

You take this as your opportunity to run away from him before anything else could happen. 

Shawn pushes you behind him. 

Juliet and Lassiter do their thing, arresting him just as Gus rushes in, holding a broom as his weapon of choice. 

“Nice timing, Guster,” Carlton tells him as he passes by to put the, now, arrested man in the nearest squad car, which of course happens to be Buzz’s. 

“Is he gone?” 

“Yes, Gus. He’s gone, you can stop now.” 

The frightened man takes notice of the scene and slowly sets the broom down before sniffing as he wipes his nose. “I knew that; I was just testing you.” 

“No, you weren’t,” you chime in. 

“I’m gonna let that slide for right now.” 

“You’re so nice, Gus.” You groan, holding your side. “I think it’s time for me to get checked out.” 

Two paramedics run in, asking which of three needs to be checked out. 

All three of you answer, informing the gentleman that it’s you. Once they make sure you’re all good, they give you one last recommendation to get a full check up at the hospital to make sure you’re all good and don’t have any underlying injuries they may not have caught. 

You wave them off, “yeah, yeah,” your words fine out slurred before you pass out. 

The whole way there, everyone was worried about you, Shawn more than the others. 

-

Henry walks into the room, placing a hand on his boy’s shoulder. “When was the last time you left the room?” 

“Not once.” 

“You need to eat something, Shawn.” 

The psychic doesn’t say anything else. 

“You know, you need to eat something if you want to confess to her.” 

“Confess what?” 

“I raised you better than to play dumb, Shawn.” 

The younger man gets up out of his seat. “Fine, so maybe I do know what you’re talking about but why would I-” 

“Shawn.” 

“No, no. Don’t distract me.” 

“Shawn.” 

“Why are you-” 

“Shawn.” 

“What?” 

Henry sighs and spins his son around, leaving his boy to get the girl. 

“Oh, you’re up.” 

“I am.” 

He grabs the water by your bed and holds for you. 

“I can drink water on my own.” 

He nods, slowly placing the cup in your hands. 

“How are you?” 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” 

You set the cup down onto the table. “You could but, you’re antsy and an antsy Shawn isn’t a good Shawn.” 

“Funny.” 

“Usually, you’d have some witty comeback when I say things like that, what’s going on in your head?” 

“You could have died.” 

“But I didn’t.” 

“But you could have.” 

“I didn’t though.” 

“But… you could have and- and-” 

You slowly push yourself up, reaching out for his hand, bringing him closer. 

He’s careful as he sits down beside you. 

“What would have happened, if it did happen? Can you find it in you to explain that bit to me?” 

“You mean, other than the fact that the woman I’ve been in love with since we were kids would be dead, not much.” 

“Wha-” Your jaw drops. 

“I wouldn’t have been able to come up with a clever plan and pretend like I didn’t know how it happened even though you know when I’m lying.” 

“So, what you’re saying is you like me and you want to ask me out?” You ask, a sly smile dancing across your lips. 

“Maybe.” 

“Good.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Yep.” 

“I feel like there’s something else you have planned.” 

“Yeah, you’re gonna go find my doctor, ask when I can leave so then you can take me out on our date and fall asleep on my couch.” 

This is the first time he’s smile since this morning, and it feels great. “Don’t move.” 

“I won’t.” 

Woody rushes in with a black bag. 

You raise a brow. “Did you really think I was dead?” 

“Wha- oh this,” he points to the bag. “No, no. I was just- I thought I needed to be prepared.” 

“Get out.” 

“I’m the one who brought the flowers.” He points with a weak smile.  

“Thank you, they’re beautiful but get out.” 

“Yep, got it.” Woody manages to move out of the way before he could bump into Shawn and your doctor and continues to run out of the building. 

-

You and Shawn had a wonderful time getting dinner (with Gus driving so you could pick up the food) and dropping you guys off at your place (after being told he wasn’t invited). 

“If I’m not a part of this date, why did I drive you two to go pick up jerk chicken?” 

Shawn shrugs, “sorry, buddy.” 

You jab your elbow into his side, “I don’t know. I’m sorry, he used you. How about tomorrow we all go out and get breakfast before we head over to the station?” 

“Thank you, I think that would be a great idea.” Gus doesn’t move from his spot. 

“Do you want to take some for the road?” 

“This is why I like you.” 

“You’ve liked me being around since we met, I used to pretend you weren’t involved in whatever it was he,” you point to Shawn. “Was doing so you wouldn’t get suspended.” 

“And that’s exactly why I’m happy he’s partially your problem now.” He takes his napkin wrapped portions and waves you two off before he leaves. 

“Can we go upstairs now? It’s getting cold.” 

“Quite whining and maybe you’ll get a blanket.” 

-

He leans against the doorway as he waits for you to pull out your keys. “Is there anyway, I could persuade you?” 

The doorknob clicks, you open the door and smile at him. “No.” 

“I think you’re lying.” 

“Your psychic abilities tell you that?” 

“Maybe.” 

You roll your eyes and step inside. “Come on, I’m hungry and I’m not afraid to take the food from you.” 

“But then you’d have a starving man in your home, rummaging through your fridge searching for a pineapple.” 

“I’m not afraid to take that risk.” 

“Rude.” 

You chuckle, “hurry up and get over here. We can watch a movie.” 

“I’m getting us some drinks. I can’t die of thirst after fulfilling my need of food.” 

“Okay.” 

“And here is your drink,” he sets them down on the coffee table. “And your food.” 

You practically snatch the food from him. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

“I mean… for everything that’s happened.” 

He settles on the couch beside you, turning for you to see his soft smile. “I know.” 

You shake your head. “You’re so cocky.” 

“Only for you.” 

“I feel like I should be ending things here.” 

“But you’re not. You love me too much.” 

“Shush and watch the movie.” 

He smiles to himself, knowing he’s made you all flustered.

[futuremrscameron]

𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿 𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗎𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝗒 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋. 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾.

𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗌𝖾, 𝖽𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 (𝖽𝗎𝗁), 𝗉𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌’𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 (𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖻𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒)

𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽’𝗌 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗐𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇’𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌.

𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝖻𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝗌𝗒𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾. “𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾? 𝗂 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗂 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗒𝖺𝗅? 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗂 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽? 𝗂’𝗏𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝗇𝗈 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍.”

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄. “𝗂’𝗆 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍. 𝗂 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗏𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎.”

𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽. 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁, “𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍?”

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇. “𝖽𝗈 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍?”

𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌. “𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒 𝖽𝗎𝗆𝖻 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍. 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄. 𝗂’𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝖻𝗃𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗌.”

𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗆 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾. 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝖽𝗈 𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆. “𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒’𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂’𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾.”

𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽. “𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗂’𝗆 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗉𝗂𝖽?”

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝖾𝗈𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁 “𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗂 𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍?”

𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎, “𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂’𝗆 𝖺 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖽.”

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖼𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖽, “𝗇𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗂’𝗆 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖽. 𝗂’𝗆 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗆𝖾 𝗂 𝗀𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗌!”

𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝖿 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗂𝖼 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗍, “-𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾 𝗂 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝖽’𝗌 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗏𝖺𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂’𝗆 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗌𝗒?”

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝖾𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗑𝗁𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, “𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 ��’𝗆 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎! 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆.”

𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗌, “𝗈𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗎𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗌𝗒𝖼𝗁 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌?”

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗍𝗁 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗂𝗍. “𝗂’𝗆 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉.”

𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗌, “𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾. 𝗇𝗈 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆𝗌.” 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾, “𝗈𝗁 𝗉𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗒’𝗌 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.” 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾, “𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖾?”

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗍𝖾, “𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍? 𝗇𝗈, 𝗂- 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉”.

𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗌, “𝗒𝗈𝗎-𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉? 𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗍! 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆.” 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗌 𝗏𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀.

“𝗐𝗁𝗈’𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆?"

𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, “𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝗈. 𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗋𝗈𝗌𝖾, 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗈𝗀𝗎𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆!”

“𝗇𝗈.”

“𝗒𝖾𝗌!” 𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗌 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝖼. 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍. “𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾. 𝗂 𝗐𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝖽 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗍.” 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗈 𝗂𝗍 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗅𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌.

“𝗂’𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾, 𝗇𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋.” 𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗐𝖾𝗋.

𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. “𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗂’𝗆 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗉𝗂𝖽? 𝗂 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌. 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝗁𝗎𝗁? 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌?” 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽.

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗉 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌, “𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗂𝗍!”

𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗀𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗒𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗀𝗎𝗌𝗍. “𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆.” 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅�� 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝗎𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗌. “𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝖾.”

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗋𝗒 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗎𝗉. “𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍.” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋, “𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁. 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝖾𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋.”

𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽, 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒. 𝖺 𝗀��𝗈𝖽 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇.

“𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄, 𝗂’𝗆 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗓𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.” 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝗓𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗂𝗍 𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗆. “𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎.” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽.

“𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝖾𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌.” 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒’𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗒. 𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗍, "𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍?" 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗂𝖺.

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗋𝗈𝗇 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗉. 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗐𝗈, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗄.

"𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾𝖽?"

"𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍?"

"𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄?"

𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗄𝗌, "𝗈𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎?"

"𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾."

"𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗉 𝗆𝖾? 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗎𝗉? 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄'𝗌 𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎? 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗎𝗉?"

"𝗇𝗈."

"𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇?"

"𝗇𝗈 𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍-"

"𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝖿𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗆𝖾?" 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖼𝗈𝖿𝖿, 𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇𝗌. "𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗎𝗇𝗇𝗒?"

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝗈𝖽, "𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗁 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒. 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗒 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝖿𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎? 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗂 𝖽𝗈 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗂'𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗀𝗀𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝗂 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇? 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂'𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗋."

𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌, “𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾.”

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾'𝗌 𝗇𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌. “𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗍.” 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋.

𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒, 𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗈𝗂𝗅 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗁. “𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗌.”

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗇𝗂𝖿𝖿𝗅𝖾, “𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽.” 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗀𝗈 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽. 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, “𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖾.”

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽 “𝗂𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗂𝗍?” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽. 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄. “𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗍, 𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀-”

𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. “𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗆𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗆𝖾. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎.” 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗆, 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝖾.

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝖿𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎. “𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗍𝗌 𝗌𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗁 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍? 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗂𝗍!?”

“𝗂 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝗎𝗍 𝗎𝗉!”

“𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖾. 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇.” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗎𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇.

_______________________________________________

i really hope y'all liked this um please don't be shy to tell me how you felt, good or bad i'm open to critiques, i wanna grow (keep it classy though)

[buttercupblu]

Satoru's Psyche|Escalating

"Should I really have to suffer for my actions?"

Previous SessionSession 2 of 10|Next Session

🗂️Patient Chart Update: Patient Gojo displayed extremely flirtatious and unruly behavior during the first half of his visit. Mentions of escape and kid-napping were noted as well as enforced close proximity with his nurse. Threatening remarks were also made at the end of his lunch in response to mentions of disciplinary action. Patient is scheduled for a bath but is pending the possibility of negative punishment to instill corrective behaviors. 📋Length of Session (w.c): 8.3k out of "i said we will cross that bridge when we get to it 😊" 💊Intake Chart (tags): mild violence but no in-action descriptors, coercion, manipulation, drug use, angst, unwatched close contact and touch, nudity, mentally unstable Gojo, Nurse!Reader ✏️Doctor's angel’s note: i hope you know what you're doing, Nurse 🎼Waiting room music: Overheated|Billie Eilish

Choose wisely.

Hunger stirs in your tummy, and Gojo's words sit with you through lunch. Your spoon clinks around the bowl, stirring the soup growing colder by the second though the growls from your stomach are too obnoxious to be ignored. But your mind wanders.

You're stuck. Earlier, you were all for serving up justice on a silver platter, but now you're seriously second-guessing your "genius" idea to punish Gojo by making him someone else's problem.

As if anyone will be crazy enough to say yes.

Everyone already avoids his wing like the plague. It's kind of an unspoken fact that you are Gojo's one and only. The only staff he allows near him. Anyone else would be playing with fire.

And if someone is brave enough to willingly throw themselves into the lion's den, they definitely can't be new. New to nursing—new to the ward. High expertise is needed here. Someone seasoned—experience which you lack yourself—otherwise, they won't last a second with Gojo.

It'll be way too easy for him to make them snap, like tossing a bone to a dog.

"Persephone." Yuko brings you out of your coma.

You perk up, instinctively smiling. "Hey, what's up?"

"You tell me," she snorts. "You've been playing with your food like break isn't over in 10 minutes." She touches your arm. "Everything ok?"

It's written all over your face, huh? You could deflate right now.

This is why Yuko is your favorite co-worker. Always reading you like a book without you needing to say a word. Quick to call anything off out.

Leaning back in your chair, you huff, rubbing circles into your temples to relieve the headache you didn't know you had.

"Yeah, yeah," you begin, "It's just—" You stop, her eyes hold so much concern and you've barely opened your mouth. Not sure if you should now because you know what kind of person Yuko is.

And if she knew even half of what you don't tell her during your lunch breaks spent complaining about work, she'd hang Gojo out to dry if she could. She often makes it very clear she hates you have to deal with him at all.

"—I'm just a bit tired. Gojo's scheduled for a bath later, him and two others. Gojo's easy but...I don't know. I feel slower than usual today. Definitely won't get home until late, again, because of all these sponge baths." You cringe at the last part.

Aside from trying to keep Yuko cool, you also don't want to risk the news getting back to the Director who could take you off of Gojo completely. No one else can take your place. And who knows what would happen if you disappeared from his roster for good?

How would his threats manifest?

Yuko scoffs, waving her hand.

"Gojo and easy do not go together," and you both shake your heads and laugh. "But I get it. You did come in super early."

"Thought there'd be less of us," you sigh.

"Sonya's been on our asses lately, right? But hey, she finally got us all here."

"A little too late. The damage is done," you pout, resting your elbows on the table, realizing you've accidentally grown used to chaos and ever-changing schedule.

You routinely plan ahead to make sure you can stand up when people fall short. Constantly putting yourself on the back burner seems to be a thing that always set you back.

"Sooo, you just need rest, ya? Nothing else? Gojo—" there she goes "—been 'okay' with you lately?"

Your heart skips. "Ya. he isn't so bad today," you lie, "I'd just love to be home on time for once. Maybe even a bit early, I'm soo close. Overtime's been wringing my neck for weeks."

Yuko looks at you with puppy dog eyes. And not in a "I feel sorry for you" kind of way, but one that almost makes you feel bad for not telling her the whole truth.

"Here," she pushes your soup towards you, "How about I do Gojo's bath and you get an early start on my last two? That way you can at least binge that show you won't shut up about later." She smiles.

You immediately protest.

There's no way you can do that to her.

Yuko never even crossed your mind and was far from your first pick, not because she can't handle him but because she's your friend. Not just a colleague, but someone you actually care about more than anyone else in this run-down job even if she doesn't feel the same.

She's too good of a person, and you'd be the Devil Incarnate if you let her do something so risky. Especially when you can just suck it up and get it over with.

"Woah, woah, it's just a bath, calm down," she says, taking your hands in hers as you ramble on, trying to convince her that you'll be fine or that you'll find someone else. Burdening her is simply out of the question.

"Who else but me, Seph'?" and she tilts her head, "You don't you think I'm as good as you?" And the way she says it, giving you that look she does when you're being stubborn, dares you to challenge her.

Now you really have to think about what to say.

Goddamn it, you regret saying anything at all, but Yuko's so motherly, how could you resist? Hiding from her is impossible, she would've sniffed you out sooner or later.

Easing your pains when she can is her specialty—helping to calm and settle you down when you blow things out of proportion.

Could this be one of those moments? Or are Gojo's words more than just hot air?

The back and forth is killing you, but the combination of Yuko's reassuring touch and your gurgling stomach puts the final nail in the coffin as she reminds you of the time.

Eyes wide, you look at the clock, ticking away faster than you realized, then back at your lukewarm soup.

Denying that you need help would be silly because technically it's true. You probably should've asked the Director for a little Gojo break forever ago, even if just for a few hours a few times a week. It would be better than nothing because if you can't function, Gojo can't be cared for.

So, who better to help bridge that gap for you than Yuko?

The gutsy woman has been your rock ever since you started at the ward, having your back and sticking with you through tough times when staff constantly dips in and out of the facility like a rotating door, unable to handle the job.

Yuko's a real day one, and next to you, she's the most competent nurse in these walls, fully equipped with a "take-no-shit" attitude that routinely keeps her patients in check.

When you really think about it, it'd be silly, downright irresponsible to trust anyone else.

Her offer is simply too good to dismiss.

"Thank you, Yuko," you cave, grabbing your spoon and finally allowing yourself to enjoy your meal. "You're...amazing. I don't deserve you."

She looks on happily. "Just promise me you'll take some personal time after this," she insists, worry evident in her voice. "We both know how much you care, but even superheroes need rest." She's too kind and right in more ways than one. "Besides, I think Gojo will like me, ya? I'm cool. I'm fun. He'll like a friend of friend?"

You roll your eyes—ya, totally, cool people definitely say they're cool.

Not knowing whether to joke back or wave her off, you softly smile at her concern before nodding, vowing to make good on your promise and feel a bit lighter knowing your wish for early release will actually come true.

Maybe.

The latest threat to your miracle in the making is Mr. Hampton, who is personally making it his business to drag the already long day by its edges, almost bringing time to a standstill with the way he's handling his bath.

Enormous and lumbering, the man Yuko usually deals with took his sweet time gathering his things and even longer trekking down the seemingly endless halls leading to the bathing area. Occupying every inch of the space like those massive trucks that hog the interstate, yet inching along at a pace that makes a snail look like it's in a sprint.

All that was missing were the yellow hazard lights.

Oh no, please, take your time, you think, watching Mr. Hampton clean each limb painstakingly s l o w in a tub that's comically too small for him. You may have been able to rush through Yuko's first patient, but this one wanted all that time back.

His pace resembles a giant's, and his cheery, nonsensical hums echo around the hollow chambers and lull you to sleep, turning your eyes into bricks under the spell of his melody. Perfect timing for the energy drinks from early to crash you out, tag teaming with the chair beneath you that feels a bit too soft as you lean over the tub, willing the colossal man to hurry up.

Warm water flows over your skin as you scrub circles on his neck, deciding to bite the bullet and take over the bath so he can play with the bubbles and get out when you hear a blood-curdling scream.

Your entire body goes rigid, shock reverberating through your spine and forcing you to halt as your mind goes blank. But steamy water brings you back to life, drenching your shirt and upper thighs when Mr. Hampton jumps from the noise.

The rude awakening makes you lock in.

The scream. It sounds like...no, you know it came from the west wing...where Gojo is.

And Yuko.

Hurried steps rush past your door, sounds of multidirectional distress and frantic shouts echoing through the corridor—staff members and patients alike sweep into a whirlwind of panic.

You're number one, dropping the scrubber and scrambling to help Mr. Hampton out of the tub, hands shaking as he grips them.

A security guard bursts into the room, face ashen and jaw tight.

"Nurse! We need everyone in the west wing, immediately!" The command is sharp, laced with an urgency you've never seen before.

And immediately feel responsible for.

"There's been an incident."

Without another thought, you wrap Mr. Hampton in a towel, trying your best to assure him that everything is fine when your obviously trembling body says nothing is. His confused gaze follows you as you lead him back to his room, the commotion in the air moving him a lot faster than earlier before you rush back out and head straight for the west wing—where chaos reigns supreme.

The usually pristine floors, normally squeaky clean due to lack of traffic, are now barely visible. Staff members crowd the familiar hall for the first time since Gojo made it his own, filling the space with more bodies than you're used to and making it difficult to find the source of trouble.

Not like you need to. The truth is painfully clear, and it's disrespectful to even pretend you don't know exactly what went wrong.

You push through the masses, clumsily bumping shoulders, your heart beating into your ears and making the world seem quiet as you inch closer and closer to disaster. Dragging imaginary shackles on your feet until you all but collapse once you spot it.

Gojo—barely restrained by guards, straitjacket nowhere in sight—standing absolutely furious.

And for the first time today, time seems to slow down, your mouth suddenly becoming dry when you look past him.

Yuko.

Halfway out the door to his room. Sprawled out on the ground. Bruised, unconscious, and no signs of breathing.

Your hands fly to your lips, mouth agape. Murmurs from the crowd swirl around you before attendants rush to Yuko's side, knocking into your pathetic frame as you stand too frozen to move.

They gently pick her up, careful to handle her motionless body and place her on a stretcher. Her usually vibrant face is drained of color, twisting the dagger in your chest when you spot the subtle rise and fall of her chest. Fighting for breath.

Fighting.

It hits you like a train.

Someone as kind as her, always greeting you with warmth and empathy and capacity every time she sees you, should never have to lift a finger let alone fight for her life. The sight is too much to bear.

Waves of helplessness crash over you and you can't even look at her. Regretting with every ounce of your being that you sent her in your place. Knowing this could happen. Concerned only with your silly wants and needs.

But you're so confused.

The ward should have weakened Gojo—Yuko should have been fine. The only threat Gojo has up his sleeve is mental torture but Yuko might as well be Freud. Her mind is sound, strong.

And that's where you fucked up, forgetting that Gojo's pure strength, especially when he's lost his fucking mind and triggered, is stronger.

Even with his security system in place, the devil is still powerful enough on his own. And like this was some sick and twisted experiment to help you figure that out, Yuko was the one to pay the price.

"I warned, I WARNED YOU!" Gojo's words pierce the overlapping voices like a sword, breaking your shock and drawing everyone's attention to the strange interaction between the two of you. "I don't like to be touched by strangers, Nurse." Guards struggle to restrain him as he pulls away.

All eyes fall on you and the stares are intense. Confusion and judgment.

Why was Yuko here in the first place?Where was Seph’?How’d he get out?How did this happen? 

Whether the murmurs are real or in your head, the effect is all the same, and you wish you could just completely vanish. Standing like a deer in headlights—and they're so fucking bright.

But Gojo is brimming with malice and amusement, chaotic energy pulsing from the hellish man and threatening to send sparks flying. Daring someone to be brave and push the button.

But despite his outward display of dominance, the pure rage on his face that makes you feel sick to your stomach about every decision you've ever made, there's something...uncertain lurking behind those fiery eyes.

Something like...apprehension.

Like he knows he's done something wrong.

Yet, words escape you, as if anything needs to or even could be said. But soon, fear and guilt turn to anger, threatening to consume you. Ready to eat you alive and spit out the bones with disgust because you are not a victim.

You have no right to stand here, spineless, shocked, or feeling even a little sorry for yourself. Holding back tears because you know what you've done.

Your fists clench, unsure how to deal with it, but there's fire in your eyes because someone needs to pay.

But then you exhale, thoughts shifting to Yuko as you take a good look around at what happened the last time you decided to take things into your own hands. All of your actions, even now, are rooted in selfishness. Like you've learned nothing.

Pushing down the knot growing in your stomach, you turn away to follow the medics, deciding your friend needs you more than you need revenge. Gojo doesn't deserve any more of your attention, even if it means risking your job or life to turn your back on him.

And there's nothing Gojo hates more than being ignored.

Struggled and strained noises grow louder. Guards tighten their grip on the fuming man whose raw strength outnumbers thousands of them even without his cursed energy.

You look back, their determination to keep him contained making you nervous. You don't anyone else to get hurt and Gojo is fully exploiting that.

You're painfully aware that your decisions have put you in this position, watching the guards' valiant but increasingly pointless effort to prevent Gojo from causing further harm. But it's obviously a losing fight, and the unease on their faces is unmistakably clear.

You wonder why they don't just run like hell.

"Let's go," a guard barks, but Gojo remains fixed in place. Moving a boulder would be easier.

"No, I'm filthy," Gojo protests, smirking, "And if I don't have my bath soon, there will be hell to pay."

Seeing no one else in the room, his eyes are locked only on you, his expression a menacing promise that would send anyone else running for the hills. A look that says, "Try that shit again, and there will be casualties instead of mercy."

Reinforcements are called but it won't be enough. The goddamn military wouldn't be enough. Gojo is...the strongest, after all.

"Stop."

Your cry freezes the room. Everything goes silent.

You hesitate, fuck, what should you do?

What can you do? No one else can suffer—no one else should suffer. Because of you.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you silently apologize to Yuko, swallowing a lump instead of looking back.

"I'll do it," you say firmly, "Just stop this and...and I'll give you your bath. Please—" The sharpest pang you've ever felt cuts through you. "—just don't hurt anyone else."

Pathetic. But necessary.

He looks into your pleading eyes with surprise, amazement even, before smiling.

The submission in your voice sounds better than anything he could ever imagine. A sweet tones that feed his already inflated ego.

Unsure of how to proceed, the guards exchange uneasy glances.

Gojo's strength is undeniable, that much is evident, and restraining him forever is simply not possible.

You know offering to give him what he wants is risky as hell...but this is your doing. Your mess to clean up.

So you squeeze your sweaty palms and give a decisive nod, signaling at the guards to let him go. They hesitate a second, then reluctantly agree, stepping back and leaving Gojo standing smugly before you.

Closing your eyes, you breathe, hating to have to look at him, but needing to stay strong. For Yuko. For yourself. And everyone else in the ward.

But Gojo's satisfied grin says it all. He's won this round.

You're ready to get the next over with.

The squeaking of your shoes has never been this loud, each echo bouncing off the empty halls and reminding you of how alone you are.

Alone—with a psychopath.

A bit more docile, doped-up psychopath but, the man could probably still rip someone's head clean off if he wanted to.

Still, Gojo despises anything that alters his body—mentally, physically, all of the above. Alcohol, medication, coffee, energy drinks—anything that threatens his need for absolute control.

But he also needed to compromise, and you refused to be alone with him again unless he took something stronger. Otherwise, it would be you, all the guards in the ward, and a pay-per-view premiere of his bath time.

He knew he had to agree because his ass is not for free, but only if you took it as well.

You blinked, hard.

You knew he would be skeptical—hell, it could be poison, and he wouldn’t blame you. But to suggest something so ridiculous?

"Half, then," he said, as if that made his suggestion any less idiotic, but, as you waited for your supervisor to dismiss the insane idea, the back and forth with Gojo actually didn't save you. And you didn't need to ask why. The entire ward shoots daggers at you any time someone walks by now.

Your supervisor reassured you that you'd be fine, the mild tranquilizer would be out of your system by the end of the day, then she patted your back as if to say, "Lay in the bed you made."

It felt unreal, holding the familiar pill between your fingers, one you were used to dishing out but now had to take.

With a quick snap, you broke it in half, holding his half out to the leering man. Gaze unwavering as he leaned forward and parted his lips, waiting. Taking a deep breath, you placed them both on your tongues, in disbelief at your reality, but Gojo's focus was elsewhere, not wasting this prime opportunity to rattle you more and taste you, closing his lips around your fingertip with a quick lick before you snatched away.

But it wasn’t quick enough to avoid the tingles shooting up your arm as you swallowed, no longer needing the water you had set aside, and a confusing mix of emotions churned as the tingles spread throughout your body.

Making good on his promise, he swallowed his own, still watching you with a knowing glint in his eyes. Like he knows what he does to you. And despite just witnessing this man's violence firsthand, you'd give anything to deny that he still has an effect on you. Hating yourself for being more concerned with the way he looked at you and the lingering sensation on your skin than the tranquilizer now coursing through your system.

The guards carefully lead you and Gojo to his private bathroom—they're more there for show than for protection, but you'll take what you can get, and they keep a firm grip on his replacement straitjacket.

You trail behind, mind buried with thoughts of what to say once you're really alone with him.

The door shuts behind you, followed by the familiar sound of a series of locks clicking shut. "We'll be right outside," one of the guards mutters, eyes shifting between you and Gojo, a stereotypical warning lacing his voice, but even he probably doesn't believe it.

"Perv," Gojo sneers and laughs, but you don't find a damn thing funny, the keys to his jacket digging into your palms as you spin around and face him, furious. What would be better? Slapping him, kicking him, or knocking his teeth out. Or should you be particularly evil and just let him sit in the shower, fully restrained and drenched in cold water and you let it rain down. None of the above will do you any good, but it'll show him exactly how done you are with his shit.

"That isn't funny. None of this is funny," it fumes out before you know you're speaking, "You've hurt someone—you hurt my friend." Your rage echos through the vast bathroom.

Gojo's laugh fades, his smug expression slipping from his face. Even you're surprised.

...oh shit.

You're actually confronting him.

The intense words burn through his usual arrogance, leaving a heavy, uncomfortable silence between you.

Then, for a fleeting second, his face does something weird.

Something you haven't seen before as his eyebrows draw together. Is that...regret?

"I'm sorry."

The record scratches. You’re fully positive you must be dreaming.

But when he doesn’t make a joke or even crack a smile, you squint at him.

The words are muttered and reluctant, but there they are, hanging in the air between you.

"It...won't happen again."

And he's serious, the same seriousness you see when his heart races as you take his vitals...but why? Because an apology? From him?? Unheard of.

Gojo has said some nasty things to you in the past that you've immediately scolded him for, but he's never apologized. He'd make a note when certain jokes didn't land, but he never took them back, preferring to cut out his own tongue than to waste his breath being sorry.

You know better than to take anything Gojo says at face value, but...what the fuck??? You almost feel offended.

He has to be joking, fucking with you to dig even deeper under your skin.

Or is he?

Fuck, you don't know how to feel.

He's so good at that, stealing the air back and hanging his words in them. Tempting you to pause and even consider if he ever truly means them. If he could mean them. The mind games are endless.

But then, the familiar cockiness returns and overshadows your doubts, twisting your stomach into knots with that familiar smile of his.

"Now," he says, strutting towards the stalls, "let's get this bath started, shall we?" And his easy, but confident steps call you to follow, a stark reminder of who you're dealing with. But he never knows when to quit. "Or should I really have to suffer for my actions?" and the bastard pouts.

Though you know he's being sarcastic and not to feed into his taunts, you can't help but wonder—what would suffering even look like for someone like Gojo?

Violence? Physical pain? A slow and agonizingly painful death?

But the guy is damn near invincible. What on earth could hurt him?

Whatever it is, it would have to be his absolute worst nightmare, but nothing comes to mind at the moment other than frustration because you have to keep making choices.

Return his energy or keep it professional? Tolerance or revenge?

"Apologizing won't cut it," you snap and gesture at his jacket, wondering how the hell he slipped out of the first one without leaving a trace. "And no tricks, or those guards will be back in here faster than you can tell another lame joke."

Smooth.

Gojo sighs sooo dramatically, like he can see straight through your kitty claws. "Fine, fine. Loosen up," he drags, "I won't cause any trouble. Just don't go getting any ideas now, Nurse." and he winks.

He's insufferable—but despite your smoldering anger, tendrils of doubt still creep in.

Your fingers slightly tremble as you begin to unfasten his straps, but each click feels a bit like victory, a fragile illusion of your 'control'—at least for now—because at the end of the day, Gojo had chosen you to listen to. And after today, he's sure you won't forget there isn't room for anyone else.

The jacket falls with a heavy thud, your eyes immediately scanning his upper body in search of any signs of injury or stress. The cascading bruises on his arms surprise you.

They feel so feeble in your hands; the evidence of him not as invincible as he seems is jarring. Pale, weak, and resting between your fingers. Devoid of the power that makes him so feared.

"Never seen bruises before," he tilts his head, "at least not on me"

You hope Yuko was at least partly responsible for the marks on the villain, but they appear self-inflicted, and he's not as mobile.

Fuck, now you'll have to bathe him too. Still, it's strange, seeing him like this. Even weirder knowing that he could still do damage in this state and you can't shake the feeling of this temporary 'truce'. If it isn't obvious by now, you've learned that Gojo always has something up his sleeve.

Warm water soothes you a bit, flowing over your fingers as it fills the large white tub—pristine, imported from somewhere far away, and standing on decorative claw feet. Your eyes wouldn't stop rolling the first time you saw it, completely annoyed with Gojo's over-the-top alterations and sense of style, but you'd be a liar if you said you never thought about sinking your body into it.

The best you could do was cope with the little porcelain tub in your apartment, and you get lost thinking about how you'd love to take a long, hot, and steamy bath when you get home—if you'll even have the energy. There's no way you'll be leaving early now, not like you deserve it, and you feel sick for even thinking about it. You doubt you'll even have a job tomorrow.

You look so defeated Gojo thinks, sauntering forward and lifting the hem of his shirt. You turn away, focusing instead on the temperature of the water, but the rustling sound of his shirt being pulled overhead and pants falling to the ground warms your cheeks.

His physique certainly isn't lacking, even in his current state, but still, you wonder how such a slim but toned frame could be so...powerful.

Could you be more obvious? Your flickering eyes are so telling, shamefully darting between him and the water, but he catches your gaze from the corner of his eye as if he's read your mind. How cute, he thinks, trying to hide away your thoughts.

Clearing your throat, you toss in his loofah. "Well...go on. It's ready." But Gojo only grins, amused by your attempts to look away despite seeing his muscled frame a number of times. Relishing in the fact that he still manages to fluster you.

"Your shirt," he eyes your top, "Your pants. Looks like you've already started without me."

The water stains from earlier sit beautifully across your chest, not yet fully dry, and drawing his eyes to your semi-erect nips.

His teeth tug at his bottom lip, eyes shamelessly raking over your hefty chest. "Always such a tease, aren't you, Nurse?"

You grit your teeth, cursing the conflict swirling in your stuttering heart, fully aware of the thin line between professionalism and this game of intimacy he refuses to stop playing. Everything is always a game no matter the circumstances. And he loves to push your buttons.

"Just get in, Gojo," you order, and after what feels like an eternity, the silence is broken by the sound of splashing water as he steps into the bath.

He slowly sinks in, sighing at the warmth of the water. Ringlets of steam engulf him, almost making his silky white hair disappear with it.

His arms string over the rim of the tub, a look of relaxation resting on his face as if he's had a long, hard day. You resist the urge to slap it off.

Sudsy bubbles form from the solution you pour under the faucet, hoping to shield your eyes from his body. You've seen enough today and expect the mini-rebellious act to piss him off, but as the bubbles grow, so do his eyes. Picking up a handful, he actually starts playing with them.

"Nice touch," he adds, blowing them right into your face, and you watch with a tight lip as he decorates the bathroom with them, knowing you'll be the one to clean it all up.

He sits a crown on his head and gives himself a bubble beard, nipping your nose with some that you're quick to wipe away, and his pale eyes flutter and settle on you in a curious way.

His arms flex as he leans over the edge—steam-slicked sweat dripping down his face that he doesn't bother to wipe away. "I'm ready for my sponge bath," he says, and if it was hard to take him seriously before, it's damn near impossible now—especially with that ridiculous bubble mustache.

Sickening, him still being so playful, so unserious, at a time like this.

You know Gojo's unhinged, yeah, quote, "mentally unwell and a literal danger to society", but to nearly take someone's life and then make jokes afterward?

God, you feel so stupid, walking around him like you were the shit but with the wrong guard up the whole time, playing right into his hands and accidentally rewarding this grown-ass man who likes to play with suds.

The reality of your circumstances replays in your head, the story of how you ended up here, coddling this monster, and you're still confused as hell as to why it had to be you.

Then again, this is what you signed up for...right? To heal. To help those who can't help themselves. To offer redemption some sort of redemption no matter how sick and twisted the person in need is.

With your loofah in hand, you resist the urge to roll your eyes for the 400th time today and keep your morals in mind. "Keep talking like that and I'll stop, Gojo," you say, reluctantly drenching the tool in soap before proceeding to do your job.

Gently washing his back, he sinks into your touch, closing his eyes and letting his body completely rest on the cool cast iron, breathing. Feeling like he's won no matter what you say because your scrubs feel like magic.

Across his arms and over his broad shoulders, you work your way down, bubbles glistening in your trail as you're careful not to miss a single inch of skin but don't linger too long.

Every now and then, you catch glimpses of raised marks between the foam, and because you hate yourself, your brain absolutely refuses to give you a break. You have to give kudos to his dedication to his craft. The muscle definition, the scar tissue telling stories of battles won, the evidence of his past before corruption—everything it takes to be a hero.

It's unsettling, yet fascinating, the polarity between his beauty and his monstrous deeds.

You've never really noticed because this level of care is another first for you. Usually, Gojo just hops into the shower and takes care of himself while you wait outside—easy and thorough but always taking his sweet time, all while loudly singing some annoying song that inevitably ends up stuck in your head.

But after today, it'll be impossible to trust him or you again, and the hushed whispers as the guards walked you both to the restrooms made that abundantly clear.

The pitiful thoughts seep into the way you hesitantly clean him, moving down to his chest and abs while making sure to avoid more sensitive areas, but the malicious glint in his eyes is unmistakable.

"Whatsamatter, Nurse?" Gojo taunts, feeling you slow around his stomach, "Afraid of gettin' too close?" And you can't believe you're praying for a speedy recovery for this monster so he can handle this himself again.

You ignore his comment and try to get this over with as quickly as possible, feeling humiliated enough as it is and he can sense it, mocking you with a laugh.

"You're so uptight. Can't you just relax and enjoy the view?"

God, please make him shut up, begging for relief so you won't scrub his cocky brow right off his face. "Just doing my job," you mutter, twice squeezing the loofah that feels a little funny in your hand as the soapy water rinses his chest.

It feels heavenly on his skin, but the subtle change in your movements makes his brows furrow. Slowing, more deliberate, heavy as if you're wading through molasses. You keep adjusting your grip but the material feels so strange—the texture almost too soft like it could melt into your palm.

Your breath catches when you brush his skin, not realizing how close your fingers drifted to the edge of the sponge, and though it was only a second, it sends an unexpected jolt through his chest.

The muscle relaxers. How could you have already forgotten, you both think.

But Gojo, ever observant, doesn't miss a thing.

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you. "Feeling a little funny, Nurse?" His velvet voice teases.

"I'm fine," you lie, though you couldn't be less certain as the muscles in your hands start to relax more than you intended, the sponge gliding over his abs, and down his sides, the rhythm almost hypnotic and making his head fall back. You try to push through the haze, to finish quickly and be free of him, but you're losing the battle against numbness and heightened awareness.

And fuck, he has to bite his lip at your touch that suddenly feels so intense, a sensation too good to keep to himself, and one that you obviously need to stop being such a tight-ass.

You need to loosen up in a way that medicine can't help. And Gojo knows just the trick.

He licks his lips, tongue curling over his canine before splashing a wave of water on you in one swoop.

Saying you gasp is an understatement as the steamy wash drenches your face and front once again, setting a new record as you're hit not once, but twice in a day. The loofah slips from your hand as you instinctively reach up to shield yourself, but Gojo is quicker, wrapping his hands around your wrists and holding you in place.

A scream is ready to surge from your body when Gojo maneuvers both of your wrists into one hand, placing a finger to your lips.

"Ssssh ssh ssh ssh ssh," he hushes, his voice a little too calm, "I'm not going to hurt you." A lone droplet hangs from your eyelash and he swipes it. "I just want you to listen."

You freeze, your nerves on fire as you're forced into close proximity with him for the second time today, inches away from his face that gradually softens.

Though you can easily call for help, you know better than to argue—he knows you know better too but he never felt threatened in the first place. Besides, he can feel your breathing slowing, the effects of the pill combined with his firm hold sending a faint buzz from your wrists to your stomach, and his finger remains on your lips as he brings his closer.

His eyes flicker to your bottom lip. "You're so good at your job, Nurse," smoothly pulling it with his thumb. "That's why I like you. You're thorough but real. Just what I need to keep me sane."

Sane?

"Sane," he repeats like he's heard your thoughts. "Believe it or not, you keep me grounded...like a good boy. Be proud, not a single soul here or anywhere else can compare to me, let alone deal with me, and yet...here you are." He looks at you like you're a marvel. "You can handle that...can't you?"

Words fail you. This feels rhetorical. Why does he keep torturing you like this? What is it about you?

You haven't really thought about it since your first few weeks with him but now he's forcing you to think about the little 'power' he's given you that he can easily snatch back.

What happens if he decides to go further than flirting?

You can't handle it, any of this.

Hesitating, you're unsure of what to say but know it could never be the truth.

Gojo must sense it because he leans closer, his breath warm on your cheek.

"If you leave, I just might crack completely, beauty." A breath you didn't realize you were holding slips. "How do you think everyone else will do against me then, hmm?" Gojo knows he's a prodigy, but still manages to surprise himself sometimes, his eyes lingering over the spots on your uniform soaked through just enough to make the fabric cling—perfect aim.

Ice shoots up your spine from the heat of his unadulterated gaze, but you refuse to let him see you falter, and he can almost feel a prick from the daggers in your eyes.

"Oh, don't be like that," he purrs, thumbs grazing your wrists in a mockingly gentle touch. "We all have our boundaries, right? I thought communication was key in a relationship."

"Let go of me," you find your voice, "We're done here."

His head slightly tilts.

Look at you calling the shots, he thinks. So strong, so very serious.

"God, I can't help it," he breathes, "You're so fun to mess with."

He could laugh in your face, have his way with you, and show you that your resistance means nothing, but instead, he slowly releases your wrists and lies back against the tub. "I know you think about it—there's nothing wrong with a little fun...right?" and though the connection is severed, you don't know if it's the drugs or just him that makes his amplified touch linger as you sheepishly rub your wrists.

Gojo watches you blush red—thoughts you didn't know lived within you rushing to the forefront as if he's pushed a button.

Grimy, raw, unwanted thoughts of forbidden fruit, wandering hands, and stolen touches in the dark, wondering what his idea of "fun" is like under the sheets. With a psycho named Gojo.

You feel like you should throw up in disgust but the nausea never comes, burning hot between your legs instead.

Fuck, you have to get out of here.

You draw a breath, forcing away the torturous daydreams and quickly finish his bath.

"You should rest," you firmly say and pull the plug to let the tub drain. "And don't expect any more favors from me."

He sits up slow, his expression stone-cold as he slicks back his wet hair. Then he smiles. "I promise. Now dry me off?" he quips.

You ignore his request, swiftly handing him a towel before he can flash you. With a gruff, you lower to your knees, beginning to dry the floor of his messes and hoping to distract yourself from your questionable sanity.

The sounds of rustling fabric fill the chamber as he dries off, and once you figure it's safe, you look up to find a nude Gojo. Dripping with bubbles, hair plastered to his derpy face, and toned muscles, all the muscles, presenting themselves in all their glory.

The only things dry are his damn hands.

He throws the towel over his shoulder, sauntering towards you with a wicked grin.

"Well, aren't you gonna help me put this thing back on?" He nods at the jacket he knows is more bullshit than security. "Don't want you getting all worked up again."

The first time your brain registered that Gojo was flirting with you was on your third day as his nurse.

"Well, aren't you a breath of fresh air?" Gojo was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall. It was the second time he'd noticed how sluggish you looked while tending to him, suggesting with a grin that you must be quite the party animal.

Ha. If only.

You tsked, tossing his bedsheets into the hamper, and assured him that your sleepy eyes and dragging feet were the result of long hours and running on fumes. Having time for fun was just a dream.

"I don't get out much myself," he says, alluding to the situation he's in, wearing sarcasm like a necklace. "I love a good night in as much as anyone else but, I don't know. The stuffiness hasn't grown on me yet."

You tugged the collar of your scrubs—the air did feel a bit thick, like the room hadn't been aired out in ages and you couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been sitting in it—how he could. That alone would be enough to drive you up a wall.

Sunlight flickered in your eyes, and you raised your hand to block it, noticing the small window perched above his chair.

"Let's open this then," you said, walking over and wrestling with the ancient wood for a moment before finally pulling the creaky flap up to the ceiling.

A sliver of your midriff peeked out as you stood on your toes to reach it, but what captured Gojo's attention most was the way the sun rays washed over your face. You scrunched your nose, the breeze sending wisps of your hair to tickle it, and he imagined the feel of your strands between his fingers.

The view was beautiful, you thought, hands gripping the warm bars. Trees surrounded the vast area, stretching out as far as you could see, the pathway to civilization completely covered in dense forest from this angle.

You never realized how high up his ward was—or how long the drop was from here.

"Too bad I'm not small enough to slip through those bars." He rubbed his stomach. "But you know me, 'Mr. BigBack.'"

He joked around as he usually did, looking to trigger your defenses, but your reaction was...odd.

Not only was this the first time anyone cared to do something so simple for Gojo, but it was also the closest anyone had gotten to him without their knees buckling.

The first two days of your trial, the Director had guards posted right outside of Gojo's door, their presence a constant reminder to stay alert and maintain a safe distance from the convict. Gojo was positive the mental barrier would keep a wall between you forever.

But then, you laughed. A real laugh. Snickery and cute. Finding his joke funny instead of threatening.

It surprised him, that sound, so natural and pure without hesitation. And he wanted to hear it again and again and again. "Who knew you could bring so much light into this place?" he sighed.

Later at lunch, you sat with Yuko, having your usual midday catch-up. You never start with yours but she, like most people in the ward then, was absolutely dying to hear about how you were dealing with the villain of the century.

"He's actually not so bad...yet. Corny, but," you took a pondering breath, "He kind of thanked me today?"

She immediately scoffed and waved you off, and who could blame her?

You were an anomaly, Gojo already showed that he was capable of mercy and now he was thanking you??

Being polite was too far of a stretch to believe, you must have been mistaken. But when you gave her the deets on why he'd do such a thing, she nearly choked on her apple. "He said that??"

"Ya?" You patted her back with a concerned look.

"Watch out, Casanova," she teased, clearing her throat with a nervous laugh.

Her comment threw you off for the rest of lunch, but when you thought about it later that night while surfing for new shows, a light bulb went off.

He flirted with you.

Thinking it was just another one of those literal dry-humor jokes or simply gratitude for making his stay a little less crappy, it flew right over your head. You always feel warm inside when you help people so you didn't think too much about it.

To you, it was just a kudos. Nothing more.

But the way Gojo stands in front of you now is everything.

As bold and brash as it gets.

Fuck. Me.

And your body betrays you, sending all of the vulnerable sensations you've been fighting to suppress from your soaking chest, tingling wrists, aching thighs, and heavy breath, straight to your throbbing clit.

Air escapes you and you couldn't feel more conflicted, scrambling to grab your supplies and leave.

Enough is enough. The guards outside can restrain him and escort him back to his room for all you care. You just have to get out of there.

Away from him.

Away from temptation.

Hot, overwhelming, guilty, mentally and physically unstable temptation.

In the quiet of the hallway a level below Gojo's ward, you lean against a wall, taking deep breaths and completely disgusted with yourself.

How are you supposed to keep dealing with this, with him?

This force that keeps pushing and pushing and pushing you to the edge until there's nowhere else to go. You can only imagine the hell the nurses he didn't like went through.

Taking care of him isn't getting any easier, and now you were fucking up and making mistakes.

But you're the only one who can do this. Who must.

So suck it up. Play along, Stop thinking only of yourself. Pretend.

Pretend.

Pretend?

...

What terrifies you the most is the thought that you may not have to.

You keep your scrambled thoughts to yourself when you're called into your Director's office at the end of the day.

You tell him the same story you told Yuko and take full responsibility for what happened, blaming it on exhaustion and needing a break. Swearing to never let it happen again.

By some miracle, you get to keep your job, though your one wish to leave early ended up costing you an hour and a half of unpaid overtime, and almost a friendship.

When you finally get home, you collapse onto your bed—images of the day, the ward, and Yuko flooding your thoughts, refusing to be pushed aside. You tell yourself that it's just the guilt talking, just anxiety gnawing at your edges.

But then there's Gojo.

The most prominent one of all.

Staring you in the face with lifeless eyes and a ghostly smile. Tugging on your moral strings like a puppet.

When you close your eyes, you can't shake the feeling that he's waiting for you, a lurker in the shadows watching and anticipating your every move. Have you become predictable? Now you're wondering if you could do something he wouldn't expect.

Leave it. Leave it. Le—

You're scrolling through your phone on a deep-diving, scouring the web for any info on your tormentor.

His past, his affiliations, anything to tell you who Gojo was, and who he is now.

But the man is an anomaly.

Not much is known about him outside of mainstream news and internet rumors.

He's just this guy that kind of popped out of nowhere in the worst way possible, conveniently on the tail of what could have been the most devastating incident in the history of Tokyo.

The media says he's a hero gone rogue but not much else. They've damned him to hell and that was that. Even the Director disclosed very little about him during your briefing and you weren't allowed access to his files or records because it's all 'confidential'.

Nothing.

The more you search, you less that comes up. Not even silly conspiracy theories that you definitely thought would be riddling Reddit. The longer you scroll, the more you find yourself beginning to question your own mind. Your interest. Sweet little buds of obsession.

Even though you hated taking it earlier, you actually need the pill now more than ever to relax as sleep eludes you and your mind wanders to imaginary scenarios as you stare at the ceiling. 

Tomorrow, you'll have to face Gojo again. And the day after that and the day after that and every day after.

In between your nearly non-existent off days, you'll have to see him and decide what face you want to put on.

Because you simply cannot walk away.

After all, he's right—no one else can handle him like you can.

extended angel's note:

when i originally decided to make this into short story, i had no plans on using a y/n perspective. it was just going to feature an OC name i’ve used in stories before, named Persephone, buuuut i decided to wanted to keep it immersive and include no physical descriptors/personality specifics bc i knew i wanted to upload it to tumblr. 

to keep it reader-friendly, yk? 

alas, Persephone has had her claws in me the entire time i’ve been editing and said with her whole chest that i couldn't just dismiss her like that chile. so i decided changed the perspective but keep her name in place of y/n. 

you won’t see it too often in the story bc it’s not super significant or said a lot in general, bUT it is relevant for a certain moment later in the story. you’ll know when you know 🤭. 

anyway, hope it doesn't bother you guys too much. and def feel free to mentally plug your name when you see it to keep yourself grounded into the story.

tag list p.1: @reddiamondjazz @kiwismoother @rune1920 @blkkizzat @suguwife

@xerroe @enthyn @gloomuri671 @ressyshi @startatdawn

@khenanadeche @heijihatsutori @inluvkai @ixqiix @strawnanamilk

@rosso-seta @05-simply-06-simping @sims-4lifers @bratidol @rh-tg1

@hyunsuks-beanie @n1vi @luna-v-roiya @neteyamsluvr111 @supsiii

@natadecoco30 @chiyokoemilia @ririoutspoken @kyoxko @strawberrymilkshakes-posts

@nen-nyy @cinnamorochiroll @kazeniya @maybe7tommorow @sxnkuna

@misoyuh @lupitalove @sebastianlover @gojosatorubrainrot @sleepiebunniee

@mmmidkman @theonecrackhead @thathorsegotpoobrain @iveivory @samistar

@yuuan-66 @gojoslefttoenail @soyalovestoyap @winkwonks-world @thebiggestsimpforyou 

[devourable]

✎ the prodigy

sfw | tags : male!yandere student x gn! reader (only prn used for reader is ‘you’), obsessive behavior and thoughts, bullying, slight classism, gaslighting? i think

surprise! i came up w the idea of this guy like,,, two days ago and had to get him out my system 😭 i feel like all my yandere ocs are too nice (save for althea) so heres one thats an asshole. enjoy! reblog to support me :]

sterling cygnus has it all.

good looks, a wealthy family, and a place in one of the most prestigious private colleges that one could go to. aptly dubbed the ‘prince of ice’ by his classmates thanks to his cold demeanor and disdain for interpersonal connections, the young man had one goal in his mind since he started attending school.

to be the best!

sterling dedicated himself to his studies. nothing was more important to him than ensuring he got the top scores on every exam he took, sealing his place as number one in the academic field by any means necessary. no one dared to breach that. and anyone who even tried received his ire.

no one was going to stand up to him — why would they? they’d hate to end up like the poor guy who’s dorm was raided after he surpassed him. or the girl who did the same, resulting in her being forced to drop out after her father’s suspiciously sudden arrest left her unable to pay tuition fees. but of course, there was no real proof that sterling had caused both incidents. it was just a coincidence! right?

well… the day you came onto his radar was a day that left the entire student body tense.

everyone had gathered around the bulletin board where the latest exam results were posted. there were gasps of shock, murmurs, and even a small ripple of laughs floating through the otherwise quiet crowd. it was unusual. and when sterling had pushed his way to the front to gaze upon the list of student names with their scores beside them… he understood. and in an instant, he was furious.

he was in second place. and above his name, with a pretty 100% score next to it, was yours.

who the fuck did you think you were? coming to his school, earning the grade that he worked so hard to receive, and daring to take his place as number one?

sterling knew in an instant that you had to be a new student. he had all of the names of those who ranked just under him memorized, and yours wasn’t one of them. were you a transfer? a latecomer? he had no clue what the circumstances behind your sudden arrival was, and honestly? he didn’t care. you had taken his place, after he had worked so hard to get there. after he had been there for so long. you had taken his place. and he knew for a fact you didn’t deserve it.

but just as he resolved to figure you out so he could plan his revenge?

there you were. passing through the the slowly dispersing crowd to look at the leaderboard, your eyes locking with the name — your name — at the very top of it.

when sterling first saw you, he couldn’t even begin to understand the feeling that had suddenly flooded his senses. it was so strange… and why did the world suddenly feel a lot slower? why could he only notice you and him in the hallway? why did his heart skip in his chest when you glanced at him and your eyes locked?

if you had tried to say something to him, sterling didn’t even notice. he had hurried off before you could even speak.

he was sure he despised you after that point. he had to have, he told himself. the way his mind always drifted back to you when he was trying to study, angrily clicking his pen and gritting his teeth as he thought about your stupid hair and your dumb, adorable eyes, the way your uniform looked better on you than anyone else in the college — he didn’t even realize he was thinking about you so much until he snapped out of them and noticed how much time had passed.

he hated you. he had to. you had taken what was rightfully his, probably with dumb luck or cheating, and now you were invading his thoughts in such a way? was there nothing you wouldn’t take from him?

he was colder to you than anyone else. he had to be — you needed to learn your place around him. he’d ignore you in the halls and during class, and when you’d innocently ask him for his input on something, you’d be met with a sneer and a condescending retort.

“i don’t fraternize with people like you. don’t bother me.”

despite this, he’d always wander around near wherever you went. going to the library at the same time as you so he could snatch whatever book you had planned to check out away from you and take it for himself, making sure to go to the cafeteria just before you arrived so he could take what he knew was your favorite snacks, and he’d always be at the dorms before you — trying so hard to not stare at you when you passed by in your pajamas, fresh out of the showers.

your stupid body wash smelled so good… he couldn’t help himself when he snuck back to the locker room after hours to snag it for himself.

weeks after your arrival and sudden climb to the top, everyone was confused to see you were still attending the school. sterling would’ve taken out anyone else by then, what was so different about you?

but no one would ask, obviously. nor would anyone come to your aid when all of your pencils and pens were all mysteriously snapped in half one day. or when you’d find your notes torn into pieces and haphazardly stuffed back into your bag. and when you tried to alert staff about your dorm room’s door being ajar for some reason, they brushed you off even though you knew for a fact someone had gone through your things (‘nothing important’s gone? no bother pursuing the matter, then’).

with how much disdain and contempt he seemed to hold for you, it was so strange that sterling didn’t like the idea of no longer catching daily glimpses of you. or having access to your things.

so even though sterling went out of his way to make your school life nearly unbearable as revenge for coming along and doing just that to him first, he didn’t make the move to actually have you removed from the school and opted to torment you instead.

you deserved it, he told himself. far more than anyone who came before you.

he’d show you what happens when you bother sterling cygnus.

[heymrspatel]

i love you so much... more than anything

artworks inspired by sculptures for @gallavichthings kinktober 2024 prompts: romantic sex + aftercare inspiration: "cupid and psyche" by antonio canova collection on tumblr & ao3

full artwork on ao3

Antonio Canova Cupid and Psyche (1793) Marble

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

A/N ::: 😳. Iiiii ... Ok. So I'm never this creative to think of such things like ... oh, idk. Kafka likes to roleplay with his girl - kinda fucked up things. Like, being a little rough in bed. Both ways - roughing and being roughed up. Idk. I just totally see him being the best fucking husbando/boyfriendo ever. Sorry Draken, Chifuyu, Mitsuya, oh god, and Baji. ANYWAY. Yeah. This Kafka stuff just keeps oozing from my fingers and I'm in no hurry to stop. I hope you guys enjoy this!

C/W ::: Roleplay (on the rougher side - not violent, per se - but not like petting a kitten either ... no pun intended), unprotected P->V, hands-on stuff, a little tossing of the other person around but like I said, I don't think it's like, too too rough. You've read this far, heed the warning if you think this won't be for you =). That's why we put them here!

WC ::: Under 1,200 (I'm coming back around, you guys!!)

MDNI UNDER THE CUT PLEASE, THANK YOU.

You bite your bottom lip as Kafka growls against your skin. His words and his tone are harsh, but his touch … it’s painfully soft. The slight pressure of his mouth, the rasp of his tongue against the sensitive skin of your neck. It makes your stomach flutter, and your eyes roll back.

He breathes heavily against you as he moves his mouth lower, to your shoulder, then down, across your collarbone and back up again.

"You're sending me really, really mixed signals here, Kafka. You're mouth is literally saying one thing while your body does another."

"You don't say," he says.

"I do say."

He huffs and lifts his head to look you in the eyes, his own dark, pupils blown wide. "What do you want me to say?" he says, his voice low, rough. "That I like you?

"I mean, yeah. That would be nice. But maybe a little consistency first?"

"I like you," he says, "But I also hate you. So I don't know. What should I do?"

You try to shimmy away from him but his grip just tightens and there's no way you can get out of his arms.

He leans in, his breath tickling your ear and you shiver. "Do you want me to let you go?" he whispers.

"What I want is ..." You sigh, "What I want," you say slowly, "Is for you to get over yourself." You take a deep breath. "I know that you want me, at the very least. Why are you being so gentle and rough with me at the same time?"

He huffs. "It's complicated," he says. "I like you. I do. And .... But ..."

"But what?" You ask.

"But nothing. It's not important."

He looks down again at your body pressed into the mattress. His hands sliding down your shoulders to your elbows.

You try to wiggle your wrist free from his large hand. You want to grab him by the chin and make him look you in the eye, but he still has an unreasonably tight grip on you.

He glances at you through his lashes, his mouth curled into a devious smirk. "You want something, little one?"

You shout, "That's it! That's it! I've had enough of your patronizing. You're gonna get it now, Kafka."

You can feel your temperature rise and your willpower falter. Mustering every tiny little ounce of strength you have in your much smaller body you flip him over so he's on his back. Though you have a feeling that he went willingly. You don't care though. You're just happy that the tables have turned - in your favor, too.

For now, anyway.

You squat over him on the bed and straddle his torso, placing your knees on either side of his ears, careful not to put too much pressure on his chest.

He laughs at you and asks why you're not putting your full weight down on him. "You think you're gonna hurt me, you little fly."

You see him smile at you, a sharp-toothed grin. "Come on," he says, "You're not going to hurt me. I want you to give it your best shot, though. G'head."

You lean forward, putting your full weight on him and he laughs. "Oh-hoh, now you've done it," he says. "You should not have done that."

The laughter stops and his eyes narrow as you press your hand to his cheek, running your thumb across his bottom lip. He leans forward, trying to bite at your fingers and you pull your hand away, making him growl again. This time in frustration, you’re sure of it. 

You place your hand on his throat, pushing him back down onto the bed.

"Enough," you say, your voice low, barely more than a whisper. "It's time to stop playing around."

His eyes widen as you lean in, pressing your mouth against his. He stiffens at first, but then relaxes, his mouth opening under yours.

His tongue brushes against your lips, and you open for him, your own tongue meeting his.

You can taste the sweetness of his mouth, and the taste makes you hungry for more. You press closer, your teeth clicking together as you try to deepen the kiss.

Kafka wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer as you continue to kiss. You feel his cock harden against your thigh and you moan.

You press your hips down, rubbing against him, his cock sliding against your pussy through the thin black lace of your underwear.

You break the kiss, panting, your body is on fire.

Kafka groans as you begin to rock your hips, grinding your pussy harder yet against his cock.

"Fuck," he whispers, his eyes glazed over, his lips swollen from your kiss.

You reach between you, grabbing his cock, squeezing it tightly as you stroke it, your hand sliding up and down his shaft.

"Do you want me?" you ask, leaning in, your lips brushing against his.

"Yes," he says, his voice rough, his breathing ragged. "Fuck yes."

"Then," you say, kissing him deeply. "take me, Kafka."

An animalistic sound escapes his throat as he flips you over onto your back, his body pressing you down into the bed.

You moan as he pushes his cock inside you, stretching you open. He fills you completely, his cock buried to the hilt in your pussy.

He begins to move, his thrusts slow and steady as he fucks you, his cock sliding in and out of you. Your walls squeeze him tightly.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as you rock your hips, meeting his offerings.

You look up at him, face flushed.

He looks down at you, his expressions are intense, but he never shifts his focus. His movements become harder, faster. Almost desperate in his attempt to navigate this fare.

You gasp as you feel him hit just the right spot, making your vision blur. You dig your nails into his back, clinging to him as your orgasm hits you like a surprise wave. Despite knowing full well what the outcome of this would be, the result never ceases to amaze you.

He never ceases to amaze you.

Kafka groans, his thrusts becoming erratic. As he fucks you through your orgasm, he approaches his own.

He slams his cock into you one last time, his body going rigid as he begins to cum, his cock pulsing heavily as he fills you with all he's got.

You cling to him, your bodies pressed together, your heart racing as you both come down from the almost violent release of energy.

Kafka rests his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged.

"You are amazing," he whispers. "Absolutely … fucking ... amazing."

You smile and kiss him softly, your fingers stroking his cheek. "I almost believed you for a minute there, Kaf. Your growly voice is super sexy, but my god. I thought you were a little pissed for a second. Let's do this again. Soon, mm?"

You lift his chin to take stock of his face and you know you'll never tire of seeing his kind eyes looking back at you. "Hey, I love you, you know."

You can't see it, but you're pretty sure he's blushing. The heat radiating from his face against your shoulder washed up like a sunrise; It was slow, but you felt every little prickle of warmth overtake everything it touched.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin.

"I love you too," he whispers. "You know I do. You know I'll never stop, yeah?"

You smile and close your eyes, letting the near total darkness of the room wrap you both up in a blanket of promises.

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